To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1)

by Claire Frank

  The gangplank creaked under their feet as they boarded the Lady Violet. Cecily went aft to see to their cabin. Daro stayed on deck, enjoying the open air despite the cold. He hardly felt the chill in the air; the deep pool of energy within kept him warm. He hadn’t even donned a cloak. The wound his implant had left behind itched and he reached up to scratch at his bandage.

  Cecily came back to stand next to him and leaned her head on his arm. He placed his hands on the side of the boat, his breath coming out in a cloud, and savored the feeling of his wife at his side. A torrent of energy still ran through him, the voices called out, and his mind felt disorganized. But he took comfort in her, and the knowledge that she was taking him home.

  45. CHOICES

  Cecily tucked her silver necklace under her tunic as Daro wrapped her burgundy cloak around her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her throat. She brushed her hair back from her face and slipped her fingers into her supple leather gloves. They were in their room at the Float in East Haven, a cozy suite on the top floor with a four-poster bed topped with a soft handmade quilt.

  “Where are you going?” Daro asked and touched his fingers to her cheek. His hands were warm.

  “Probably to the bakery,” she said. “I just need to get some fresh air.”

  He kissed the top of her head and smiled, then reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His eye twitched, and he blinked hard before rubbing it with his knuckle. He lay back on the bed and let his head drop onto the pillows. Cecily was growing accustomed to looking at his strange eyes, and they had spent long days at the Float, doing nothing but lying in each other’s arms. She relished the feel of him, breathing in his familiar scent, and basked each night in the knowledge that he would be there, lying next to her when she awoke.

  Their trip up the Bresne River had gone without incident. Daro had been quiet and kept away from the other passengers, but she could hardly blame him. They spent most of the trip locked away in their cabin and both looked forward to a brief stay at the Float before making the trip home. Their brief stay had lengthened, however. They’d been in East Haven for weeks.

  Daro sucked in a quick breath and Cecily glanced over at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked and picked up her small wicker basket.

  He rubbed his hands down his face, but smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  She left their room and made her way downstairs, through the common room and out onto the pier. A light snow fell, dusting the world with a brush of white. The river meandered lazily by, too deep and wide to succumb to ice, even in the dead of winter. She drew in a deep breath and let the cold air rush through her nose. The crisp, fresh air felt good, cold as it was. She was probably spending too much time shut up in their room.

  She wandered down the street and kept her cloak wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her black boots kicked up the powdery snow as the chill air bit at her skin. The streets were almost empty; a few people scurried by, unwilling to loiter in the cold. Something tickled at her attention as she approached the bakery and she glanced over her shoulder. Two Imaran men stood outside a shop up the road. They wore thick hooded cloaks, but their tall stature and thick builds marked their heritage. She had seen them several times in recent days and couldn’t get over the feeling that they were watching her. Shaking her head, she told herself it was just her imagination.

  As she pulled open the door to the bakery, she savored the warm smell of freshly baked bread. She kicked the snow from her boots and smiled at the baker. His head was shiny bald and he wore an apron smudged with puffs of flour.

  “Back again?” he said with a warm smile.

  “My husband has grown rather fond of your apple tarts.”

  He wiped his hands on a towel. “He must have indeed. You are a good wife, braving the cold to come here for him.”

  Cecily shrugged. “They make him happy.”

  Since they’d left Halthas, Daro’s moods had become unpredictable. He was often warm and affectionate, speaking to her in quiet tones and touching her with a gentle hand. But his mood could turn and he would drift into listlessness and distraction. He often woke in the night, covered in sweat and breathing hard. He wouldn’t speak of his nightmares. The Paragon had urged them to remain in the city so the Lyceum’s Serum Shapers could help him, but Daro had been adamant they go home. Cecily was beginning to wonder if they had made the right choice.

  She paid the baker and tucked the tarts into her basket before heading back out into the cold. A few lonely snowflakes drifted from the clouds and the buildings were crusted with frost. Daro wouldn’t mind if his pastries weren’t hot, so she took her time, wandering through the shallow snow toward the river. Her cloak kept her warm enough and she thought the fresh air, and time alone, would do her some good.

  There were benches by the river, surrounded by a stand of thick trees, just a short walk from the Float. She brushed off the dusting of snow and sat, tucking her cloak around her. She set her basket down, took a letter out of her pocket, and carefully unfolded it. The words were scrawled on crisp cream-colored paper, the letters smooth and precise.

  Lady Cecily,

  Please accept my personal thanks for your role in stemming the tide of disaster that threatened the Lyceum and our fair city. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. Had you and your respected companions, along with our gracious sovereign, not stepped in, the damage from Nihil’s attacks could have been far more extensive.

  I realize your relationship with our hallowed institution has been strained in the past. Under the former regime, you were expected to use your particular talents for nefarious purposes. As previously buried truths have come to light, I have realized your decision to leave the Lyceum of Power may not have been the flight of fancy of a lovestruck youth. I regret the rift that has formed between you and the Lyceum and I wish to extend the invitation to restore that relationship.

  You know better than anyone the danger Nihil’s experiments pose to Halthas. He may be gone, but the Wielders he altered are at large, and this is a situation that is of grave concern to both the Lyceum and the Crown.

  I will also be forthright and tell you the Lyceum of Power was all but ruined by Nihil’s assassins. They struck repeatedly and ruthlessly and we lost many good men and women. Thus far, we have managed to maintain the dignity of our institution to the public at large. The Magisters of the Lyceums of Vision, Stone, Blood, and Seed have all expressed their deep concern over this breach and there is a hole in our power that I cannot deny.

  It is my hope that you will strongly consider returning to Halthas, when you are ready, and join us in rebuilding our honored establishment. I respect your need to withdraw to care for your husband as he recovers from his ordeal, but I implore you to consider a future here, at the Lyceum of Halthas.

  With Respect,

  Paragon Windsor

  She clutched the letter between her gloved fingers. She knew the Lyceum was in a difficult position and it was a relief to feel as if they were no longer her silent enemy. The Paragon’s words tugged at her, calling forth images of a future she had thought impossible. I implore you to consider a future here. It was strange to imagine a different life, living in Halthas, working for the Lyceum. There was much that was tempting about the Paragon’s offer, but it brought forth doubts as well. Would she have to live amongst high society, socialize with her family? Even if she wanted to go, would Daro agree?

  Shivering, she picked up her basket and set it in her lap, letting the heat from the fresh pastries warm her. The tip of her nose burned with cold but she wasn’t ready to go back to their room. She glanced down at the letter, and her thoughts drifted to Pathius. She could still see him as he stood over Nihil’s body and looked at her as if he wished to speak. There had been such pain in his eyes.

  She didn’t understand why she felt anything for Pathius. When his father was still king, she had barely known him. He was the face of a future she didn’t want, but wasn’t sur
e how to escape. For years, she had believed him dead. If Nihil had done this much damage to Daro after months of captivity, what must he have done to Pathius over the course of those years? She shuddered at the thought.

  The idea of Nihil’s Wielders wandering through the kingdom was enormously troubling. Rogan and the Paragon were actively searching them out, but she didn’t know if they were having any success. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t their fight. She and Daro had done their part and they were going home. He had been through enough.

  But the more she watched Daro, the more her sense of unease grew. She was filled with relief and gratitude to have him back, but he wasn’t the same man who had set out for Halthas last summer. Nihil had altered him, and no amount of love or warm food was going to repair the damage. She and her companions had fought so hard to get him back. She wasn’t sure what Daro needed to heal, but she knew she was going to find it.

  She may have her husband back, but she was starting to realize she couldn’t take him home. Not yet.

  46. WATCHING

  Pathius ducked between the buildings and melted back into the shadows. The ground in the tight alleyway was dry, the tops of the buildings leaning toward each other, blocking the flakes of snow. He hung back, hardly daring to breathe, as his gloved hands pressed into the walls on either side.

  Cecily emerged from a building across the street and pulled her fur-lined hood over her head. She carried a basket at her hip and the hem of her cloak swished through the shallow snow as she walked down the quiet street toward the river.

  He waited and peeked his head around the corner as snowflakes drifted into his hair. When she was almost out of sight, he stole from his hiding place and pulled his cowl down low. The cold air brushed his face. He was still unaccustomed to the absence of his mask. How many years had he worn it? He didn’t know.

  He followed her toward the pier, thinking she was returning to her inn, but she turned down a footpath that led to the river’s edge. Turning up another street, he hoped to circle around so as to stay out of sight. He emerged further upriver and peered around a building’s edge. She sat on a bench near the flowing water, holding something in her hands.

  Pathius crept toward the bank and stole close enough to feel the sheen of her energy, a smoldering warmth that called to him. A raw hunger grew inside him, a desire for something he couldn’t name. It crept into his thoughts and lurked in his dreams. He slid behind a tree, pressed his hand to it, and pulled energy from within the towering timber. He felt the edge of hunger soften. But Absorbing energy from the things around him didn’t satisfy the craving that had taken root. He wasn’t sure what would.

  Cecily picked up her basket and set it in her lap. Pathius crouched down and leaned forward to look at her. He wondered what would have happened if he had never Absorbed the energy from Fourteen that day in the courtyard. He should probably call him Daro now. He would never have developed this strange affection for Daro’s wife. He would have killed Cecily in Wesfell. She wouldn’t have lived to rally the new king, nor the Paragon, to fight against Nihil. No one would have marched on Nihil’s compound and Pathius would still be masked, answering to a number instead of his name.

  He reached back and scratched at the scab where his implant had been. It had come loose when Daro had crushed Sindre’s medallion and killed her. It fell out of his neck, leaving a bloody wound behind. His only regret from that day at the Lyceum was that Sindre hadn’t died at his hands. He pacified his irritation by remembering the satisfying feel of Nihil’s energy as it poured into him, his body withered and frozen, falling to the floor.

  But it wasn’t gratitude for his freedom that made him follow Cecily across the kingdom. He didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t explain it, even to himself. Daro’s deep love for his wife had been so ingrained in his soul, a piece of it had bled into Pathius when he Absorbed Daro’s energy. And now he couldn’t get rid of it.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  He knew he couldn’t follow Cecily forever. Every day he told himself it would be the last, he would tear himself away and go. But when he thought about where, a great barrenness stretched out before him. Where would he go? He had no life to return to. His father was dead, the throne in the hands of a new king. What life was left to him now?

  Number Four waited for him at the edge of town, hunkered down in a room at a cheap inn. The man still couldn’t tell Pathius his name. Pathius wasn’t sure if it was because he was afraid, or because he truly didn’t remember. Perhaps he would have to help him choose a new one.

  He thought about the others who had suffered at Nihil’s hands. They had scattered after Nihil’s defeat. Only Number Four had waited for him, the rest disappearing into the city, and beyond. He had no doubt Rogan and the Lyceum would hunt them down, one by one, killing them like rabid animals. It was only a matter of time before someone came for him. Perhaps that held the answer to his quandary.

  If they were going to survive, they would have to do it together.

  THE END

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  The story continues in An Altered Fate: Echoes of Imara Book Two

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed To Whatever End, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever you hang out online, to help others decide if they would like it.

  You can find maps, concept art, and depictions of the series in Lego (yes, Lego!) on my website at clairefrankbooks.com.

  I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my website, or find me on Facebook and Twitter.

  Until next time…

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For David. Always have.

  First and foremost, to my husband David. This book is the result of many hours of brainstorming, world-building, note taking, idea-bouncing, discussing, and even a bit of arguing. Thank you for challenging me to think through the difficult parts, for tugging on each thread of the story to make sure it wouldn’t unravel, and for sharing your endless stream of ideas. Without you, this story never would have been written. The time spent with you, planning, plotting and bantering ideas has been amazing and I look forward to many more stories to come.

  To the beta readers who shared their valuable time - Dan Bogh, Jane Brooks, Alice Finch, and Josh Wedin. Your insight, comments, and criticisms were immensely helpful. The time you so generously spent pouring through that first draft has done an enormous amount to help me grow as a writer and make this book far better than it would have been without your thoughts.

  To Trevor Smith, responsible for the stunning cover. Thank you for putting up with my pickiness and requests for changes, and for bringing Cecily to life.

  To Eliza Dee, thank you for your thorough revisions and suggestions. A good editor not only polishes a manuscript, but helps the writer grow and I certainly learned from your expertise.

  Last, but most certainly not least, to all my family and friends who have cheered me on, you are all incredible. Your belief in me means more than I can say.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Claire Frank is a longtime fantasy fan who was raised on a steady diet of magic and wonder. She started writing as a child and somewhere along the way, realized she had worlds to explore and stories to share. Immersed in fantastical worlds, she can explore love, loss, heartbreak, fear, companionship, loyalty, betrayal and redemption. She can walk with a character as they stumble, fall, fail, rise, and try again.

  Her husband David is her co-creator in everything she does. He is blessed with an abundant imagination and a tendency to daydream. Together, they craft worlds, banter ideas, create characters and develop their stories. She may be the one to craft the words on the page, but he is a part of every word.

  They live in the Pacific Northwest with their three children. Claire loves coffee, great books, The Princess Bride, chocolate, and bacon. Because everything is better
with bacon.

  CONTENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  ECHOES OF IMARA SERIES

  MAP

  IMARAN MARRIAGE RITE

  1. A JOURNEY

  2. EAST HAVEN

  3. ORDERS

  4. HALTHAS

  5. FAMILY MATTERS

  6. OF WARS PAST

  7. COMPANIONS

  8. LIFE TREE

  9. A PEBBLE IN THE ROAD

  10. ON THE RUN

  11. SOLACE

  12. NEW LODGINGS

  13. AID OF THE CROWN

  14. ALE STONE

  15. GATHERING FRIENDS

  16. THE LYCEUM

  17. CONDITIONING

  18. BLACK MASKS

  19. SMOKE AND HINGES

  20. THE QUARRY

  21. TRANSFERENCE

  22. NEWS UNEXPECTED

  23. CONFRONTATION

  24. FINDING CONTROL

  25. GUILDMASTER STELLAN

  26. INTO MIST

  27. KEYS

  28. WATCHTOWER

  29. XIV

  30. BREAKOUT

  31. ABSORPTION

  32. REVELATIONS

  33. TRUTHS

  34. CONSEQUENCES

  35. RETURN

  36. PARAGON

  37. SENDING MESSAGES

  38. TRUST

  39. COLLAPSE

  40. WHAT ONCE WAS LOST

  41. CUTTING LOSSES

  42. CHAINS

  43. TO WHATEVER END

  44. AFTERMATH

  45. CHOICES

  46. WATCHING

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR