Page 148 of The Cruel Dawn
“I knew what was expected of me, but I still did what I wanted without considering the consequences.”
Recklessness.I suppose you could call it that.
“I regret that you became a target of zealots,” he says. “Back then, the Crusaders were a small sect within the Mera, but they were still powerful. So powerful that Mera throughout the realms believed that the Crusaders would do as they threatened to do—travel the Aetherium and kill all those with mixed blood.”
Father takes my hands. “That’s why Sybel helped to raise you. We needed to keep you away from those fanatics. So we sent you back and forth between Ithlon and Vallendor and surrounded you with the Raqiel until you protested against that much protection.”
“I remember.” The tears come, and I can no longer see the clouds above or the fields before me. I close my eyes, and instead I see the woman with hair the color of mulberries and cinnamon, with eyes like ice and smoke.
“There are just two dawns left,” Father says now, “and I came to bring you this.” He presents me with a dagger. “She belonged to your mother.”
In my dream of the Ithlon shore, this knife was stolen by a raven.
The dagger’s slightly curved, polished steel blade is faintly blue-tinted, reflecting the sky. Etchings of flowers and vines embellish the blade, and the cross-guard spreads like wings. It’s a perfect gift from a warrior to his healer love.
I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t deserve it.”
“She brought it with her that day to the beach,” he says, examining the blade, “just in case the Crusaders found us and we needed to fight.”
“But the Crusaders didn’t end her life,” I say. “Idid, and I can never apologize enough for my arrogance, but I will again. I am so, so sorry, Father. Please forgive me.”
“I forgave you long ago.” He places his strong hand against my cheek. “I know you’d been encouraged by men who’d secretly become Crusaders.”
My heart hammers in my chest. I’d been so gullible.
He shrugs, sighs, and finds a smile. “But that was then, and this is now.” He holds out the dagger. “You have her hair—and now, take her blade, Kaivara.”
With a shaky hand, I do as he asks. I turn it over.Light.
I don’t deserve this gift.
I take a deep cleansing breath, then release it slowly. “Did Mother ever use this dagger?”
“To aid in her stewardship, she did.” His smile broadens, and his gaze becomes distant. “I tried my best to teach Lyra how to use it to fight, but fighting wasn’t in her nature, and she sent it back to me to hold on to for you.”
My anger swells, pushing past the warmth of his nostalgia. “Was love not inyournature? Love for her or for me? There aren’t enough Eserime in the sixty-seven thousand realms to heal—”
“Seventy thousand realms.”
Wow.I’m determined not to let him get away with changing the subject. “There aren’t enough Eserime in theseventy thousandrealms to heal the rift between us, a rift thatyoucaused by your choice.”
“My first priority was to keepyousafe,” he whispers. “Your mother agreed with me, and she understood that meant we had to be apart.”
“You both agreed, then, to surrender to fear,” I say as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“If that’s what love is, then…yes, we surrendered.” He catches my teardrop with his knuckle. “This—” He motions to the bead of salted water he now holds. “This tenderness is all Lyra. She loved you, and I love you, and we protected you, and we gave you everything you would’ve enjoyed had you been allowed to be with me.
“And then, when it was time, I petitioned the Council of High Orders for you to claim your birthright. The Council had one stipulation: that you would train in the Mera way, in combat and destruction. But try as I did, and despite what the Mera wanted, you were still also Eserime and…” He sighs and rubs his temples. “It was just a matter of time before…”
“Before what?” I ask.
He stares out at the plains rather than looking at me. “Before your occasional failures. You felt too much at times and not enough at other times. Then and now, you’re still gaining wisdom, developing your skill in combat, developing empathy… You’re learning how to face your weaknesses and acknowledging the pain you cause.”
“That’s just showing fear, and it’s why I keep failing.”
“It’s time you learned that what you must master is not fear,” Father says, his eyes narrowed. “Everyone wants to rule the realm, but no one wants to first rule themselves. That fear you speak of—and your ability to accept it—is how you come closer to the state Supreme desires. Being a good ruler, atrueleader, requires listening to good counsel, and it requires that you care and love those who rely on you, whether they honor you or not. Sometimes, that feels like failure.Feelingmeans, though, that you still care.”
I hold his wisdom in my heart. There, those words ache and sting, a bitter tonic that burns as I drink it. I suspect I had an inkling of this all along, but hearing his words forces me to see that it’s his wisdom lodging in my mind and heart like a physical sensation. That burn fades, leaving behind a deep warmth—a peace mixed with sorrow.
