“Must it be so hard?” Ella didn’t know exactly what she was referring to.
“I know you, Ella, and I know the Eternal works within you, whether you realize it or not. You will continue your struggle because the world is out of balance. You can draw on that force whenever you feel lost or without courage. Trust in the Eternal, and you will have the strength to go on. Now, it is time for you to return to your people. We will bury her under a tree, and whenever you want, you can come to Loralayalana to speak with her.”
Emotion threatened to overwhelm Ella again, but she pushed it down. “I want to speak with her now,” she whispered.
“Before you can, the balance in the world must be restored. I see something in you telling me it will be you who plays a defining role in the new order to come. Go, Ella. Remember Layla with a smile. Fight for the life she died to protect.”
Miro sat on the bed beside Tomas, watching the child sleep. He found he kept touching his son to see if he was real. Perhaps he was also reminding himself he was still alive. He looked up and saw Amber close the door behind her.
“How are you?” Amber murmured.
“Shh,” Miro said, looking down at the child. “He’s sleeping.”
“Miro, listen to me. You have to grieve. Beorn was by your side since the beginning. He was the first officer to follow you after the defeat at Ralanast. He stood by your side as you took command at Mornhaven. He helped you liberate Halaran, and he was the first man to call you high lord.”
Miro turned red eyes on Amber. “I am grieving. Can’t you tell?”
“Please, husband, don’t let this struggle change you. I’m your wife. I see all sides of you. I know you better than anyone, particularly those men who worship you, seeing you at the front of every battle.”
Miro opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He tried to cry but couldn’t. Amber held him close as he thought about all the men he’d lost—so many it made the war against the primate pale in comparison. He thought about the fear that had been so constant he couldn’t, even now, let it go. At the very end, he knew he’d given up. If Bartolo hadn’t fallen and Shani hadn’t needed his help, he knew he would have killed revenants until he fell under the weight of their numbers.
Miro tried, but he couldn’t let the tears come. Instead, he drew in a long, shaking breath.
“Come on,” Amber said, pulling him up. “Tomorrow we’ll give Beorn the service he deserves. The emperor is here and he wants to see you.”
As Amber led Miro away from Tomas’s room Miro tried to ignore her eyes. “The Veznans,” he said, “how did you get them to come?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Amber said. “I’ll tell you about it some other time.”
Miro nodded, but his mind was already whirling once more. He pulled away from Amber when he saw an enchantress, a woman in a green silk dress.
“High Lord?” she said when he touched her shoulder.
Miro gave her an instruction. “The green light,” he said. “It’s time to stop the signal.”
“At once.” The enchantress nodded and sped away.
Miro put on his high lord’s face, and he went out to greet the emperor.
40
As the first evening stars sparkled high above Sarostar, the citizens turned out to give homage to the fallen. Carrying candles, the city folk walked in groups to stand together on the nine bridges, now scrubbed clean, the smears of red gone. Parents clutched children close, and husbands and wives held hands. The lights of the Crystal Palace began their evening display of colors, and the fountains shot high into the air, water reflecting the shimmering colors as it tumbled back to the ground.
Where riverboats once filled the green waters of the Sarsen, the river that wound through Sarostar’s heart now became filled with rafts. The wooden platforms drifted ponderously through the city before the current took them south, where the river would eventually empty into the Great Western Ocean. A fallen defender lay on his back on each raft, a wreath of flowers clutched to his—or her—bosom, and all were sent on their final journey in this way, whether Alturan, Halrana, Hazaran, or Veznan.
Miro spoke, and afterward he never remembered the words he said. He only remembered his people shedding tears for the fallen, their eyes raised heavenward in gratitude to know they were alive.
As Amber took Miro’s hand and led her husband back to the Crystal Palace, a man called out from the crowd.
“Thank you, High Lord.”
Miro nodded to the man as words failed him. More calls came down from the bridges, and then a sigh rose from the common people, who wept even as they celebrated the survival of their home.
“Remember this moment,” Amber said.