Tingara had seen many lords and ladies pass from life, and it was some time before one of the men called out.
"Hush," Ella said, approaching. "We need to stay quiet."
"Enchantress," the soldier whispered. "Look."
He shone his pathfinder down at the tombstone. It was simpler than the others, as if whoever had laid this stone had done so out of decorum rather than love. Even the words were cursory.
"Lord Aidan Alderon," Ella read. "Born 484 Y.E. Died 522 Y.E." She looked at the soldier as her second helper approached. "It doesn't say anything more."
Ella felt nothing but sadness. She'd finally found Killian's family, something he'd wanted his whole life, yet it was a story of tragedy. The grave was simple and said nothing of the man Lord Aidan was, but he was obviously a man of principle, who had stood up to an Emperor.
Ella wondered again about Lady Alise, Killian's mother, exiled to the Isle of Ana. Had she once looked down at this grave, crying tears of grief? Was she out there somewhere, still alive, wondering what had happened to the red-haired child that was taken from her?
"What do we do now?" the soldier who had found the marker said.
"I'm sorry," Ella said, "but we have to do this. We need to dig up the coffin and put it on the cart we came in."
Exchanging glances, the men set to work.
~
THE COFFIN was heavy, and buried deep. It was hours before it sat on the bed of the drudge-pulled cart they'd arrived in, and by then Ella's hands were covered in dirt, her fingernails broken and torn.
Ella climbed up to the platform, sitting in the driver's seat and looking out from the height of the cart. The sky was lightening and the darkness of night shifted hue through violet and amber. The sun would rise soon, and Ella needed to be on her way.
"Do you need us to open the lid?" one of Ella's helpers said.
"No, thank you," Ella said.
"What are we doing next?"
"Well," said Ella, "it's up to you. I don't require your assistance any more, but if you'd like to hitch a ride for a time…"
She tried not to smile when the two soldiers looked at each other and mutely came to an agreement.
"No, that's all right…"
"We'll be fine walking."
"Thank you, men, for your help," Ella said. "I appreciate it, as does the Lord Regent."
"Good luck with… with…"
Ella finally allowed herself to smile, and with a spoken word, she activated the drudge and was on her way.
She had been given instruction on how to control a drudge by none other than Evrin, long ago when he'd been posing as a Halrana merchant. The words came easily to her, and the rocking motion of the cart on the cobbled stones was soothing as Ella gazed at the waking city around her.
The new essence machines might be being built at Mornhaven, but Seranthia would always be the beating heart of the Empire. The population of Tingara dwarfed that of the other houses; if there were ever a vote on who would be Emperor, a Tingaran would certainly be the one named.
Ella watched as vendors set up market stalls, in a routine they'd probably followed their entire lives. They ignored her cart and the stone box on its bed, still covered in dirt.
Ella passed an alley where dogs roamed the streets, looking for scraps. She then turned a corner and there was a magnificent temple, devoted to the Evermen. Such contrast in Seranthia, such energy… if only it could be channelled in the right direction, under a wise leader.
But Tingara's long-held dominance had led to complacency, and then despotism. As the Emperors became more and more capricious, so the land fell into darkness. There hadn't always been streetclans in Seranthia, and the poor hadn't always existed in such multitudes. Once, the Empire was controlled by no single house, it simply had its administration in Tingara. Seranthia had been ruled justly — laws such as the ridiculous practice of rounding up vagrants and casting them over the walls were a recent invention.
Rogan's relaxation of such laws had led to an outpouring of energy, as those who could never complain before did so with gusto.
The people needed a ruler like Rogan, who would treat them with decency, but they also needed one of their own, who understood how the Assembly of Templars and the Tingaran leadership fit together.
Ella wondered. Could Killian be such a leader?
She turned the drudge again, and in the distance Seranthia's great harbour opened up below. Ella could see the Sentinel in the distance, the statue on its island silhouetted by the breaking dawn, its arm raised to the sky imploringly. Fishing boats were returning to the docks, their holds filled with the morning's catch. Imperial warships sailed out on patrol.