in despair. In truth, there was nothing either of them could do to stop any of it, just as Thessalina had said.
“I can’t come with you,” he murmured. “I won’t bear arms against the elves.”
“I’d be lying if I said I’m surprised,” Thessalina sighed. “You’ll stay, then, and run Amsara while I’m gone.” Her words, for all their softness, still fell upon Magnes with the unmistakable force of command.
“Thank you,” he replied. An enormous yawn threatened to break apart his jaw. “Gods, I’m so tired. I’ve been on the road for over two weeks. I need to go to bed.”
Thessalina nodded. “Your old rooms aren’t too dusty, I hope. I had standing orders to keep them clean just in case you returned, but two of the chambermaids left service so we’ve been short-staffed.”
“They aren’t bad. A little musty, is all,” Magnes replied.
“I doubt I’ll see my bed much before sunrise,” Thessalina said. “There’s still so much to do.” She reached over and laid a hand atop his. Her fingertips and palm felt as callused as any peasant’s. “I’m glad you’ll be here to look after Amsara while I’m gone, Brother. Our people have always loved you. They’ll feel safe with you here.”
“Our people have nothing to fear,” Magnes replied quietly.
***
Magnes woke later that night with the sour taste of nightmares on his tongue. Afraid to go back to sleep, he rose, pulled on a tunic and trousers then slipped his feet into a pair of old sandals. A shadow among shadows, he made his way out of the keep and headed across the yard toward the chapel. He paused outside the door, then looked up at the glittering vault of the night sky.
Are Jelena and Ashi reunited yet , he wondered. Did they sleep within the comfort of each other’s arms beneath this very same sky, their baby cradled between them?
He pushed the heavy wooden door inward and entered the silent chapel. Two brass lamps burned on the altar, filling the room with dim golden light and flickering shadows. A sweet residue of incense hung in the air. With faltering footsteps, Magnes made his way down the center aisle, past the front of the altar painted with representations of the gods, to the staircase leading down to the crypt. An unlocked iron gate barred the entrance. Realizing he had no light, Magnes stepped over to the altar and grabbed a lamp. He thought of the last time he had come here, on that long ago night he and Jelena had fled Amsara.
Now, guilt pricked him as, trembling, he descended to the crypt. In the cool darkness, the departed generations of Preserens, rulers of Amsara for over three hundred years, rested in silence. The tiny pool of light cast by the altar lamp allowed Magnes to find his way through the rows of sarcophagi without stumbling. As the most recent internment, he knew his father’s sarcophagus would lie near the front.
He found it alongside the slightly smaller one containing his mother’s remains. Both were fashioned of gray marble, topped with lifelike effigies of their respective occupants. Magnes paused to gaze at the carved stone likeness of his mother. The blank eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. The face bore little resemblance to the woman he only barely recalled from childhood memories.
Magnes raised the small lamp higher to illuminate his father’s tomb. The unknown artist had done a superb job of coaxing Duke Teodorus’ plain, blunt features from the dark stone; it seemed at any moment, the father would awaken from his cold slumber to arise and denounce his treacherous son.
A strangled sob clawed its way past Magnes’ clenched teeth; he collapsed to his knees beside the tomb. With shaking hands, he set the lamp atop the carved folds of the effigy’s gown.
Tears wet his cheeks as Magnes laid his hands over his father’s chilly marble fingers. “I’m sorry Father,” he sobbed. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I was always a disappointment to you! I wish with all
“I can’t come with you,” he murmured. “I won’t bear arms against the elves.”
“I’d be lying if I said I’m surprised,” Thessalina sighed. “You’ll stay, then, and run Amsara while I’m gone.” Her words, for all their softness, still fell upon Magnes with the unmistakable force of command.
“Thank you,” he replied. An enormous yawn threatened to break apart his jaw. “Gods, I’m so tired. I’ve been on the road for over two weeks. I need to go to bed.”
Thessalina nodded. “Your old rooms aren’t too dusty, I hope. I had standing orders to keep them clean just in case you returned, but two of the chambermaids left service so we’ve been short-staffed.”
“They aren’t bad. A little musty, is all,” Magnes replied.
“I doubt I’ll see my bed much before sunrise,” Thessalina said. “There’s still so much to do.” She reached over and laid a hand atop his. Her fingertips and palm felt as callused as any peasant’s. “I’m glad you’ll be here to look after Amsara while I’m gone, Brother. Our people have always loved you. They’ll feel safe with you here.”
“Our people have nothing to fear,” Magnes replied quietly.
***
Magnes woke later that night with the sour taste of nightmares on his tongue. Afraid to go back to sleep, he rose, pulled on a tunic and trousers then slipped his feet into a pair of old sandals. A shadow among shadows, he made his way out of the keep and headed across the yard toward the chapel. He paused outside the door, then looked up at the glittering vault of the night sky.
Are Jelena and Ashi reunited yet , he wondered. Did they sleep within the comfort of each other’s arms beneath this very same sky, their baby cradled between them?
He pushed the heavy wooden door inward and entered the silent chapel. Two brass lamps burned on the altar, filling the room with dim golden light and flickering shadows. A sweet residue of incense hung in the air. With faltering footsteps, Magnes made his way down the center aisle, past the front of the altar painted with representations of the gods, to the staircase leading down to the crypt. An unlocked iron gate barred the entrance. Realizing he had no light, Magnes stepped over to the altar and grabbed a lamp. He thought of the last time he had come here, on that long ago night he and Jelena had fled Amsara.
Now, guilt pricked him as, trembling, he descended to the crypt. In the cool darkness, the departed generations of Preserens, rulers of Amsara for over three hundred years, rested in silence. The tiny pool of light cast by the altar lamp allowed Magnes to find his way through the rows of sarcophagi without stumbling. As the most recent internment, he knew his father’s sarcophagus would lie near the front.
He found it alongside the slightly smaller one containing his mother’s remains. Both were fashioned of gray marble, topped with lifelike effigies of their respective occupants. Magnes paused to gaze at the carved stone likeness of his mother. The blank eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. The face bore little resemblance to the woman he only barely recalled from childhood memories.
Magnes raised the small lamp higher to illuminate his father’s tomb. The unknown artist had done a superb job of coaxing Duke Teodorus’ plain, blunt features from the dark stone; it seemed at any moment, the father would awaken from his cold slumber to arise and denounce his treacherous son.
A strangled sob clawed its way past Magnes’ clenched teeth; he collapsed to his knees beside the tomb. With shaking hands, he set the lamp atop the carved folds of the effigy’s gown.
Tears wet his cheeks as Magnes laid his hands over his father’s chilly marble fingers. “I’m sorry Father,” he sobbed. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I was always a disappointment to you! I wish with all
Similar Books
