"And what of it?" Darius asked. "What is so wrong with death, when it is from fighting for our lives? Would you call what we have now life? Slaving away all day? Cringing at the hand of the Empire?"

Darius's grandfather smacked him hard across the face.

Darius, shocked, stood there, feeling the sting. It was the first time he had ever struck him.

"Life is sacred," his grandfather said harshly. "That is what you and your boy friends have yet to learn. Your grandparents and mine sacrificed so that we should have life. They put up with slavery so that their children, and their children's children, could have a life of safety. And all of the reckless actions of you teenage boys will undo generations of their work."

Darius glowered, ready to argue, not agreeing with anything he'd said, but his grandfather turned his back and s.n.a.t.c.hed a cauldron of soup and crossed the cottage with it, preparing it before a flame. Something Darius's grandfather said made him think. Something clicked within him, and for some reason he had a sudden burning desire to know.

"My father," Darius said coldly, standing his ground. "Tell me about him."

His grandfather froze, his back to him, holding the pot where he stood.

"You know all there is to know," he said.

"I know nothing," Darius replied firmly. "What happened to him? Why did he leave us?"

Darius's grandfather stood there, his back to him, and remained silent. Darius knew he was on to something.

"Where did he go?" Darius pressed, stepping forward. "Why did he leave?" he asked again.

His grandfather shook his head slowly, as he turned. He looked a thousand years older as he did, saddened.

"Like you, he was rebellious," he said, his voice broken. "He could stand it no more. One day, he made a run for it. And he was never seen again."

Darius stared at his grandfather, and for the first time in his life, he felt certain he was lying.

"I don't believe you," Darius said. "You are hiding something. Was my father a warrior? Did he defy the Empire?"

His grandfather stared into s.p.a.ce, as if staring into lost years.

"Speak no more of your father."

Darius frowned.

"He is my father and I will speak of him as much as I wish."

Now it was his grandfather's turn to scowl.

"Then you shall not be welcome in my house."

Darius glowered.

"It was my father's house before you."

"And your father is here no longer here, is he?"

Darius studied his grandfather's face, seeing it in a different light for the first time. He could see how different of a man he was from him. They were cut from different cloths, and they would never understand each other.

"My father wouldn't run," Darius insisted. "He wouldn't leave me. He would never leave me. He loved me."

As he spoke them, Darius for the first time sensed the truth of his words. He sensed also that there was some great secret that was being hidden from him, that had been hidden from him his whole life.

"He would not abandon me," Darius insisted, desperate for the truth.

His grandfather stepped forward, seething with anger.

"And who are you to think you are so great as to not be abandoned?" Darius's grandfather said sharply. "You are just a boy. Just another boy. Just another slave in a village of slaves. There is nothing special about you. You fancy yourself to be a great warrior. You play with sticks. Your friends play with sticks. The Empire, they play with steel. Real steel. You cannot rise up against them. You never can. You will end up dead like the rest of them. And then where have your precious sticks gotten you?"

Darius frowned, hating his grandfather for the first time, hating everything he was and everything he stood for.

"I might end up dead," Darius said back, his voice steel, "but I'll never end up like you. You are already dead."

Darius turned and began to storm from the cottage-but he stopped at the door, turned, and faced his grandfather one last time.

"I am special," Darius said, wanting his grandfather to hear the words. "I am the son of a great warrior. I am a warrior myself. And one day, you, and the entire world, should know it."

Darius, fed up, unable to withstand another moment, turned and stormed from the cottage.

Darius burst outside into the late afternoon light, no longer wanting to see his grandfather's face, to face his lies. He walked quickly out through the back fields, and looked out at the horizon, at all the slaves still filtering back from a day's work. He studied the horizon, the endless sky, lit up in pinks and purples. His father, he knew, was out there somewhere. He was a great warrior. He had risen above all this.

One day, somehow, he would find him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Gwendolyn sat in the cave with the others, before a fire, staring at the flames here in her new home, and feeling hollowed out. It was late at night, most of the others fast asleep, the cave walls punctuated by their snoring and by the crackle of flames. Nearby sat her brothers Kendrick and G.o.dfrey, their backs to the wall, along with Steffen, his newlywed wife, Arliss, Brandt, Atme, Aberthol, Illepra-still holding the rescued baby-and a half a dozen others. At Gwen's feet lay Krohn, his head curled in her lap, fast asleep. She had fed him well all night, all throughout the festivities, and he looked as if he could sleep a million years. Even he was snoring.

Throughout the rest of the endless cave, going so deeply into the mountainside, were hundreds of people, what remained of the Ring, all spread out, all finally sated from the food and wine. They had all come here, led by the village elders, after the long night of festivities, and had been shown their new home. It was a far cry from what she was used to at King's Court, and yet still, Gwendolyn was grateful. At least they were alive, had a place to stay, to rest and recover.

And yet hanging over her like a dark cloud were those words from the seer at the night's festivities, ringing in her ears. Thorgrin, in the land of the dead. If the seer was true, then that meant he was dead. How? she wondered. Somewhere in his search for Guwayne? Eaten by a sea monster? Blown off course? Caught in a storm? Dying of starvation, as she almost had?

The possibilities were endless, and each anguished her to no end as she contemplated them. Each made her want to curl up and die. And with Thor dead and gone, that meant Guwayne was gone to her forever, too.

Gwen stared into the flames and wondered what she had left to live for. Without Thorgrin, without Guwayne, she had nothing. She hated herself for letting Guwayne go on that fateful day on the Upper Isles; she hated herself for the decisions she had made that had led her people to this place. Deep down, she knew she was not to blame. She had done the best she could to defend and save her people from the million attacks on her troubled kingdom that had been left to her by her father. And yet still, she blamed herself. It was hard to feel anything but grief.

"My sister," came a voice.

Gwen looked over to see Kendrick sitting beside her, arms crossed over his knees, face reflected by the flames, somber, tired. His eyes were filled with compa.s.sion and respect, and he wore the look that he always wore when he wanted to console her.

"Not all seers see clearly," he said. "Perhaps Thorgrin returns for you as we speak. And your child with him."

Gwendolyn wanted to believe his words, but she knew he was just trying to console her. The seer's words still rang in her head with more authority.

She shook her head.

"I wish I could believe it was so," she said. "But this is the night of the dead. The night when the spirits speak the truth."

Gwendolyn sighed as she stared into the flames. She wanted his words to be true. She really did. But she sensed they were just the words of a kind brother trying to console her.

Krohn shifted in her lap, whining softly, as if he sensed her sadness. Gwen reached out and stroked his head and offered him another strip of beef. But Krohn would not take it. Instead, he lay in her lap and whined again.

Kendrick sighed. He spoke again, softly, his voice cracked with exhaustion: "I had always taken such pride in my lineage," he said. "I had always known myself to be father's firstborn son. The King's first son. The next in line to rule. Not that I cared to rule. Yet I took pride in knowing who I was in the family. I looked at all of you as my little brothers and sisters, as I still do today. Everyone always said how I looked exactly like Father, and indeed I did. I thought I knew my place in the world."

Kendrick took a deep breath.

"We were young, just kids, maybe ten or eleven, and one day I came home from sparring with the Legion. I encountered Gareth, younger than me, but already looking for trouble wherever he could find it. He was standing there with Luanda, and the two of them faced me, and Gareth uttered the words that would change my life forever: 'You are not our mother's son.'

"I could not comprehend what he was talking about. I thought it was just another one of his schemes, his imagination run wild, another cruel trick. He enjoyed meanness, after all. But Luanda, who never lied, nodded along with him. 'You don't belong in our family,' she said. 'You are not mother's.' 'You are the son of a wh.o.r.e,' Gareth said. 'You are just a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

"Luanda had stared at me disapprovingly. I can still see that look in her eyes today. 'I do not wish to see you anymore,' she said. Then she turned and walked off. I do not know who had hurt me more, Gareth or Luanda."

Kendrick sighed, and Gwen could see the pain on his face as he stared into the flames, reliving the scene.

"I confronted Father, and he admitted the truth. At that moment, my world spun. It all fell into place: Father's never speaking of my being King after him. Others being distant from me; the way the staff looked at me. I never really fit in, and from that day onward, I noticed it everywhere. It was as if I were a visitor in my own home. But not family. Not true family. As if I didn't really belong. Do you know what it feels like? To feel like a stranger in your own home?"

Gwen sighed, pained by his story, overwhelmed with compa.s.sion for him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You did not deserve that. You, of all people. I'm sorry I wasn't there to shield you from that. Gareth and Luanda were cruel as children."

"As they were as adults," he added. "You become more of what you are as you age."

Gwendolyn thought about that, and realized there was some truth to it.

Kendrick sighed.

"I don't need sympathy," he said. "That is not why I tell you this story. It was the worst day of my life; I had been told news from which I was certain I would never recover. And yet here I am. I have recovered. Life is incredibly resilient."

Gwen thought about that in the silence, the crackling flames.

Life is incredibly resilient.

"You're stronger than you think," he added, clasping her hand. "You have overcome tremendous things. And you can overcome anything. Even this. Even whatever has happened to Thorgrin and Guwayne."

Gwen looked back at him, tears falling down her cheeks.

"You are a true brother," she said, and turned away, too choked up to say any more. She squeezed his hand, and in silence, she sent him her grat.i.tude.

"There is the irony," she finally said. "You would have been the greatest ruler of them all. A greater ruler than I have been."

Kendrick shook his head.

"I could not lead in the way you have done," he said. "I could not have survived what you have survived. I might be a great warrior. But you are a great leader. That is something else entirely. Look over there, at the fruit of your labors."

Gwen turned and followed his gaze, and saw the baby girl in Illepra's arms close by, the girl she had rescued on the Upper Isles.

"You s.n.a.t.c.hed that girl from the dragons' breath," Kendrick said. "I'll never forget how brave you were. You, the only one of all of us willing to leave our hiding spot from underneath the earth, to run out there all alone and save that child. She is alive because of you. Because of your valor."

"I was not in my right mind," Gwen said.

"Oh yes you were," he said. "It is precisely moments of crisis that bring out who we are. And that is you."

Gwen, touched by Kendrick's words, looked at the sleeping infant, and she wondered.

"Who do you think her parents were?" she asked.

Kendrick shook her head.

"You are her parents now," he said. "You are her whole world. If nothing else, you have saved this child. You have saved this one life. That is more than most people do in a lifetime."

Gwen stared into the flames, pondering. Maybe he was right. Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on herself. After all, another queen might have given in a long time ago. She, at least, had managed to rescue some of her people, had managed to go on. To survive.

Gwen thought of her father, of what he would have done, what he would have wanted. He was a hard man to know. Would he be proud of her? Would he have done things differently?

It made Gwen think of her ancestors, and she reached down, hoisted the ancient, heavy, leather-bound book sitting by her side and placed it on her lap. It was as thick as ten books, and three times the size, and the weight of it was disarming. She was surprised Aberthol had managed to salvage it from the House of Scholars, to bring it all this way. She loved him for it. She remembered it fondly from her years of study, and having it here now with her was like reuniting with an old friend.

"What is it?" Kendrick asked, looking over.

She reached over, struggling with the weight of it, and placed it in his lap. He looked down in wonder.

"The History of the Empire, in Seven Parts," she said. "It is one of the few books we salvaged, one of the few precious artifacts that remains of our homeland."

He looked at her in awe.

"Have you read it all?" he asked.

"Not all of it," she admitted. "And it was when I was younger."

Gwen turned and called out: "Aberthol!"

Aberthol, dozing, opened his eyes, his back against the cave wall.

"Come here," she said.

He got up lazily, groaning, and made his way over to the fire, sitting down between them, joining them.

"Yes, my lady?" he asked.

"Tell us," she said. "All that talk of a second Ring-is it true?"

His eyes followed hers and they lit up as they focused on the volume in Kendrick's lap.

He sighed.