Page 20 of Immortal Sentry

Miisov finally raised his voice. “Because you denied fate.”

“How dare you speak to me of fate! Either way, the results were the same. I lost him forever.”

Who were they talking about? Eron shifted to a more comfortable position, mindful of being quiet.

When he heard a soft knock on the door, Eron thought momentarily that someone had discovered him.

“Come in,” Kene called.

The door opened, and Rolf stepped into the room, appearing hastily dressed with his tunic askew. He frowned at Miisov and addressed Kene. “Refreshments, milady.”

“Thank you, Rolf.” How unlike her to talk so to Rolf or to have him attend to her instead of sending for a serving girl. “Put them on my desk and be gone.”

Rolf followed orders, then made a hasty retreat. Eron bet he hadn’t gone far and had hidden at least three knives on his person.

“Tea? Bread and cheese?” Kene asked, her tones more challenging than inviting.

“No, thank you.” Miisov didn’t so much as glance toward the offering. “I know you only extend these courtesies out of duty. Until the full moon, Kene. Use the time wisely.”

Kene wrapped her arms around herself. “There is no dissuading you, is there?”

Miisov gave a bittersweet smile. “I’m afraid in this neither you nor I have sway. The plans were set into motion long ago. Thereis no stopping them. I won't go into other reasons now, but innocent lives are at risk if we don't act.”

Kene ran her hand through her sleep-tousled hair, emitting a resigned sigh. She stared at the floor. Kene, defeated? “So be it, old man. On the next full moon.”

Miisov crossed the room and laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “I know it hurts to say goodbye, but do this for Dafron. For his memory. For what remains of his family.”

“Do not say his name,” Kene forced out through gritted teeth. “You who stood by and let him die.”

Dafron? The crown prince who died along with King Lothan?

“You know I had no control over that.”

“I disagree. But you should see him. Eron, that is. He’s the spitting image of Dafron. All who see him will immediately know his lineage.”

Miisov removed something from inside his robe and placed it in her hand. “Have him keep this with him.” A stone.

Kene turned the stone over in her palm. “What does it do?”

“It contains a glamor to hide his true appearance from anyone who would harm him. Now, I must be going. Time grows short.”

“Agreed. I will do as you ask under protest.”

“Noted.” Crinkles appeared around Miisov’s eyes, and his lips quirked upward in their nest of snowy beard. “Regardless of the circumstances, it is good to see you once more.”

Kene nodded, hair slithering over her shoulder. “You as well, though I wonder what your king might say if he knew his pet mage had once been a notorious highwayman before declaring fealty to King Lothan.”

“I’ll just have to make sure he never knows.” Miisov gripped his staff in one hand and braced the other on the desk. In a timbre nearly too low for Eron to hear, he asked, “Do you still retain your magic?”

Kene raised her hand, palm up. A small blue flame flickered on her palm before she closed her fist, repeating, “I’ll never forgive you for letting Dafron die.”

“I’ll never forgive myself. But you know the price I pay.”

“I think I do, but it isn’t enough. Will never be enough.”

Miisov nodded his shaggy head. “No, it won’t. Keep practicing your magic. You never know when your gifts could prove useful. Fair winds, Elzabai.”

“Fair winds… Father.”

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