A Memory of Fire (The Dragon War, Book 3) (30 page)

"I wasn't meant to be this
person," she whispered. "I wasn't meant to hold a sword,
to fight, to kill, to torture." She opened her eyes and looked
at Kaelyn through her tears, not knowing why she spoke these words to
this stranger, but unable to stop. "I'm just a ropemaker, but
he made me a soldier. He made me kill so many. And I obeyed him. I
murdered for him. I killed hundreds. And I still hear their
screams." She took a step toward Kaelyn. "How do you
forget? How do you wash the blood from your hands?"

Kaelyn smiled, a sad smile like
a single ray of light breaking through clouds. "I don't think
you can forget. I think you just keep living, and you try to do
good. You try to build with your hands that once swung a sword or
fired a gun. You try to bring life to a world you burned."

A voice spoke behind them from
across the hall, and footfalls echoed.

"And now is the time to
bring life. Now is the time for laying down swords, the time to lift
sickle and loom and hammer. It's time to rebuild this world."

Tilla turned around and saw him
there across the hall, walking toward her.

Rune.

His dark hair fell across his
brow. His scars were fading. He wore a new doublet and cloak, and
his eyes were somber.

My
Rune,
she thought.
The
boy I grew up with. My best friend. My lover. My future king... a
man I no longer know. A man named Relesar. A stranger.

"And will you rebuild this
realm as king?" she asked, and a new sadness filled her. He had
his throne. He had an empire to rule. And she... what did she have?

He reached her. He took her
hands and squeezed them, his grip warm, and his eyes stared into
hers.

"We will rebuild it
together," he said.

She scoffed and her eyes still
stung. "You would have me be your queen? Do you think that's
what I want?" She shook her head. "You are mistaken. I
don't belong in this place. I don't belong up here in this capital
anymore. And nor do you, Rune Brewer." She shook her head,
cursing her damn eyes that would not stay dry. "You're just a
damn brewer's boy."

He smiled and nodded. "That's
all I want to be. Queen? Tilla Roper, if you were queen of Requiem,
the realm would just suffer under another tyrant." He winked.

She growled and tried to pull
her hands free, but he held them tight. "Why do you mock me?
Will you marry Kaelyn then?" Her jealousy flared, and she hated
herself for that too.

He shook his head. "I will
marry you."

She growled. "Damn you,
Rune! I told you. I'm not going to be your damn queen."

"Oh stars, Tilla! You are
dense." He rolled his eyes. "I don't want you to be my
queen, I told you that. And I don't want this throne." He
squeezed her hands. "I want us to go back home—together. I
want you to rebuild Lynport with me."

A stunned silence fell... and
then the throne room erupted.

Everyone began shouting at once.

Kaelyn grabbed Rune's collar and
shook him, yelling that he was the heir, that he had to sit upon this
throne. Valien was emitting that rasp of his, insisting that they
had fought this war for Rune, to return Requiem to his line, to
restore the ancient dynasty of Aeternum. Other resistors all crowded
around, some red with rage, others pale and shaking their heads.

"Friends, please!"
Rune said, tugging himself free from their grasp. "Listen to
me."

Kaelyn was snarling, her eyes
flashing, and she twisted his collar tighter. "You listen to
me, you stupid boy. We fought this war for you. Your forebears have
sat upon this throne for four thousand years—since the days of the
first king. How can you just... just walk away from it?" She
released his collar and covered her eyes.

Again everyone started shouting,
tugging at his clothes, gesturing at the throne, and filling the hall
with echoes.

Only Tilla stood silently
throughout the ruckus. She looked at Rune through the crowd that
came between them. He met her eyes.

There
he is,
she thought and breathed deeply.
There
is Rune Brewer. There is the boy I grew up with. There is the man I
love.

As the others tugged at his
arms, his collar, and his shoulders, Tilla stepped forward, reached
out, and held his hand. She smiled tremulously, and she was with him
again on the beach. They no longer stood here in this throne room,
this place that was foreign to them, this place of gold and marble
and ghosts. In her mind and in his eyes, they were already back
home.

She nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.
She turned to Valien, who was still railing about ancient dynasties,
and touched his arm.

He turned toward her, face red.
"The boy is a fool!" he said, teeth grinding. "Tilla,
will you talk sense into him?"

She sighed. "For the first
time since I've known him, he is making perfect sense. Look around
you, Valien Eleison. We don't belong here. I'm not a soldier. Rune
isn't a king." Seeing him open his mouth to protest, she held
up her hand. "Oh, I know all about his lineage. You've spoken
of it enough. But those are old lines. Look at that throne, Valien.
Is that the throne his father ruled? The Oak Throne of Requiem?
No. Frey burned that ancestral seat. I see only an ivory mockery
that Frey sat upon. Dynasties change. Requiem is reborn, and she is
ready for a new line." She looked back at Rune and she smiled.
For the first time in years, she smiled a warm smile, the sort of
smile that filled one's entire body, that tickled like spring dawn
after winter. "Let him return south with me. You needed him to
rally hearts and win this war. You don't need his silly little
backside to polish some seat." She returned her eyes to Valien
and winked. "That backside of his now belongs to me."

Valien gaped at her, eyes wide,
mouth open, and then something happened that caught Tilla by
surprise.

Valien, the gruff and grizzled
leader of the Resistance, laughed.

It was a creaky laugh, sort of
like a tree thawing after a long frost. Tilla guessed that like her
smile, his laugh was reemerging after long years of slumber. It
started awkwardly, scraping and crackling, then became a deep, joyous
sound. And Tilla laughed too.

She pulled Rune into an embrace.
She held him close and would not release him, and she kissed his
cheek, and she kept laughing. When finally she could laugh no more,
she touched his hair and whispered softly.

"Can we do this, Rune? Can
we rebuild our home?" She lowered her gaze. "Not much is
left."

He
held her in his arms. "
We
are left. And we are together. We can rebuild the whole damn
world."

She pinched his cheek and mussed
his hair. For the first time in many years, she had laughed this
day. For the first time in many years, she was happy.

 
 
ERRY

She stood in the crowd, watching
Valien and Kaelyn's wedding. Or was this their coronation? Erry
couldn't tell and she fidgeted, hopping on her tiptoes and twisting
her fingers behind her back.

"Damn
ceremonies," she muttered under her breath. "Who in the
Abyss gets married
and
crowned on the same day? Too much pomp and too much damn—"

"Shh!" Miya said,
standing at her side. Her younger, taller sister glared down at her.
"Valien is being crowned now, so hush."

Erry grumbled, frowned at the
girl, and grudgingly bit down on her words.

She stood among a crowd of...
stars, it must have been a hundred people. They covered the palace
walls all around her—resistors, city elders, and whatever other
dignitaries Valien had deemed important enough to stand here with
him. And below the walls—maggoty toe juice! Erry's head spun to
see it. A great square spread below; Erry thought it larger than all
of Lynport. Hundreds of thousands crowded down there, maybe a
million. All of Nova Vita had come to see the coronation, it seemed,
filling the square.

Upon these walls where Erry
stood, no more banners of Cadigus hung, nor did they fly from the
tower that rose above. Tarath Imperium had been rededicated. New
banners hung here now. They were deep green, and the silver stars of
Requiem appeared upon them, shaped like a dragon—the Draco
constellation, the forbidden gods now worshiped again.

Miya elbowed her and whispered
from the corner of her mouth. "Erry! You're not watching the
coronation. This is a historical event. Stop gawping at the clouds
and look at Valien."

Erry growled. "You're a
pushy little sister. Remember that you're younger than me, and I can
beat you up."

The
young Tiran's eyes flashed. "You might be older, but I'm
taller. Now hush and
watch
."

With another grumble, Erry
looked up toward Valien. He stood upon the walls perhaps a hundred
yards away, looking down at the crowds. Erry had always seen him
wearing only furs and leathers, but now he wore his old knight's
armor, the steel plates polished to a bright silver. Birch leaves
were engraved on his breastplate, and he bore a new sword, abandoning
his old hunk of steel for a kingly blade. For the first time since
Erry had known him, his beard was trimmed, his hair brushed and neat,
and his eyes bright.

By
the stars, he's actually handsome,
Erry thought and felt her blood heat.
Who
knew?

She turned to look at Kaelyn,
who stood at Valien's side. The young princess had always been
beautiful, even when covered with grime. But now, dressed in an
azure gown, her hair braided and strewn with flowers, Kaelyn looked
fairer than ever, so much that Erry's blood heated further. With her
short hair and scrawny limbs, Erry wasn't sure if she felt jealous of
or awed by Kaelyn's beauty.

Valien
is a lucky bastard,
she thought.

The coronation began.

Rune stepped forth, clad in
green and silver, and he too looked more clean and handsome than Erry
had ever seen him. The last Aeternum approached the newlyweds,
bearing two crowns. When he reached Valien and Kaelyn, they knelt
before him.

He spoke some words; they
flitted into Erry's ears and out again. She did not understand
court-speak. Rune recited some fancy talk about abdi-something the
throne, passing on the torch, and naming Valien Eleison the new king.
He placed the crown upon the man's head, then turned to Kaelyn and
crowned her too, and then spoke some more. He prayed to the Draco
Stars and blessed them.

Erry rolled her eyes and rocked
on her heels. Rune had just memorized the words yesterday. He was
no priest or ruler; he was just the boy from the boardwalk, the boy
she would play mancala with, the boy who brought her food sometimes.
And she was just a dock rat, and Tilla was just a ropemaker. They
were just southern beach children. They didn't belong here. They
didn't need any of this pomp and ceremony.

She sighed.

But
maybe we're no longer those things,
she thought and lowered her head.
Maybe
we did change. Maybe we did grow. Maybe... maybe Rune is wise now,
and Tilla is a warrior, and I... what am I?

She looked at Miya who stood at
her side. The young woman's eyes gleamed as she watched the
coronation. Erry looked past Miya at the tall, golden-skinned man
who stood farther back, a captain of the southern seas.

No,
I'm no longer a dock rat,
she thought.
I'm
a sister. And I'm a daughter.

Her eyes stung and her chest
constricted. The urge to flee welled inside her. She had to escape
this place, to run, to get away, to stop those damn tears from
burning.

She tightened her lips, clenched
her fists, and began to shove back through the crowd. Miya gasped at
her and people muttered, but Erry didn't care. She had to get out.
She couldn't... couldn't bear this anymore, couldn't bear these
feelings that stung her, that felt so warm in her chest.

Let
them have their celebrations,
she thought, worming her way between the people. Trumpets began to
play and singers to sing, but Erry ignored them. She had never
needed anyone. She had always been a lone wolf—on the docks and
here in this city.

She found a staircase and
descended toward a small courtyard, moving away from the music, the
crowds, the flowers, and all those things that still stung, that
still frightened a child grown up in shadows. She walked upon
cobblestones, walls and towers at her sides, finally able to breathe,
to calm her heart. She had always felt most calm in solitude, and
though she had often felt unfortunate as a child, she found herself
missing the beach, the sound of waves, and the company of her
animals. Perhaps that was the only life she truly knew how to live.

She walked along paths and
porticoes. Finally she found a small garden between brick walls.
Several oak trees grew here, surrounding a statue of Frey Cadigus.
Thousands of his statues filled the city; many had been toppled
already, but some still stood, tucked away in small gardens or
courtyards, still watching the city and awaiting their felling.

Erry was about to sit under a
tree when she noticed a figure standing ahead, watching the statue.

Tilla.

Erry froze, not sure how to
proceed. Tilla had once been her dearest friend, but last time she
had seen the woman, Tilla had worn the armor of a legionary, and she
had burned Erry with her punisher; Erry still carried a faded scar
from the attack. Today Tilla wore no armor and bore no weapon. She
stood in a white tunic, a string of seashells around her neck. A
breeze rustled the trees and billowed Tilla's black, chin-length
hair.

She's
staring at the tyrant,
Erry thought.
Does
she still worship him? She has removed her armor, but is her heart
still dark?