Scion of Cyador

CLXIV

Lorn shakes his head as he reins up outside his dwelling, followed by Palace Guards, and a company of Mirror Lancers commanded by Cheryk. At Sypcal’s insistence, Lorn has earlier sent a messenger to Ryalor House requesting Ryalth meet him at their dwelling. He glances at the clear green-blue sky, a winter day’s sky somehow…austere. Or perhaps that is the way he feels.

“Your Mightiness…while it is an imposing dwelling, I do not think you will see much of it,” suggests Cheryk as Lorn dismounts.

The title sounds strange to Lorn, but he offers a smile to the captain. “There’s likely much I will not see as I did.” He turns and unlocks the iron gate. He is barely inside the walls, followed by two of the Palace Guards in the green-and-silver, when Ryalth comes running from the veranda.

She slows a good dozen paces short of Lorn, and her eyes go from Lorn to the guards, then back to him. “What’s the matter? Are you in trouble?”

“I think,” he begins with a smile, “we are both in trouble.” After a slight pause, he adds, “I have the stone…or it has me. Toziel named me his heir. That makes you Empress-Consort.”

Her eyes widen. For a moment they both stand in the chill and sunny day, beside a fountain that does not flow.

“Truly?” the redhead murmurs.

“Truly.”

Another silence falls between them.

“What of the Magi’i?” she finally asks. “Most would oppose you.”

“Kharl…he tried to kill me when the advisors were read the declaration. I was fortunate enough to prevail.”

“There is no one else left, then?”

“Liataphi will be First Magus. Rustyl was the magus who died with Chyenfel. Sypcal will be Majer-Commander. Vyanat declares he is pleased, that in these days the merchanters are most gratified that you are Empress-Consort, for they will have a voice.” Lorn grins. “And that they will have a voice is certain.”

Abruptly, Ryalth shivers. “It’s cold out here.”

Lorn takes her arm, and the two turn toward the veranda. One of the Palace Guards slips ahead of them and into the house. The other holds the door.

Lorn and Ryalth descend the steps and cross the foyer into the sitting room. Lorn looks at Ryalth. “Where’s Kerial?”

“Kysia’s feeding him in the kitchen.”

“Good. I just worry.” Lorn nods.

“What are you holding?” she asks.

He lifts the silver-covered volume. “Something of great interest.” He extends the book to her. “The Empress gave it to me. It was the Emperor’s. There’s a note. Go ahead…read it.”

Lorn looks over her shoulder, seeing the words again, as Ryalth reads the angular and shaky script of the note.

To the Emperor-to-come:

These are the words of His Mightiness Kiedral’elth’alt’mer, the Second Emperor of Light, as he wrote them. So far as is known, this is the only remaining copy.

He has much to say. Read them all, if you dare, before you sit in the Malachite Throne.

There is a verse marked…for the Emperor Toziel….

At the bottom is a single, spiraled initial R.

“Have you opened it?” Ryalth asks.

Rather than answer, the man who is not sure he is either Mirror Lancer majer or Emperor opens the silver cover, holding it open to the first page, a page with but a title in large letters: Meditations Upon the Land of Light. When he is certain Ryalth has read it, he turns to the second page, and a dedication: To those of the Towers, to those of the Land, and to those who endured. Below the dedication is a name, and a title Lorn has never seen nor heard before: Kiedral Daloren, Vice Marshal, Anglorian Unity.

Then he turns to the page with the green leather marker, and reads the lines there slowly, aloud.

I would be remembered in the morning breeze,

in a single daffodil above late snow,

in slanting sun through trees,

and distant hills where cold winds blow.

Do not wear mourning green;

you have seen what I have seen.

Is that the way Toziel would like to be remembered-or as the father figure that the Emperor always must be?

Ryalth’s eyes are bright, and her blue eyes meet Lorn’s. “I wonder.”

He closes the book, then takes the note from her hand and slips it inside the front cover, before he hands her the book. “We each have a copy.” He smiles. “Since you have entrusted yours to me these long years, I will entrust mine to you.”