Seven Princes

Epilogue

It took far longer than he imagined. His body congealed from mist to mud and finally to cold, weary flesh. He awoke in the center of runes and sigils carved into the floor. He blinked but could not raise his head. Here, in the highest chamber of the thorny tower, he knitted together a body from fluid strands of shadow. The windows were curtained, so he could not see the passage of days outside, but it must have been many. Eventually, after an eternity of gnawing hunger, he rose from the frigid floor and stood on two legs.

The second ring of runes lay empty.

Where was she? Ianthe should have manifested here at the nexus of her power. She had given him this knowledge, helped him carve the runes. On her shelves the skulls and tomes were cluttered and dusty. The great desk and its chair were empty but for the usual piles of scrolls and moldering volumes. The decanters and bottles along the walls stood festooned with cobwebs.

She had never returned.

She must be truly dead. Annihilated by Vireon’s bitch.

He shivered at the memory of his burning agony. That was his physical body… The first death was the most difficult – so Ianthe had told him. This new body was a shell, a creation of his will and the power of the blood. His belly ached for more of that red wine.

Now the pale ghost of Tadarus stood where Ianthe should be.

“You are avenged,” he told it. “Vireon has killed me. You may go now.”

And the ghost was gone.

He stared at the blank spot on the basalt stones where she must appear. He wept a few tears, then remembered the Glass of Eternity. He approached it, bending its obscure surface to his will. A blur of colors and shapes swirled inside the flat pane, taking no form he could identify. The more he concentrated on Ianthe, the less he recognized. There could be only one answer… The Empress was d ead and he was now Emperor of Khyrei. Or would be when he descended from the tower and laid claim to the throne. A city of ignorant, loyal slaves awaited him.

Perhaps this was not such a terrible loss.

He turned from the mirror and glanced at the books of antique lore, the texts of inscribed sorcery. He would miss her tutelage even more than her kisses. There was so much more to discover in the labyrinthine kingdom of sorcery.

Something drew his eyes back to the glass. It swirled now of its own accord and turned to solid black. A starless void hung open before him. A distant hum rang in his ears.

Something gleamed in the darkness… a star? No, a mote of azure crystal. It fell toward the mirror, hurling end over end, growing larger. He recognized it as a wine bottle crafted of delicate gemwork. Opal or sapphire. Curious, he reached through the mirror’s surface and let it fall into his hand, grasping it by the slender neck.

He pulled it through the rippling glass and studied it. It sang with power, raising the hairs on his new arm. Something dark swirled inside, and the sound of a pebble or small gem rattled against the inner surface.

A whisper seemed to come from the jeweled cork, slipping out like vapor. He hel d it closer to his ear. Could this be Ianthe?

Now he heard the voice clearly.

Gammir drew his head away from the crystal and frowned.

“Fool,” he said to the sealed decanter. “How I hate you. If and when she returns, she will belong to me… and only me.”

Without another word he hurled the bottle back through the mirror and watched it spin away into the vast sea of nothingness. Soon the void faded and the mirror stood dull and opaque as before.

He turned away from the Glass of Eternity, cloaked himself in a robe of jeweled shadow, and descended the spiral stairs.

There was still so much to learn, and so much time in which to learn it.