Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

All around him was weeping, crashing, and blood. He had no idea what was happening and didn’t want to. What he wanted was to be back in the Talwara, in his room, on his bed, with Treya bringing him cider and tarts.

As more of the ceiling came down, he thought to run out, but was too scared to move.

I need to get out before—

Another huge stone hit the floor, bursting only three feet away. Bits of debris pelted him.

Horrified that another rock was on its way down, he reacted. Mawyndul? drew in power and pushed out. He felt for the building around him, grabbed it, seized every pillar and stone and held fast, binding each block and pebble, weaving a web of defense. All that marble was his shield, and he wasn’t letting it go anywhere.

Outside, the world was a terror, filled with screams.

Inside, Mawyndul? supported the roof, weathering a storm he’d rather not see.

—

The exterior of the Airenthenon had been blackened with scorch marks. On the east side, the steps were gone; nothing of them remained. One of the great trees—the old sacred ones that had shaded the square since the days of Gylindora Fane—had been severed in half. Cut clean, the great elm laid its leafy head and broken branches over the stalls of the marketplace.

Standing on the steps outside the Airenthenon’s doors, Mawyndul? expected to see blood—lots of it. A grotesque splatter of red stained the market, but it was only paint. A war between Miralyith produced great carnage but little gore.

A member of the royal guard found Mawyndul? after the battle and informed him that his father had survived. The fane and his troops had chased the last of the rebels through the streets of the city. In the distance, Mawyndul? heard the occasional shout.

“What will you tell your father when he returns?” Imaly asked. The Curator stood beside him, both staring out at the changed landscape.

“That I wasn’t involved.” He faced her. “I wasn’t, you know.”

“Oh, I believe you, and I’m sure he will as well.”

She was still clutching her wounded arm, cradling it across her stomach. She winced with pain, and he noticed that she limped each time she took a step with her right foot. The old Curator slowly moved down what was left of the western steps, one at a time, always taking the dip with her left foot. Mawyndul? took hold of her good arm, lending what support he could.

They paused at the first landing, where the fountain miraculously continued to spout water, though the upper half of the stag was missing, leaving just a set of four spindly legs. Mawyndul? took that moment to look back at the Airenthenon. For the first time, he spotted the crack splitting the surface and leaving a horrific scar through the ancient pediment.

“Would have been much worse if not for you,” Imaly said. She sported her own wound as the scrape on her head continued to seep blood that dripped down the side of her face. Some of her hair was matted to it, drying like glue. To Mawyndul?, Imaly appeared as a living personification of the ancient order; both had been assaulted, hurt, and scarred.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s still up, isn’t it?” She turned and looked back, then nodded. “Yes, the Airenthenon is still there, just that crack. Don’t think it could have survived without help, do you? All that shaking, all those attacks. No, I think it would have been destroyed.”

“I didn’t do it to preserve the Airenthenon.” It felt good to say so out loud. “I didn’t even do it to save you or anyone else.” He looked down. “I wish I had. I wish I could say I did it for some noble reason, to protect our heritage and the people cowering inside, but that’s not true.” He sighed and shook his head. “I did it to save myself. When the building started to come down, when it cracked, I was terrified. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not very good with the Art.”

He would never admit that to anyone, not even himself. He didn’t know why he told her, except maybe because she was the only one he could tell. More than anyone, Imaly seemed to understand him. To her, he wasn’t the prince, or a son, and not even a Miralyith. To Imaly, Mawyndul? was just a young Fhrey, well meaning but inexperienced. He told her because he needed someone to know.

“Maybe,” she said.

“Maybe? Oh, no, it’s true.” He nodded at her. “That’s what happened.”

“I believe you, and I’m certain that’s even how you remember it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Not the whole truth.”

“Of course it does.”

Imaly gave him a wise smile. “Mawyndul?, you could have run out of the Airenthenon. Almost everyone else did. Why didn’t you? I’m not a Miralyith, but I imagine there were easier ways to protect yourself than preserving the entire structure of that building. That had to be more difficult than putting some sort of shield around just your body. You had a number of options, but you chose the one that preserved our great heritage and saved the lives of all those around you.” She took another painful step and then paused again. “A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many…no, most…of our choices are driven by fear: fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it’s how we respond to fear that matters. It’s what defines us. What makes us who we are. So maybe in your mind you acted selfishly, but I’m alive because of the choice you made. So I’ll remember it as an act of kindness and, yes, even bravery.”

She nodded then, as if coming to a conclusion, and by the look in her eye, it was an important one. “There you have it. Two realities to choose from. In mine, you acted heroically, risking yourself to protect the lives of the entire Aquila. Yet you remember it as selfish because you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being a hero. You feel guilty, don’t you? You think you didn’t do enough and therefore don’t deserve an honorific for failure. Heroes, you are certain, don’t feel guilt. Personally, I like my reality better, but you pick whichever you like. Just don’t share yours with anyone else.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re the prince. One day you’ll be fane. People prefer to see their leaders as renowned, something larger than themselves. This hierarchy makes society possible. It’s so much easier to humble oneself before greatness, to obey someone universally known to be superior in every way.

“But…but…I don’t think I am, not really.”

Imaly turned and smiled warmly at him. “That’s why you are. You’re a good person, Mawyndul?. You’ve been warped a bit by an insular life and the powerful influence of a few dominating people, but deep down you’re still a good, decent person. That’s why you feel guilt. It’s when you no longer feel that nagging sense of doubt, that pain of regret, that it’s truly over for you. But you aren’t there yet. You can still be salvaged.”

“What do I have to do?”

“What do you plan to tell your father?”

“The truth.”

“And what is that?”

“That I didn’t know anything about the rebellion. That I went to the meetings a few times where they got me drunk, but never told me what their plans were. That I was used.”

Imaly shook her head. “No, don’t do that.”