She said coldly, “That was a mistake.”
“I’m sorry you think so,” Gaeleval said. “I could have meant it, you know. You are unlike anybody I have ever met. I believe you may be unique. I could even consider giving up all the others, if I could only have you.”
She felt better once she looked at something other than him, and she realized that his eyes were a focus for his persuasion. Now if she could just find a way to get out of the dream. She had been so upset when she dreamed with Dragos that waking up had been easy.
“Do you know what I think is sad?” she heard herself asking.
“No, I don’t. But I want you to tell me everything you think and feel.”
She thought of the tall man she had seen so briefly in the apartment behind Beluviel, of his striking features and the autumnal spark of his chestnut hair, and how all the other Elves had looked to him. She thought of the sentinels, of even Aryal in her own abrasive, infuriating way, and how they all projected such unending strength.
“I think you must have been a good man once, a strong man,” she said. “You were a Guardian of your people, and you were put in a position of trust and power. I know you’re a gifted one, or you wouldn’t have been able to do all that you’ve done.”
As Gaeleval leaned forward, the small light from the campfire fell on his beautiful face. He stared at her and whispered, “I have always done my duty.”
Were there tears in his eyes? She didn’t dare look too closely. He was too deadly.
“Calondir said you are an ancient and an adept,” she said softly. “What makes me really sad is, I think you’ve become a monster, but I don’t think you’re evil. Numenlaur didn’t honor the pact and cast out its God Machine, and the responsibility for that betrayal of trust lies on your Lord. That’s not on you.”
“Camthalion was convinced that we must be strong and hold to our original course,” Gaeleval said. “All the other Elves had been mistaken, led astray by their lesser gods and inferior desires. Only Taliesin was worthy of grand purpose, and the god’s message was clear in the shape of the crown that Camthalion held. So he convinced all the others to leave and he ordered the passageway barred so that they could never return.”
“The God Machine was a crown?” she asked. If Camthalion had held a crown, how had Gaeleval gotten it? Had he taken it, or had Camthalion died? Was Gaeleval his heir? “You don’t wear a crown.”
His expression turned bittersweet. “I never wanted to rule,” he said simply. “I only wanted to serve.”
Her gaze fell to his hands. He was cupping something. He noticed the direction of her gaze and held open his fingers. The God Machine sat in his palms, an intensely burning black lotus of Power, eternally renewing itself. She had never seen anything so revolutionary. It was only a sliver of the god’s Power yet it held an essence so pure it could birth solar systems and burn down empires. It was a piece of the engine that drove the universe.
The Machine no longer looked like a crown. It had taken another physical form that spilled out between Gaeleval’s fingers. It took a moment for her to recognize what it was. When she did, her chest throbbed with a ferocious ache.
He held a string of plain, wooden prayer beads.
However he had gotten the God Machine, Dragos had said that the more he used it, the more it would work on him and affect his mind. The beads looked worn. She imagined him fingering the string. Perhaps he had prayed for guidance.
And the longer Taliesin’s item had been held in check, the greater the change it would bring into the world.
“What happened to you?” she whispered.
She had not expected him to answer, but then he did.
“I was summoned to the palace and when I arrived, I found everybody dead,” Gaeleval said softly. “All the attendants. Camthalion’s children, along with their mother. They had been kneeling in the throne room and their throats had been slit. Camthalion was still burning when I got there. He had poured oil over his head and set himself on fire.”
“My God,” she breathed.
“When I looked for the crown, it had vanished. These were on the floor at Camthalion’s feet.” He looked down at the string of beads as he fingered them. “As soon as I saw them I knew they were meant for me. When I took them, I understood that Numenlaur could not continue the way it was. The Elves had been torn apart by ambition and war, and they had been scattered across the Earth on a lie. Camthalion was right, but he did not have the strength to see his vision through to the finish. Our time should have ended long ago. We just refused to see it. We must draw this age of brokenness to a close, unite together one last time and pass on.”