Page 53 of The Truth

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t.”

“Then explain it to me like I’m a fucking child. Because you let children die, and I would like to know why.”

“Please, sit down. I will tell you anything you want. I’ll⁠—”

“No.” He shook his head, tapping his foot against the stone and clenching his jaw. For a few moments he just stood there, and Alvira’s already-broken heart cracked even more at the sight of him. All of a sudden he roared at the top of his lungs, “They were my girls!”

Tears flowed freely down Farda’s cheeks. “They were pure and good! They were my joy. They were everything…” He stopped for a moment, the words choking him. “I promised my brother I would keep them safe. I swore to him as I put him in the ground. You broke that vow on my behalf. Do you…” He tapped at the side of his head. “Do you even think about them? Do they cross your mind? Do you even remember that they are dead? Because I do. Every fucking day. Every morning I wake, and it’s quiet. There are no songs, no shouting, no nothing. You took that from me, Alvira. And then for a year, you looked me in the eye and lied. You held me while I wept after carrying them home. Over their cold, dead bones, you held me, and you said nothing. I stood by you…” It looked as though Farda’s jaw would break he clenched so hard. “Through everything I stood by your side. I would have given you my life because I trusted you. You were my Archon and before that my friend. You should have told me… you should… you should have told me.”

“I should have told you…” Alvira moved towards Farda but he backed away. “I should have but… when we heard of Hana and Valyianne… What good would have come from it? I… I was scared… I’m sorry.”

“I can’t even look at you…” Farda licked the tears from his lips. He turned his head and spat on the ground. “You are not my Archon. You are nothing to me. You didn’t just let my girls die and lie to my face. You let forty thousand people die. And for what? Sapphires and gold? So the council could pile wealth atop more wealth?” Farda advanced until he was so close that Alvira could almost feel the rage radiating off him. “I don’t even recognise you.”

“Farda… please…”

“I would have followed you anywhere.” His stare burned through her. “You are a ghost, a shadow of the woman I knew…”

Farda leaned forwards, his fists shaking, his lip trembling. In the skies above, Vyldrar descended from the dark stormclouds, roaring as he spotted Shinyara circling the keep.

Alvira readied herself, dropping her back foot and preparing for what was to come. But Farda stepped back, his eyes widening as he caught her shift.

“You really think I would fight you? That I would…” He straightened, looking down at his own fists, a look of shame in his eyes. “This is what we have become.” Slowly Farda lifted his gaze to meet Alvira’s. “What even are we anymore, Alvira? The Draleid, The Order. What are we? Because I can’t see it.”

Farda held her gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked towards the door.

“Farda.”

He looked back at her, those green eyes staring into her soul, but Alvira didn’t know what to say. What could she say to heal a wound so grave?

“I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Farda stepped past Valyna and Rankír and out into the hallway.

“Archon, we didn’t⁠—”

“Get out!” Alvira screamed. “Just leave. I will take no more audience this night.”

The two Highguard fled the room, closing the door behind them, and Alvira collapsed against the wall with her head in her hands.

Those girls had meant the world to her. She had not known… She scratched at her scalp. No matter what choice she made, people died. No matter what turn she took, she strayed further from the path of her intention. She needed to find a way through this, before it all swallowed her whole.

Chapter Seventeen

Unravelling Webs

Even as the rain battered him and soaked into his skin, Eltoar stared up at the statue of Varahír. He had been there for over an hour, unmoving, unable to feel anything in his heart but guilt and sorrow. His bones were hollow. For over two centuries he had fought for a single purpose: to protect Epheria. Never had he questioned that purpose. But now when he searched his soul, he found nothing.

In the distance, thunder cracked across the sky, chased by a flash of lightning. It had been a long time since he’d seen a winter with so much rainfall. He lifted his hands, his skin pale and wrinkled from the water, the sleeves of his tunic almost translucent.

These hands were the hands of a killer, the hands of a guilty soul. No matter the command, he had walked forwards and these hands had held the steel. Eltoar had questioned, he had argued, but in the end he had always fallen in line. Following commands did not absolve him of the darkness in which he bathed.

Behind him, Helios blew a warm breath of air that spread through his skin and bones. In the dragon’s mind, images of Tivar and Salara flashed, memories of drinking wine and laughing with Alvira and Farda, of long conversations with Thalumas, and Fane, and Atara, of sparring with Tarast and Harken.

But in response, all Eltoar could think of was Maquil’s severed body, of Panakír’s eyes erupting in white light, seeing the half-eaten bodies of the dragons at Arathín, walking through the ashes of Orinhale, picking through the remnants of Antalar. Steel swung and blood sprayed as dead faces became his only thoughts. So many wars. More in the last twenty years than in all the others combined. The Lyonin War, the Ingdrin War, the Karvosi Incursion, Arathín, Vastillion… and those were just the first to touch his mind.

Life had become war, and war had brought with it death beyond his wildest imagination.