Miro’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Then you are a traitor."
Tessolar spoke with spite. "You dare question my right, Miro Torresante? Who do you think gave your father to the Emperor, all those years ago? He was destroying our house; I did what I had to do."
"Yes, you killed him. And you might as well have killed my mother. Seeing my father executed killed her!"
"That’s what you believe?" Tessolar laughed. "Listen to me, Miro. Serosa persisted in his belief we could win the war, the Rebellion. I believed him at first, but there was no sign of imminent victory. All I could see was our reserve of essence drying up. We had answered Halaran’s call but it was time to end it. Altura could not be seen to break the treaty, but your father gave me the perfect opportunity. He gave me a chance to end the war and finally win your mother for my own."
Miro was stunned. "Win my mother? What are you saying?"
"Your father and I, we were very close once. She was a great beauty. We both courted her, and we became rivals. But because he was High Lord she chose him."
"So what happened then? Did she die? Did you have my mother killed, just like you had my father killed?"
"Don’t you realise, you fool? Your father was the only one who died in the Rebellion. As soon as he was dead, Katherine was mine. She never died of grief. You’ve seen your mother by my side. Miro, your mother was my wife, Katherine."
Miro felt his world crashing down around him.
"All that stood in the way was two children, you and your sister. A permanent reminder of Serosa. I forbade Katherine to see you or even speak of you, and gave you into the care of a soldier."
"Brandon," Miro mouthed. He put his hand to his head. He was finally learning the truth.
"I don’t think Katherine even cared that she couldn’t see you."
"Did you kill her?" Miro’s tone was like ice. "My mother… Katherine… when she died… did you drown her?"
"No, Miro. She did that to herself. And with your sister dead, you are the only legacy of that family left."
The words hit Miro like a punch in the gut.
"What did you say about my sister?"
"Your sister, Ella. She was killed in Petrya, on the edge of the Hazara Desert. The High Enchantress was killed too. Only one soldier survived."
The blood drained from Miro’s face, "Why are you telling me all this?"
High Lord Tessolar shrugged. The pain was openly displayed on his ravaged face. "Why not? There is no hope now. You seem to think everything will be fine. I am simply telling you that it won’t. Wherever the Alturan Lexicon is, its magic is fading. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve seen what it did to the Halrana, seeing their lore weaken and fade. Our enchantments won’t last another week."
"You are not fit to be High Lord of Raj Altura, you are not fit to call yourself a man, let alone a lord," Miro said with venom.
"We’ll see what the Black Army’s leaders have to say about that. I meet with them tonight."
Miro reached for his zenblade, but someone grabbed him from behind. His hand was caught in an iron grip. Turning, he saw two bladesingers standing behind him. The one holding his hand — Torathon, Tessolar’s personal guard — shook his head. The other was Ronell Kendra, eyes glaring out of his disfigured face.
"Take him to the dungeons under Sark," High Lord Tessolar said. "Be careful with him, I hear he can fight."
Miro was led away.
53
I sometimes wonder if we’re too dependent on magic. Look at the Dunfolk. We may think them primitive, but they have learned more about the use of medicinal herbs and plants than any of our battlefield surgeons. The bows and arrows they carry can be as lethal as an elementalist’s fireball, yet we disdain them as barbaric. Strangest of all, I have even heard of some distant tribes putting animals to use in the fields. Yes, the use of drudges and constructs is a higher form of civilisation than chaining poor beasts. Yes, a heatplate is a highly advanced technology compared with rubbing sticks together. But if there was ever a dearth of essence, how soon would it be before we were reaching back to these methods of the past?
— Diary of High Enchantress Maya Pallandor, Page 219, 411 Y.E.
SOME of the warriors snickered as Ella walked towards Prince Ilathor’s tent. She had heard whisperings amongst them — she knew they thought there was more to her relationship with Prince Ilathor than was proper. He was certainly handsome, but he had never acted more than a perfect gentleman to her.
"Ah, High Enchantress, I want you to meet someone," he said as she entered. "This is Hermen Tosch, from Castlemere, in the west. Hermen, this is High Enchantress Evora Guinestor," Ella touched her lips and her forehead in greeting. "High Enchantress, you wondered where we obtained that essence. Well, here he is."
Hermen frowned at the Prince. Ilathor simply laughed. "Do not worry, Hermen. She can be trusted."