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“Yes.”
Fel decided to lead the conversation where he wanted. “What about my father? What did you know about him?”
Ekateni disappeared for a second, then reappeared in his human form. He had a bitter chuckle. “So much. And yet perhaps so little. He was obsessed with studying, spent all his time trying to understand the nature of magic. See, most magical peoplesusemagic. They have access to it, and use it the way it is. Dragons canmoldmagic, change it, control it. It’s an incredible power, and only the dragon mages can do all that. I don’t think Ircantari did it for power, though. Maybe for the challenge, maybe because of a fascination with the theory of magic, with the nature of things. But it was also because he thought he could make a difference.” His voice choked with emotion. “And why it hurts so much that he’s gone.”
“Do you know what happened?”
He sighed. “Negligence or malice, I do not know. Tzaria and Risomu killed him.”
* * *
River still couldn’t believehis magic was failing him, couldn’t believe he was following one of the Ironhold princes, and couldn’t believe that prince was likely betraying his family in exchange for a vague promise to tell him about creepy magic. No, the worst part was feeling so powerless.
Yes, River could fight, and being an Ancient, would have a natural advantage against a human or two, maybe three or even four, depending on their skills and strength. Still, he had always relied on his magic, and to feel it gone like that was troubling and strange, as if he were no longer fully himself, as if a part of him was missing. Well, it was.
He kept going, doing the only thing he could do for now, which was to follow that prince despite all his misgivings, dreading the idea that he was about to go to the bottom of the chasm where the Iron Citadel stood.
They weren’t quite at the bottom when the prince led him to another set of slim passageways, so slim that they had to walk sideways. River felt the walls pressing against him, feeling suffocated and trapped in that tight passage in enemy territory, with no way to reach his magic.
The corridor ended in a door leading to a bedroom, with a large four-poster bed in its middle, a wardrobe, and a dressing table. The room was lit by sconces on the walls, had large oil paintings depicting fields and flowers, and a light pink carpet on the floor. For human standards, this would probably be a woman’s room, except that there was something strange about it. Well, there was no door other than the small one through which they had entered, and no windows either, so it was more like a prison.
River turned quickly, to see if Venard was perhaps trying to block the door or lock him in, but no. His eyes were sad as he stared at the bed. There were no guards and no apparent threat. Even then, River was watchful. He looked at the bed again, and realized someone was lying there.
He turned to the prince. “Why are we here?”
“My reason. You have to understand my reason.” He approached the bed. “Come. Look.”
It couldn’t be anything good. River took careful steps, shivers running down his spine, even though this was just a bed. When he got close enough, he looked away quickly before disgust took over his senses. No, it couldn’t be. He looked again.
On the bed lay a dead young woman’s body. She was dead, dead, dead, unlike Cassius, who didn’t seem to be breathing, but wasn’t completely devoid of color. There was no fetid smell, thank goodness, as the body had probably been embalmed, but it had been embalmed somewhat late, when the body had already started to decompose.
Venard choked a sob. “I miss her. I want her back.”
From horror, River’s thoughts turned to pity. “Prince Venard. You know that you’ll meet her again. When the time is right.”
Tears ran down the prince’s eyes. “No, I won’t. Do you think me and her, we’re going to the same place? Do you? I’m pretty certain the answer is no. I have to say goodbye.”
Humans from Ironhold and most of Aluria believed in an after-world of many levels, depending on how they lived their lives. It was bizarre that some of them believed in eternal punishment while at the same time acting as if all that existed was power and money. Ancients believed in a cycle of lives, but there was no point in trying to argue with the prince. At the end of the day, these were all conjectures anyway.
River still tried to console him. “You’ll meet her. Eventually you will. What you have on the bed is an empty shell. It will do you no good to try to change that.”
“There’s a way.” He turned to River. “Isn’t there?”
“Not really.” He then felt the force of the deal compelling him to tell him what he knew. “Cassius was re-awakened, yes, but before that, he didn’t seem to be fully dead. I can’t explain it, but it was different. And what I heard from Umbraar was that the fallen men who re-awakened were something else, not themselves.”
Venard sighed. “I don’t care if she’s different.”
“What about your wife?” River knew she had escaped and was with Naia’s brother, but he wanted to understand Venard’s point-of-view.
“I tried. I tried to be her friend. I tried to protect her. I even thought maybe… maybe I could come to like her. Nothing worked, and then my brother…” Venard sighed and looked away. “I betrayed her. I…” He shut his eyes. “I’m glad she escaped, but I wish she had killed him for good.”
This was strange and surprising. So Venard would have liked to see his brother dead? And he was not angry at Princess Leandra. Interesting. But River was still moved by pity, and tried to make the prince see some reason. “There’s no guarantee this new Cassius is your brother, no guarantee he’s the same person.”
Venard rolled his eyes. “I doubt he can be any worse.”
“Things can always be worse.”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
