“Whatever you’d like to do, then.” Ella smiled and gave Evrin a quick squeeze. “It’s good to have you here.”
Ella and Evrin continued talking, but the mood turned somber as they found themselves in the Heroes’ Cemetery, looking down at the rows of grave markers. Many of the heroes were bladesingers from the last war, but the graves went back to the Rebellion and beyond, to a time when there were no bladesingers, just excellent swordsmen with single-activation blades.
“Bladesinger Huron Gower,” Ella said softly as she read a marker, as if to speak too loud would indicate disrespect. “I wonder who he was?”
“A brave man, no doubt,” Evrin said, “who died for his homeland.”
Ella surprised herself with the relief she felt that Evrin was here. There was no one she could share her fears with: Miro was worried enough as it was; Amber was far away in Vezna; Shani was back in Petrya lobbying the high lord. Ella had felt friendless and alone.
“Evrin,” Ella said as she looked at the graves. “I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose the ones I love. I couldn’t bear it if I lost Miro or Amber or Shani, or someone else I love.”
“We all must die some time, my dear. Contrary to what many believe, it’s how we face life, not how we die, that is the important thing. People never remember how someone died. In a way, it’s not important. When they tell each other stories about a lost friend’s life or catch a scent that reminds them of a face, they aren’t thinking of death. They’re bringing a piece of that person back to life, if only for a time.”
“What do you think happens when we die?” Ella thought about Katherine, her mother, and Serosa, her father. Where were her parents now?
“Honestly? I don’t know. Personally, I like the Dunfolk’s beliefs the best—that we’re all connected, and nothing is destroyed, only changed. When a tree falls and decays into the ground, it feeds the life around it. When a tree is burned and smoke rises into the air, it’s absorbed by raindrops or gathers on the wings of birds. Nothing is ever lost.”
“I like that,” Ella said. She looked around the Heroes’ Cemetery, and beyond, to the green fields, the winding river, and Sarostar’s western quarter. Fragments of her mother were in those blades of grass and in that swirling water. Part of Ella’s mother was in Ella herself.
“Don’t be afraid,” Evrin said as they turned away from the graveyard and began to walk back up toward the sandstone buildings of the Academy of Enchanters. “Face your fears like you always have, and everything will be well.”
Ella nodded and felt Evrin’s words soothe her frayed nerves. They were both silent for a time before Ella voiced something else that was on her mind.
“Evrin, do you know of any specific weaknesses in the Evermen? Something that could be exploited in Sentar’s powers?”
“Weaknesses? Eventually loredrain will conquer even Sentar, but he must possess a great deal of essence by now.”
Ella pondered. “The alchemist whose book I have . . . he said something to Amber and Miro. He believed the Evermen have a weakness, but he wasn’t certain. His last words were, ‘Remember, everything is toxic, it is the dose that makes a thing a poison.’ Something like that. Does it mean anything to you?”
Evrin shook his head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
“Could you . . . could you teach me something about the things you taught Killian? I might see something.”
“Of course.” Evrin hesitated as they walked, and then took Ella’s arm. “Now there’s something I must tell you.”
“What is it?”
“For much of my life I’ve kept secrets. I’ve hidden who I was, and I stayed silent as the people of Merralya came to worship those who once enslaved them. I now believe I was wrong. Only when armed with the truth can people make the right decisions. I want to tell you the truth now, Ella. I no longer enjoy keeping secrets.”
Ella looked at Evrin with concern. “What is it?”
“Just before I left Seranthia, a woman came to the palace. She is a former . . . acquaintance . . . of Killian’s.”
“Acquaintance? Who is she?”
“I hear she is his former lover.”
A tight feeling gripped Ella’s chest as she remembered Killian’s story. “Carla?”
“Yes,” Evrin said. He looked quizzically at Ella. “You know her?”
“I know of her.”
“He was joyful to see her. I knew you would want to know, and I can’t stand here with you and not say anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ella said. She tried to believe what she was saying. “Come on, we’re here at the Green Tower.” Ella tried to smile. “Now let’s find you some lodgings.”
The middle of the night saw the frantic activity in the Great Court calm somewhat, though the occasional enchanter or Veldrin hurried from one building to another, perhaps to find a tome in the libraries or to fetch essence from the dwindling reserve.