Ella stood up from her chair. “Please excuse me,” she said. “I have work to do.”
Ella left the terrace and tried to calm herself as she looked for somewhere she could be alone. Ilathor found her with her hands resting on the rail of a small balcony, gazing out at the desert and inhaling the spicy scent of the city carried forward on the dry breeze.
“Ella?” Ilathor said.
Ella turned to the kalif, and rather than avoid him, this time she met his eyes directly. “Ilathor,” she said, using his first name, “can I count on you if Altura calls?”
“Yes . . . of course. I am the kalif. My men will follow.”
“Will you promise?”
Ilathor reached forward and took Ella’s hands. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” Ella said, letting out a breath. She leaned forward and kissed his smooth cheek.
Ilathor suddenly put his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.
Ella put her hands flat on his chest. “Ilathor,” she said. “Ilathor! I can’t. I must go. You love your land with an incredible passion. I feel the same way about mine. I can’t feast here when I know how much needs to be done to protect my homeland. I have to go.”
“I understand,” Ilathor said. He was breathing hard. “You are a strong woman, and you are resisting your passions, where I cannot. I should take note from your example.”
Ella chose to ignore the comment. “Your elders know all they need to about the reflectors. Listen to them. I have a long journey ahead of me. It will take time to build the towers and mount the reflectors as I travel back to Altura.”
“Of course,” Ilathor said. “When you arrive home, will you send word?”
“I will.”
“Ella, I . . .”
“I know,” Ella said, smiling.
Ilathor returned her smile. “I will send Jehral to take care of you until you reach Alturan lands. I wish you did not have to leave so soon after arriving, but I understand. Fare you well, Ella. Until we next meet.”
“Farewell, Kalif,” Ella said.
5
Killian wiped at his eyes, feeling the familiar onset of fatigue. He avoided looking at the timepiece high on the wall; he knew the afternoon meeting had run well into the night.
He still wore the thick clothing he’d worn all season. Though it was supposed to be spring, winter was reluctant to release Tingara quite yet. The wind howled outside the barred windows, and Killian heard the shutters tremble.
The grim weather echoed his mood. Several weeks had passed since the Imperial Chorum and Ella’s hasty departure, yet still Killian couldn’t get the events of that day out of his mind. Killian had expected Miro’s impassioned plea for more essence for Altura to fail. He hadn’t expected to discover that Ella and Ilathor had once shared a bed.
Killian was jealous.
She acted like she loved him, but he knew there was something between her and the kalif, and even when Killian innocuously brought up Ilathor in conversation with her, she never explained a thing.
He now sat in the war rooms, high in the Imperial Palace, his palms resting on the rune-covered surface of a simulator. Rogan was speaking in his deep, rumbling voice—something about the Imperial Legion.
He needed to concentrate. He knew how important these discussions were.
But Killian couldn’t stop thinking about Ella.
He’d seen it in her eyes; the ruler of the desert had been speaking the truth. Did she love Ilathor? He cast his mind back to the chamber inside the Sentinel, on the day of the primate’s death, when she’d entered with Ilathor by her side. He’d seen the protective way the handsome Hazaran held her back from danger.
Ella had risked everything to bring Killian home from the wasteland that was Shar, and he’d thought that what was between them was powerful enough to keep them together through any adversity. Killian had thought Ella loved him.
Yet Ella left the day after the Chorum without a word of explanation. She’d left in the same ship as the kalif of House Hazara.
“You’re far away,” Rogan said. “Am I boring you?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Killian said, returning his gaze to the simulator as he realized he’d been staring at the wall. “There’s something on my mind.”
“Well set your mind on this. As I was saying, the signaling system is a good idea, but it doesn’t change one key fact. If Altura calls, you’re going to have to make a choice. Do you head for the west, leaving Seranthia exposed? Or do you leave Altura to her fate?”
“What should I do?”
“You can’t leave us defenseless,” said Marshal Trask, a staunchly loyal Tingaran.
“Either way,” Rogan said, “you should prepare your strategy before the moment itself comes.”
“I’ll think about it,” Killian said. “Please leave me now.”