Galiana frowned at Ryne’s demeanor, but his words concerning Ancel eased some of the concern from her mind. “After you.”
The big man turned and strode away, his leather molding to his body like an extra covering of skin. She followed.
“What is this about?” she asked as they cleared the orchard’s edge.
“You.”
Galiana almost missed a step. What could he be referring to? Unless … She dismissed the thought. “What is it about me?”
“Don’t play with me.” He eased the pace and length of his steps until she caught up to him. When she did, he stopped, and stared toward the distant mist-shrouded peaks. “You’ve made an art of hiding who you are.”
This time she did miss a step. Having not released her Matersense, she considered attempting to bind the man, but the earlier futility lent her caution. Besides, for better than a thousand years her deceptions had been perfect. She made her face into an implacable mask, betraying no emotion.
He turned to face her, his eyes jeweled pinpoints, his jaw iron. “When I’d look at you in Benez, I often thought I knew you. I mean other than being High Ashishin Galiana. And I did, Exalted Jenoah Amelie, once White, but now leader of the Gray Council.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Exalted Amelie died some thousand years ago.”
“I thought the same too, until my brother’s essences revealed you.”
Ryne had to be guessing. Sure, the essences here were stronger than those outside. They matched those rumored to have existed back when the first Tribunal made the Iluminus and Damal Adelfried appointed her as Exalted. Wait. Openmouthed, she turned slowly and stared back the way they’d come. The giant construct was still visible. She recognized the face now.
Damal. One of the leaders among the Eztezians, her first mentor and lover. So he did die. She choked up. All these years spent hoping he had managed to save her city. If Damal was dead, then Jenoah, her home, her city, it was ….
Ryne’s words came to her again. His brother. Memories of Damal’s younger brother swept through her; a man full of life and power, destined to become one of the most powerful Eztezians. For reasons unknown, he’d thrown himself at the shade’s armies for countless years since the Kassite sealed away his brother. In the end, with no gods to fight, he’d spearheaded the attacks against his own who’d went mad. During this time, he helped create the Great Divide. After that, he’d vanished like the other Eztezians. She faced him, unable to hide the shock on her face. “Thanairen?”
His voice softened. “That was my name once, but I cast it away after my brother’s death. I flung myself headlong after the Skadwaz, seeking revenge.” For a brief moment, pain flashed across his face, before his expression soured. “Until I found out how he died.”
Jenoah Amelie-no, she couldn’t think of herself by that name now-she was Galiana Calestis. Yet, she remembered that other life, and the events leading up to Damal’s defense of her home. Instead of sending an army of Matii to help Damal, the White and Shadow Councils of the original Tribunal decided the best course was to keep their armies on this side of the Kassite. It began the end of the Tribunal as she knew it. The Ashishin tried to reform their own since, assuming the old name, but the stain of their betrayal to one sworn to protect them tainted the relationships between the councils and the Matii. Since that day, they remained splintered.
To this day, thousands of years later, she still had faith that somehow Damal survived. If she ever surrendered to despair, she would be giving up hope on the world. The memory dredged up old pain and a longing to be by his side that she’d buried time and again.
So many years spent pointing one faction or another toward the Chronicles, all for a chance to breach the Kassite’s seal and find him. A great weight settled on her shoulders. Her age, her lost life, dead lover, failure as a leader, came crashing down. If not for Ryne’s hand grabbing her arm, she would have fallen to her knees.
Something else Ryne said struck her. Galiana pushed away from him. Few lived from Benez who knew her role as High Ashishin. She searched his face, studying the lines of his jaw, removing the scars on his face, imagining him without his Etchings. She gasped.
“You were also Nerian.” She managed in a barely audible whisper. Now she understood why Jerem kept Ryne’s existence, his identity, such a secret. All hope lost, she turned to flee, but again his massive hand on her shoulder stopped her. Slowly, she faced him.
“Yes,” he said, shoulders slumping, his face becoming a cringing mass of anguish.
“Why?” she pleaded. “Why would you do that to your own people? Was it because of Damal?”
He squeezed his eyes tight. When he opened them, his face embodied serenity. “I felt when Damal died, the pain he endured. For years, I dreamt of revenge on the councils, but I had a greater purpose. A purpose given to me by him. His final words to me were that no matter how the gods turned out, the people themselves were still more important. He made me promise to put Denestia first. It’s why I pushed myself so hard in battle for so many centuries after. Until I lost myself.
“My brother knew there were those among the Skadwaz who Amuni had taken for his own. Those he’d given power to match us. Helped by several of the remaining Eztezians, one of them captured me, invaded my thoughts through Manipulation, made me become Nerian. Whoever he is, he used me to help force the following of the Chronicles, as well as for one other task. Only I could release the power stored within the Great Divide. Only I could free the other Eztezians from their prison. You see, we recognized the threat we represented, but at the same time the world would one day need us. So we sealed off our power and locked ourselves away.
“This Skadwaz knew. I assume it must be by development of a Bloodline Affinity. He also used you and the other councils to keep searching out powerful Matii, to spark the wars, to create founts of sela, to feed on your emotions, to feed himself power. Tell me, who is Ancel’s mother? And don’t say she’s a High Shin or some such.”
Galiana cleared her throat, trying to find words. Finally, she said, “She’s my sister.”
“And following the Chronicles that you believed were leading you true, you found a man strong in Eztezian blood, his father.”
She nodded.
“Still there has to be more than that. I see the way Prima reacts to him.”
Galiana let out a long, protracted breath. “He was born in here.”
A stunned silence followed.
“I’ve never been inside before, but somehow she knew of this place. She said a voice told her of its existence. We came to the entrance one day. I couldn’t see it, but I could tell where the power congregated. Only Thania with her Gift was strong enough to pass through.”
When Ryne finally spoke, his voice was low. “She chose this place because of what she thought happened in Benez with her other children. She couldn’t have known what giving birth here meant or would do. Before today, I would say no one knew.” His voice became distant, lost in his assessment. “But whoever led her here did. Using your belief in the Chronicles, they guided her. They hoped to ensure the Eztezian created was powerful enough to break the Chainin. They knew Ancel’s act combined with the power I released from the Great Divide so long ago would unleash Prima into the world.”
Galiana’s mind whirled. For years, she and Jerem had worked with the belief much of the Chronicles were true, or at least predictions of what might occur. What if they were another ploy, similar to the ones the Tribunal already used? Misdirection and deception using man’s tendency to believe in a savior, destiny, in prophecy. She couldn’t believe her gullibility. How could she have not seen this? Had she not done the same when she and the other Exalted first formed the Devout so many years ago? Repeat the same words enough times and eventually it carries a truth of its own. Repeat it in the right places, to the right ears, and one can make people believe. A tightness gripped her chest. “How much of the Chronicles are lies?”