Judge (36 page)

The soft inflection in the king’s words, and that reverent pause, set Kien on edge. Akabe admired Ela? In what manner?

Kien vanquished his jealousy. Or, to be honest, he caged it like a snarling beast, then mentally retreated to a safe distance. Infinite, don’t let me rush to judgment! Help me.

He must speak to Ela.

Four days after the battle, as they tried to walk Jess to sleep in the shadow of Parne’s wall, Kien complained to Ela in a whisper, “Where
do
you find your chaperones?” Matron Prill, marching a strict three paces behind them, was more cold-eyed and vigilant than Tamri Het in East Guard.

Beatific, a near-perfect image while cuddling her baby brother in her arms, Ela murmured, “My chaperones find me. The Infinite sends them.”

Of course You do, Kien grumbled to his Creator. And, I confess, You are right to have me watched. Won’t You answer me concerning my wish to marry Ela? Is this Your will or not?

He could only presume that the Infinite’s silence meant neutrality. And if their Creator was impartial in the matter, then Kien meant to pursue Ela until he was certain that his pursuit was hopeless. Really, his self-control was being severely tested right now, being this close to Ela. He wanted nothing more than to snatch up his little prophet and run away with her.

The idea prompted a swarm of improper thoughts, difficult to fight off. Kien put his hands behind his back and kept them clasped there as he continued to walk with Ela. He almost heard Prill’s silent wish to tie his wrists together. Wise woman.

“Anyway,” Ela continued, a bit louder, “I love Prill. We’ve been through so much.”

There. His opportunity. “Speaking of love, my sister said that you admitted you love me.”

“Not in so many words!” Ela hissed, delightfully feisty.

“Oh? Then deny you love me.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it and sighed. In her arms, little Jess hiccoughed, still awake.

Kien grinned at the baby, but spoke to Ela. “You love me, yet you still refuse to marry me.”

“Nothing’s changed.” Ela patted her brother’s back, a bit too quickly. “I can’t marry you or anyone. I’m too distracted by my responsibilities as a prophet to be a proper wife—too busy almost dying every time I turn around!”

She released a frustrated puff of a breath and nodded toward the thin, violet-red slash on her left bicep. “I’m amazed I’ve escaped with so few scars. Kien, Parne hated me enough to threaten anyone who befriended me. I can’t ask that of you.”

“You asked it of Prill,” Kien pointed out.

“I didn’t ask her. The Infinite sent Prill, and she offered—”

“I’m offering,” he countered gently. “And if the Infinite didn’t send me your way, then I’m seriously deluded, and you need to pray for me. You must admit that He introduced us.” He leaned toward Ela, determined to coax agreement from her. Behind them, Matron Prill cleared her throat. Killjoy. Kien straightened. “Will you go to Siphra?”

“Yes. My family and friends have decided to settle there.”

Beneath his breath, Kien argued, “Marry me! Come with me to the Tracelands instead!”

“Kien, please don’t make this so difficult for me. I’ve given you my answer. I can’t—”

“There!” he interposed, smiling, keeping his plea low to prevent Chaperone Prill from overhearing. “If it’s difficult for you to dispute marrying me, then my case has merit. Quite promising, actually! Pray, as I have been praying, and I’ll ask again later.”

She breathed out a sound of exasperation, but didn’t seem wholly irritated with him. Watching her bite her lip, he was sure she’d covered a smile. A small victory. Even so, best to not risk his advantage. Changing tactics, he whispered, “Please. Just consider
what I’ve said. Meanwhile I’ll write you a long letter—as soon as I’ve thought of new arguments to wear you down.”

“I’d rather you not . . .” She stopped. A tiny frown etched between her eyebrows. “Letter? You mean to say you’re leaving immediately?”

“See? You already miss me.” Before she could reply, he said, “I’m leaving for East Guard as soon as possible to turn myself in before I’m summoned like a criminal. It’s to be a nonverbal proclamation of my good intentions and, hopefully, my blamelessness.”

“What!” Her openmouthed shock delighted him and startled the baby.

Unable to hold back his smile, Kien said, “I’m elated by your obvious concern.”

Ela jostled her brother lightly, soothing him. “Of course I’m concerned! What do you mean—before you’re summoned like a criminal?”

“I’ve had a few adventures while you were in Parne, and the Tracelands is about to demand explanations.”

“Adventures? In ToronSea?”

“ToronSea was the beginning. I failed, dear prophet. Completely.” It was a relief to tell her every unexaggerated, wretchedly honest detail. His condemnation. Becoming sea-beast bait. The Infinite’s mercy. And his endless warnings in Adar-iyr, followed by that city’s submission. While Ela stared, Kien asked, “It’s all rather prophet-like, don’t you think?”

Ela’s pace slowed. When she finally spoke, her words were laced with the threat of tears. “Adar-iyr listened to you. . . . Think of all the souls saved! Why couldn’t Parne have reacted the same way?”

He should have realized Ela would compare Adar-iyr’s repentance with Parne’s defiance and see herself as a failure. Stupid, Lantec! “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She sniffled, wringing his heart in the process. “I’m glad for Adar-iyr.”

He wanted to distract her. Tell her about Akabe, Maseth, and the disastrous royal bequest of Aeyrievale. But now the baby was dozing in Ela’s arms. And Bryce was walking toward them from the encampment, carrying what appeared to be an official packet, which Kien guessed he should ignore. Moreover, Scythe had somehow escaped his leash. The destroyer merged behind Kien and Ela now, breathing on them. Clearly, their walk was at an end.

Beyond Scythe, blocked from sight by the destroyer’s massive body, Matron Prill grumbled, “Shoo! Go away!”

Kien smoothed Scythe’s gleaming black neck. “Don’t listen to her. You stand right there like a good monster-horse.” Matron Prill couldn’t see anything but Scythe’s formidable self, Kien was sure. And neither could anyone else. He wiped Ela’s tears, then slid his arms around her. Mindful of the baby, Kien bent and kissed Ela, his self-control endangered by desire. Her lips against his were delectably tender, her skin so petal-soft and sweet that he could linger with her forever.

Before Ela could work up a protest, Kien stepped back. But he caressed one last tear from her cheek and whispered, “I love you! We’ve been through so much together! And, perhaps more than any other man alive, Prophet, I understand your role and honor it. Pray! Think about what I’ve said, and wait for my letter. Please.”

Dazed, Ela watched Kien lead Scythe away. How dare he be so . . . persuasive? She licked her lips—just a hint—still tasting his kiss and longing for another.

Forget being a prophet! She twitched, ready to hand Jess to Matron Prill, then run after Kien.

But Prill caught her sleeve now, furious. Ready, Ela hoped, to talk angry chaperone-sense until these unprophetly thoughts dispersed.

“You’d best never allow that man such liberties again,” Prill huffed. “Or you’ll have to marry him, Ela Roeh, mark my words!”

Oh, Prill. Not helpful in the least. Ela adjusted the drowsing Jess in her arms and kissed his curls. She must stop thinking of Kien.

Destroyer hoofbeats echoed off Parne’s wall. She looked toward the sound and felt a hit of disappointment. Jon. Not that Jon was dreadful, but he wasn’t Kien.

Jon dismounted from Savage and fell into step beside Prill, though he spoke to Ela. “How are you feeling?”

Ela shrugged. “All right.” She was about to ask Jon why Kien would be summoned to East Guard, but Jon was already talking.

Gently, as if fearing he’d hurt her, he said, “Ela, you ladies must return to camp. We’re pulling everyone back for their own safety. Parne is empty. Everything’s set and the Siphrans are preparing to destroy the city.”

 37 

S
tanding at a distance from Parne with the other survivors, clutching both the branch and Jess, Ela watched vast gaps open in the wall. Parne was being shattered by its own ores, reducing the traitorous Atean shrines to dust.

Pain tightened around Ela’s throat like a noose and tears spilled down her cheeks, but she forced herself to watch. To face her sentence.

She, Parne’s prophet, stood as guilty as the Atea-lovers for failing to recognize her city-state’s fatal corruption. Verses from the Book of Praises slid into her thoughts.

Declare them guilty, Infinite, for their intrigues have ruined them. . . .

The temple, now cleared of its treasures—she would not think the word
looted
—fell amid billowing towers of smoke. Explosions shattered its white columns, then brought down the temple’s gilded dome. Parne’s crown.

By Your love, my Creator, I may approach Your house. . . .

Never again. “Oh, Infinite!” She couldn’t prevent the tears. “What will happen to Your people who love You?”

Kalme hugged Ela now, crying quietly. Behind her, Prill sobbed aloud.

As Ela watched the clouds of smoke and the walls of flames consuming homes, His voice whispered in her thoughts.

I consider the exiles sent from this place as righteous. For their good, I watch over My people. Tell them to build homes in their new land and be content. I remember and love them still.

She willed herself to rest in His words. And in the temple she now saw in her thoughts, yet unbuilt, above the white-arcaded homes of Siphra.

Bowing her head over Jess’s soft black curls, Ela prayed.

And the branch gleamed in her hand, offering its silent promise of reconciliation.

General Rol stood as Kien entered his residential meeting chamber. “You received the summons.”

“Yes.” Kien opened his money pouch and removed the small parcel Bryce had given him outside Parne. “I haven’t unsealed it, but that hardly matters. I’d hoped to leave Parne before it arrived.”

Rol glared at the formal blue-wax-sealed parchment. “Recessed or not, they’ve wasted no time in sending it.” Concerned, he asked, “What are your plans, my boy?”

“To defend myself before the Grand Assembly, then deal with the aftermath.”

The general turned and looked out the nearest window. “Yesterday, I received a missive from Thel’s subordinate-commander, Selwin.”

“I’m sure you did, sir.”

“You will tell me every detail,” Rol ordered. “However slight, I want to hear it. But first, we’ll take a walk.”

“A walk, sir?”

Rol turned from the window, suddenly testy. “Yes, Lantec. A walk. Fetch your destroyer to my front courtyard.”

Why? Kien restrained himself and went outside. He unleashed Scythe from the chaining block in front of the general’s residence and led him through the gate, into the main courtyard. “Best
manners,” Kien reminded the monster. “No biting, no licking, no eating. Do you hear me?”

Scythe grunted.

Rol waited in the courtyard, clad in muddy boots and an old cloak. “Out to the pasture.” He marched alongside Kien as if on a mission. What was wrong?

“How is Ela?” the general demanded. “Tell me she survived.”

“She survived, sir. I believe she’s now traveling to Siphra with the other Parnian refugees.”

“Good.” Rol sounded grimly pleased. “I’ll send word to her chaperone. Tamri Het will be glad to return to Siphra and resume her duties, I’m sure.”

“Yes, sir. But Ela is already surrounded by chaperones.” Her parents and Prill were enough.

“Hmph! Chaperones aren’t fail-safe, and I have proof.” The general halted at a stone-arched reinforced gate leading into his private pasture. He motioned Kien and Scythe inside, closed the gate behind himself, then released a sharp, impressive whistle. “Flame, come here!”

The general’s destroyer was already approaching from the opposite side of the pasture. Dark and elegant as a destroyer could be, she nickered a low greeting.

Scythe answered her—a summoning call.

General Rol scowled at Kien. “Well? Notice anything different about my destroyer?”

Unnerved, Kien studied Flame. Well. “She’s, um . . . larger.” Bulging at the middle, actually. Kien eyed Scythe. “Is there something you’d care to confess?”

Scythe moseyed off to greet Flame with a nudge. She responded with a nip to his neck, then stood with him. Together, they appeared for all the world like a settled married couple.

The general cried, “I knew it!”

Kien coughed, trying to disguise a laugh.

Rol seemed almost sincerely disgruntled. Almost.

Father stormed through Kien’s tower room, shaking his head. “I blame myself. My enemies are trying to attack me by destroying your career!”

“You weren’t in Siphra or Parne, sir,” Kien argued, wishing Father would sit with him at the writing table and calm down. “You’ve no need to condemn yourself for my actions.”

“And you’ve not been in East Guard!” Rade Lantec snapped. “Now, I’ve already submitted a formal request to delay your trial. You’ll meet with my advisors next week, and . . .”

No! He didn’t want a delay. Kien abandoned his writing table, hoping to conceal his frustration. Father meant well. But the more Rade talked, the more Kien realized he would be battling political maneuverings as much as legal charges. Not good.

Infinite, give me patience!

By the time Father left Kien alone in the tower, Kien was too unsettled to continue preparations for the trial. He dropped into the chair before his writing table, deciding to finish his letter to Ela instead. He would send it to Jon to give to Ela. He’d already detailed Siphra’s former ambassador Ruestock’s meddling in the Siphran royal court. And Maseth’s assassination attempt and death. Then Akabe’s disastrous gift of gratitude—Aeyrievale. And Selwin’s official disapproval.

Onward. Kien picked up his reed pen, tapped it within the ink jar, and continued.

To present my case before the Grand Assembly, I’ve gathered evidence against myself. Matters do not look promising.

Too dramatic? No, it was the truth. And if the truth inspired Ela’s sympathy for him, why not?

If I am condemned and censured— Never mind, the thought is too worrisome to consider. Therefore, I’ll ignore it until later.
Another more critical cause concerns me. Before you left East Guard last spring, you observed that I would never give up pursuing you.

Who am I to argue with the Infinite’s prophet? Particularly the most adorable prophet ever to live? You are correct.

Again, the truth—and surely no surprise to Ela. Why argue? He must challenge her instead.

For as long as we both draw breath—and if I am allowed to walk free, or walk at all, after my trial—I will persist until you change your mind. Unless, of course, the Infinite wills otherwise.

My love, don’t fear a future you cannot see. Instead, we ought to meet life together! By the way, I still ascribe to my theory that you cannot see my future because it is too intimately entwined with your own.

Let her blush as she had the last time he’d suggested this thought. Kien grinned and continued.

In closing, remember: The first trait I admired when meeting you—apart from your lovely face and form—was your courage. And your courage never fails you in anything but this, dear Prophet. Therefore, reconsider. And pray!

I dare you.

Please write to me! I’ll need your wisdom in the months to come.

She’d be unable to resist that plea, he was sure.

Kien signed his name without a flourish, sealed the note, then
looked around his boyhood room. Still restless. Disturbed, actually.

Infinite? What if I lose? What if I’m condemned?

He could almost feel amusement in the Infinite’s response.

Who are you?

Basic question, but loaded with snares. Kien stood and paced until the most basic answer struck him. Could it be so simple? “I am Your servant.”

Who am I?

“My Creator.”

What will change if you are condemned by mortals?

“My mortal circumstances.” But not his eternal one—the undeserved favor he’d found with his Creator. And, if the Infinite was speaking to him now . . . “Won’t You tell me Your will regarding my possible marriage with Ela?”

Silence. But comforting neutral silence. Giving Kien reason to hope.

Kien sat at the table again, staring at the heap of legal documents. “I wish You were my Judge in this coming trial. You know my heart.” You love me.

He couldn’t speak those last three words aloud. Too overwhelming. Particularly remembering all his failures.

Humbled by the Infinite’s mercy, His love, Kien said, “So whatever happens, I will continue, despite my faults, as Your obedient servant. In everything.”

He removed fresh parchment from his writing box and checked his ink.

Reliving every word, Kien wrote,

In the third month before the fall of Parne, the Infinite spoke to His servant and said, “You will go to ToronSea. . . .”