I lay his bones with care into their final resting place. We close the cairn and seal it tight. The others retreat but Tara and I stand there, just looking at it.
“I have seen this before,” I say softly, touching the whorls with my silver hand. “What does it mean?”
“The triskeles? Many things, depending.” Tara stares at the symbol. “Here? That he was not of this world, but belonged in it. I chose it as a symbol of honour and respect. I may never have spoken to your father, but I know him through his actions and through you. That is more than enough.”
Another lump. I give her a small smile, though she does not see it, her own gaze fixed on a cairn not far away.
“Your father?” I ask.
She just nods.
We walk over. Tara puts her hand on the stone of the entrance, as if caressing it. “He sacrificed himself for me.”
“He was your father.”
She nods slowly. “He was my father,” she repeats softly. “He would have liked you. Gods. He would have loved you for what you did.”
I chuckle. “If he was anything like my father, he would have loved anyone willing to fight for his people.”
“Our people,” corrects Tara absently.
I glance across at her. Nod.
“Our people,” I agree quietly.
RUARC IS BEING HELD IN THE SAME HUT AS I WAS, THATfirst visit to Caer Áras. Secure but clean, not terribly uncomfortable. I am not sure whether to be surprised. He has caused these people so much pain. His orders have killed hundreds of their family and friends, ravaged the countryside.
I know they have not forgiven him. Will pour scorn and contempt upon him when the time comes for his sentencing. But they are not petty. They are better than that, and I am unaccountably proud to be welcome among them.
I am admitted not long before dawn by two guards who give deep, respectful nods to me before they lock the door behind me. I am alone, as Ruarc requested, though Tara was displeased by my acquiescing. I will be cautious, but cannot imagine there is any danger to me.
“Silverhand.” The druid is in a corner, features shrouded in shadow. It isearly, but my arrival clearly hasn’t woken him. His voice is calm. Almost amused, though not mocking in any way.
“How did you guess?”
A low chuckle. “You jest, but it’s hard not to recognise a fellow traveller.” He steps forward, into the light. Ruarc is older than me, but not by as much as I expected—ten years at most, and I only estimate that much from the miles in his eyes. Clean-shaven, dark and lean, muscles toned beneath his tattoos. A single iron torc at his neck, the terminals intricate triskeles, like on my father’s cairn and in Fornax. The symbols glow faintly to my sight. Imbued. His handsomeness is marred by scars stretching along the left side of his face, from cheek to where his ear should be. He touches the mass. “‘The passage to Luceum requires a toll to ensure validity.’ Did you know that’s why the Old Ways state that only the unblemished can rule? Even after all this time.” He shakes his head absently. Conversational rather than bitter.
I stare. Recognising the words before I even register the language. Ancient Vetusian, written above those symbols beyond the Labyrinth. The ones I placed my hands into to try and escape. The ones that cost me my arm.
“Who are you?” I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wasn’t it.
“My name was Caeror.” He says it in Common, harsh to my ears after so long. “I arrived here almost eight years ago, the same way you did.”
It takes me a moment to process it. To translate the words into the language I think in, now.
Then, a chill. I can see the resemblance. “You are Ulciscor’s brother,” I breathe, in Common as well.
Ruarc freezes. Genuinely startled. “You knew him?” The first time he has appeared anything but in control.
“He is the one who …” I trail off, gesturing helplessly at the enormity of trying to explain all the events that led to my coming here. “He sent me to the Academy to investigate your murder.”
A flicker of sadness. Ruarc swallows. Nods as he composes himself. “Yes. Well. I assumed the other versions of me never made it. I was never able to do anything like that.” He gestures to my glinting arm. “I am fortunate, in many ways. If they had survived, I may never have learned the truth. I would have been hunted. As I had to do with you.”
He lets the last part hang.
“Why?” I don’t bother to hide my frustrated confusion at the confession. “And why just give yourself up, now, after all of this?”
“I surrendered because everything has changed. One of your counterparts has made a terrible mistake, Silverhand, and it became imperative that we speak. No matter the cost to me.” He puts his hands to his throat and removes his torc. Holds it out to me. “As for the rest? Answers, if you would have them. The truth behind the war we are fighting, and the reasons for what I had to do. For what must yet be done.”
