Still, Emere found himself desperately looking for something even greater in Loran. Something that would lift him up. Something that would vindicate his life of wandering and questioning. Something that would fulfill his destiny yet unknown. It was unfairto Loran, or any mortal person, to have such things expected of them, but he still sought it.
Did he worship the image of Loran, like the Ebrians worshipped their Nameless God? Did he believe that she would save him? It was a troubling thought for Emere.
Then there was Rakel’s question, of what would happen if the Ebrians started interfering with the politics of the Empire. The coming storm first began to brew with Arland’s victory and the Grand Inquisitor Lysandros’s death. Even if Ludvik could be stopped, could they truly hold back the chaos approaching from the horizon? How would the Empire take it if Loran intervened in Imperial politics, the same Loran who defeated an entire legion at Arland?
And Emere couldn’t forget that the very Power generator that he stole caused the Great Fire and killed countless people, including Rakel’s husband. There was no way to make up for what he had done, however unknowingly, and he still couldn’t bring himself to tell Rakel about his involvement. His action had not only led to those deaths, but also threatened the Senate enough that they turned to Ludvik and the Office of Truth. Everything was linked. Everything was caused by everything else, and in turn caused everything. The Tree Lords had taught him that destiny was a moment of choice. What meaning did a choice have, when you could not predict its outcome? The Circuit of Destiny had said that one who decided destinies of many was a king. Was this how kings felt?
Bowing his head at every streetlamp and clutching his robe tightly about him, Emere finally arrived at Rakel’s house.
“Forgotten to lock it, has she,” he mumbled as he opened the door, smiling at the memory of Rakel telling her assistant to always keep the door locked. As soon as the door shut behind him,though, something cold and sharp pushed against his neck and his arm was pulled back.
Emere knew a second of surprise and fear before he heard Septima’s voice. “Councillor?”
“Yes, now please remove your knife,” Emere replied wryly.
His arm was freed, and the knife removed. Emere stepped away and looked back at Septima. Despite her bandaged chest, she had put on Rakel’s white robe that usually hung in the surgery, and she held a scalpel in her hand.
“What happened to the young woman who was here?”
“I woke up and found myself in an unfamiliar place,” said Septima, “so I gagged her and tied her up upstairs.” She sounded so justified that Emere almost nodded as if she had put a child to bed.
“She’s just a surgeon’s helper! Please release her.”
Septima picked up the wanted poster on the surgical table and shook it in front of him. “I would like a detailed explanation first, if you will. What happened to my men? Where are we?”
Emere gestured for her to sit and told her of everything that had happened—how they had tried to escape the labyrinth, but Septima had been struck by the Zero Legion’s bolt. But he would not mention the Ebrians and their secret congregation, and it felt impossible to even speak Loran’s name. Even if Septima was on his side, he could not ignore the fact that she was an agent of the Ministry of Intelligence.
She did not seem satisfied with his story, grimacing as she patted her wound. “So what do you plan to do now, Councillor?”
“We must stop Ludvik.”
“And is that why you came all the way here to see your old lover?” Septima said dryly. “To summon the help of the Ebrians?”
Emere forgot to breathe. “What?”
“Ebrians always gather around their god, and we know of such a congregation in the Capital. They seem harmless, and we let them be so that we can use them as bargaining chips when we need something from the Office of Truth. I understand your hesitation in sharing your plans with me, but you must understand that you can’t fight Truth while keeping all your secrets to yourself.”
“That wasn’t my first strategy in coming here,” Emere replied truthfully. “But surely the Ebrians, more than anyone else, do not want the Office of Truth to come into power?”
“We are dealing with an Imperial office that commands the Zero Legion. Not even all the Ebrians of the Capital—even if you could gather all of them together—could ever win against these people.”
But perhaps things would be different if King Loran succeeded in her alliance-building, though he would never mention Loran to a Ministry of Intelligence agent, however disgraced she might be. The fact that the ringleader of the Arland rebellion was right here in the Capital might be an even more urgent matter for Septima than the Office of Truth’s machinations.
Sighing, he turned his head. The front door creaked in the night wind.
“Forgot to lock it again.”
Just as he walked up to it and held his hand out to close it, a white light shone through the open door.
Septima shouted, “Councillor, duck!”
The door shattered into pieces before him like ice. Emere managed to duck even as he was sent flying backward, but a fragmenthit his temple. A whistling noise intensified until he could no longer hear anything. Septima shouted something, but all he could make out was that her lips were moving. His vision blurred, then faded to nothing.
Emere stood on the red wastelands once more. Dizzying images and sounds, indecipherable conversations assaulted his senses as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t understand the rage and sorrow filtering through him, but there had to be an end to them. The thought made him calm.
He must’ve lost consciousness in the attack, and Cain or the Circuit of Destiny had pulled him here in that moment.
“The Circuit is strange. It was made by people out of people, but it doesn’t think like people. What happens when over three hundred Powered corpses gather in one place? I’ve been here for some time and still can’t understand it.”
