Evylin furrowed her brow. Even in death, he was unrepentant. “Why you more than anyone else?” she asked.
“I had . . . power,” he wheezed. “I deserved . . . it all.”
Evylin frowned. Was that all that qualified him?
Shaking her head, Evylin sighed. “It never would have been enough.”
Blount coughed again, his body trembling. The Relics around his neck dimmed. “Never...enough,” he whispered brokenly, sky-blue eyes staring up at the painted ceiling. His eyes found the Shepherd King, sword raised on the fields of Estshire above them.
Evylin watched as the light of the Relics fully faded. Deckard’s hand rested on her shoulder. Though she expected relief at Blount’s end, she only felt pity. He’d wanted nothing but the same as her—“more.”
More power, more respect, more love.
Blood pooled around Rouland Blount II, ViceMage of the Order of the Night and momentary King of Wauld and Ephria. The seven Relics lay without life on his chest. His beautiful coatwas riddled with holes. He’d killed, he’d ruled, he’d grasped the greatest power in the world. But it never would have been enough.
“What would be reason enough to live?”
She knew the answer now.
Life was enough. Anything more was a gift.
Leaning into Deckard’s touch, the sudden silence of the room felt oppressive to Evylin. The fight had stopped, the death of Blount proclaiming their victory but at great cost.
“It’s over,” Evylin whispered. “It’s finally over.”
Part IV: The Republic of Allund
That I would never carry this burden has never been my wish.It is a great honor to be granted such responsibilityas the trust of my fellow man.
Quote attributed to Euon Sergus, circa 617
Do not mourn those who can never be forgotten,for they will live eternally.
Nikleby Draaw, fromThe Prince of the Living Wood
One day, Kit, we’ll change the world, you and me.
Ryen Glaas, age eleven, to his cousin, Evylin
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
The moment Blount fell, the fighting ceased. Evylin and Deckard took the Relics from Blount’s corpse, and what Mages and soldiers remained stood down and dropped their weapons.
Ethenn had never been more grateful for a fight to end. His muscles were strained, his mind distracted. Magic had funneled through him, fiercer than ever before. He’d watched helplessly as Ilain’s body was thrown to the marble. He could smell the blood seeping from the wound on her forehead. His heart contracted, but he didn’t allow himself to let his guard down.
Deckard and Evylin approached, Brea and Ethenn stepping up to their side to be their backup. Obel was unconscious, Thom was pale from blood loss, and Vayden was weak with fatigue—both emotional and physical. It was clear by the dubious looks in the eyes of the enemy Mages that they doubted the strength of the troop’s victory.
Ignoring their opponents, Deckard stepped to Thom’s side. He set a hand on his stomach, a flash of bronze and a pulse of the Day Relic fully healing the wound that he’d merely cauterized before. Thom sucked in a relieved breath and hefted his sword.
“All good?” Deckard asked.
Thom nodded, the color returning to his face. “Prime as ever.”
At the display of power, the Mages squirmed. Whether or not they wanted to admit it, Deckard and Evylin’s Bond made them better suited to carry the Relics than Blount. And their strength wouldn’t falter for quite some time, should they be contested. With how few enemies remained in the throne room, the odds weighed heavily in the Bonded couple’s favor.
With a wary eye on the Wauldeners, Deckard beckoned Ethenn and Brea. “Here,” he said, handing them each a Relic: Fire for Ethenn and Wind for Brea.
“We have work to do,” Deckard charged as the Relics transformed into weapons.
