It is as silent as a tomb, Hadrian thought as he sat in the darkness. The last lantern had died some time ago, as had the last conversation. Royce had been quizzing Myron on linguistics, but even that stopped.
He was in the tomb of Novron, the resting place of the savior of mankind. This place was thought to be mythical, a fable, a legend, yet here he was. Hadrian was one of the first to reach it in a thousand years. Truly a feat—an astounding achievement.
Hadrian rested against a wall, his right arm on what was most likely an urn worth ten thousand gold tenents. His feet were up on a solid-gold statue of a ram. He would die a very rich man, at least.
Look what you have come to. He heard his father’s voice ringing in his head, deep and powerful, the way he always remembered it being when he was a boy. He could almost see his old man towering above him covered in sweat, wearing his leather apron, and holding his tongs.
You took all that I taught you and squandered it for money and fame. What has it bought you? You have more riches at your feet than any king and they still chant Galenti in the east, but was your life worth living now that it has come to its end? Is this what you sought when you left Hintindar? Is this the greatness you desired?
Hadrian took his hand off the urn and pulled his feet off the ram.
You told me you were going to be a great hero. Show me, then. Show me one thing worth the life you spent. One thing wrought. One thing won. One thing earned. One thing learned. Does such a thing exist? Is there anything to show?
Hadrian tilted his head and looked out toward the crypt. There, in the distance, he saw the dim blue glow.
He stared at it for some time. In the darkness he could not tell how long. The light grew and fell slightly—with her breathing, he guessed. He had no real idea how it worked, whether the shift was of her making or the robe’s.
Is there anything to show? he asked himself.
Hadrian stood up and, reaching out with his hands, moved along the wall to the opening into the crypt. There was no one out here but her. She was in one of the alcoves, sitting behind a sarcophagus, the one with the scenes of natural landscapes carved on the sides. Her head was resting on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs.
He sat beside her, and as he did, the light from her robe brightened slightly and her head lifted. Her cheeks were streaked from tears. She blinked at him and wiped her eyes.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied. “Dream?”
Arista paused, then shook her head sadly. “No—no, I didn’t. What does that mean, I wonder.”
“I think it means we’re done.”
Arista nodded. “I suppose so.”
“Everyone is in the tomb. Why did you come over here?”
“I dunno,” she said. “I wanted to be alone, I guess. I was reviewing my life—all the things I regret. What I never did. What I should have. What I did that I wished I hadn’t. You know, fun, entertaining stuff like that. That kind of thinking is best done alone, you know? What about you? What were you thinking?”
“Same sort of thing.”
“Oh yeah? What did you come up with?”
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Funny you should ask. There’s a whole lot of things I wished I hadn’t done, but… as turns out, there’s really only one thing I wished I had done but didn’t.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’re a fortunate man—almost as good as Myron.”
“Heh, yeah,” he said uncomfortably.
“What is it, this thing you haven’t done?”
“Well, it’s like this. I’m—I’m actually envious of Royce right now. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. Royce had the kind of life that mothers warn their children they will have if they don’t behave. It was like the gods had it out for him the day he was born. It’s little wonder he turned out as he did. When I first met him, he was quite scary.”
“Was?”
“Oh yeah, not like he is now—real scary—the never-turn-your-back brand of scary. But Arcadius saw something in him that no one else did. I suppose that’s something wizards can do, see into men’s souls. Notice what the rest of the world can’t about a person.”
Hadrian shifted uneasily, feeling the cold stone of the floor through a thick layer of fine dust. He crossed his legs and leaned slightly forward.
“It took Royce a long time to trust anyone. To be honest, I’m not even sure he fully trusts me yet, but he did trust her. Gwen changed Royce. She did the impossible by making him happy. Even now, the idea of Royce smiling—in a good way—is—I dunno, like snow falling in summer, or sheep curling up with wolves. You don’t get that kind of thing from just liking a girl. There was something special there, something profound. He only had her briefly, but at least he knows what that feels like. You know what I mean?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”