He looked down, running his thumb over her fingers. “I know that, too.”
“I’m not leaving because of the vote.”
Kalec, surprised, glanced up sharply at that. “You’re not?”
“No. Not this time. People must be true to their own natures, as must I.” She laughed softly, self-deprecatingly. “I just…have to figure out what that is.”
“You will. And I believe it won’t be anything ugly or cruel.”
She eyed him. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
“I do. And…I admire you. For having the courage to face this.”
“I knew you’d understand. You always have.”
“Peace is a noble goal for the world,” Kalec said, “but it is also a noble goal for oneself.” He realized he was smiling despite the ache in his human-shaped chest. “You’ll find your way, Jaina Proudmoore. I have faith in you.”
She said wryly, “You may be the only person in the world who does.”
He lifted her hands and pressed a kiss on each of them. “Travel safely, my lady. And never forget: if you have need of me, I will be there.”
She looked up at him for a moment, stepping closer. Now he could see her eyes catching the moonlight. He had missed her. Would miss her. He had a terrible feeling they wouldn’t see each other again, and he hoped he was wrong.
Jaina let go of his hands, but only to bring hers up to cup his face. She stood on her toes as he bent. Their lips met—so familiar, so sweet, in a kiss so tender that it shook Kalec to his core. Jaina…
He wanted to kiss her forever. But all too soon, that precious warmth pulled back. He swallowed hard.
“Good-bye, Kalec,” she whispered, and now he saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Farewell, Jaina. I hope you find what you seek.”
She gave him a tremulous smile, then retreated a few paces. Magic swirled as she conjured a portal. She stepped into it and was gone.
Farewell, beloved.
Kalec stood for a long time, his only company the statue of the great archmage.
The Ironforge trip had been cut short, and Wyll had been running himself ragged trying to get everything together in time for the next leg of Anduin’s journey. Anduin had, after much effort, managed to persuade Wyll to stay in Stormwind and have some well-deserved rest.
Once Wyll had retired, Anduin reached for the candelabra on the dressing table. He lit one of its three candles and placed it in the window before heading to the dining room for a very late supper. Tonight, as on certain previous occasions, the candelabra had a purpose other than providing illumination.
As Anduin eyed the roasted chicken, vegetables, and crisp Dalaran apples he had no appetite. The news from Shaw and Magni was too unsettling. He would have left for Teldrassil immediately, but it had taken this long to get everything prepared. First light couldn’t come soon enough for him.
“Eat something,” came a gruff voice. “Even priests and kings need to eat.”
Anduin clapped a hand to his forehead. “Genn,” he said, “I’m so sorry. Please, join me. We still have things to settle before I leave, don’t we?”
“First thing is food,” Greymane said, and he pulled up a chair and speared some chicken.
“You and Wyll are colluding against me,” Anduin sighed. “The sad thing is, I’m glad of it.”
Genn grunted in amusement as Anduin filled his own plate. “I’ve got the papers drawn up,” Genn said.
“Thank you for handling that. I’ll sign them right away.”
“Read them first. Doesn’t matter who wrote it. There’s a free piece of advice for you.”
Anduin smiled tiredly. “You’ve given me quite a bit of free advice.”
“And some you’re even grateful for, I imagine,” Genn said.
“All of it. Even what I disagree with and choose to ignore.”
“Ah, now there speaks a wise king.” Greymane reached for the bottle of wine on the table and filled his glass.
“No coup planned, then?” Anduin found himself reaching for another helping of chicken. His body was hungry, it would seem, even if his mind was distracted.
“Not this visit.”
“That’s good. Save your plotting efforts for another time.”
“There is one thing I’d like to discuss before you depart,” Greymane said, turning serious. There was something in his body language that alerted Anduin, who put down his knife and fork and regarded the other king.
“Of course,” Anduin said, concerned.
Now that he had the full attention of the king of Stormwind, Genn looked a bit uncomfortable. He took a drink of the wine, then faced Anduin squarely.
“You honor me with your trust,” he said. “And I’ll do everything I can to govern your people with care and diligence if, Light forbid, something should happen to you.”
“I know you will,” Anduin assured him.
“But I’m an old man. I won’t be around forever.”
Anduin sighed. He knew where this was heading. “It’s been a long and challenging day. I’m too tired to have this discussion with you.”
“You’ve always been too something or other every time I’ve brought it up,” Genn pointed out. Anduin knew it was true. He toyed with his food. “We’re on the eve of your departure to visit several different lands,” Greymane continued. “Fresh dangers are cropping up. When will be a good time? Because I don’t relish the thought of trying to sort through gaggles of nobility each pushing their best claim forward.”
The image made Anduin smile in spite of himself, but it faded at Genn’s next words.
“This isn’t a game. If the wrong person is given the kingdom, Stormwind could find itself looking at a very dire situation indeed. Your mother was a horrible casualty of an angry mob furious at what the nobility was doing to the people. And you are old enough to remember how unstable things were when your father went missing.”
Anduin was. He’d been the nominal king during his father’s disappearance, but he’d had Bolvar Fordragon standing by his side to offer advice. Varian had gone missing, and the black dragon Onyxia had replaced him with an impostor, ruling the kingdom through that puppet. Stormwind was unsettled and tumultuous until Onyxia was defeated and the real Varian Wrynn again sat upon the throne.
The young king took a sip of his wine. “I remember, Genn,” he said quietly.
Genn gazed down at his half-eaten meal. “When I lost my boy,” he said softly, his voice intense, “I lost a piece of my soul. I didn’t just love Liam. I admired him. I respected him. He would have been a tremendous king.”
Anduin listened.
“And when he fell—when that heartless, undead banshee killed him with an arrow meant for me—so much died with him. I thought I would never recover. And I didn’t…not completely. But I had my wife, Mia. I had my daughter, Tess, every bit as strong and smart as her brother.”
Anduin did not interrupt. Genn had never been so open with him before. Now the Gilnean king lifted his blue eyes. In the candlelight, they shimmered, and his voice was husky with emotion.
“I moved on. But I had a hole in my heart where he used to be. A hole I tried to fill with my hatred for Sylvanas Windrunner.”
Gently, Anduin said, “That kind of hole can’t be filled with hate.”
“No. It can’t. But I met another young man who loved his people as Liam did. Who believed in things that were good, and just, and true. I found you, my boy. You’re not my Liam. You’re yourself. But I do catch myself trying to guide you.”
“You can’t replace my father, and I know you know that,” Anduin said, deeply moved by Genn’s words. “But you’re a king and a father both. You understand being both. And it helps.”
Genn cleared his throat. Emotions were no stranger to him, Anduin knew, but they were usually the hot,
angry, violent ones. It was part of the worgen curse, yes, but Anduin knew it was also an intrinsic part of the man. Genn was not used to the softer emotions and almost always, as he did now, chased them away.
“I’d be saying the same thing to Liam right now if he were here. Life is too short. Too unpredictable. For anyone in this world, especially for a king. If you love Stormwind, you need to make sure it’ll go into hands that will care for it.”
He paused. Here it comes, Anduin thought.
“Anduin, is there anyone you’ve considered as a possible queen? Someone to rule in your stead should you fall in battle, bear a child to carry on the Wrynn bloodline?”
Anduin abruptly grew keenly interested in the food before him.
Genn sighed, but it came out as more of a growl. “Times of peace are rare in this world. And they’re always too brief. You need to use this time to at least start the search. If you’re traveling to all these places, couldn’t you have a few formal dances, or theater visits, or something?”
“Believe it or not, I understand I need to do that,” Anduin admitted. Genn did not know about the small box with Queen Tiffin’s rings that Anduin kept close, and the younger man wasn’t about to volunteer that information. “And the answer is no, I’ve not met anyone yet that I’ve felt that way about. There’s time. I’m only eighteen.”
“It’s not uncommon for royal betrothals to occur when the participants are still in the cradle,” Genn pressed. “I’m a bit of a stranger to Stormwind society, but surely there are others who could compile a list.”
Genn meant well, Anduin knew. But he was weary and worried, and his focus was on what to do with a wounded world, not on an arranged marriage.
“Genn, I appreciate your concern,” he said, choosing his words with care. “This is not an unimportant matter. I’ve told you I understand that. But the idea of an arranged marriage—agreeing to spend my life with someone I may not even know before making that commitment—it’s abhorrent to me. Besides,” he added, “you didn’t have one.”
Genn scowled. “Just because it’s not a path I chose doesn’t mean it’s not a sound one. I know it’s not the most romantic thing in the world, but it doesn’t have to be some stranger. My daughter, Tess, is close to your age. She would make—”
“Quite the protest were she here at this moment,” Anduin interrupted. “From the little I’ve seen of her, it’s clear she’s a remarkable woman. But she certainly has her own life, and I’m going to take a wild guess and say that I don’t think queen of Stormwind is high on her list of what she wants for it.”
Tess Greymane, a few years his senior, was by all accounts a strong-willed woman. There had been all kinds of rumors about her actions, implying that she had taken a page or two from Mathias Shaw. He had not asked Genn about it, and now that the man had put forth his daughter as a potential queen, he wasn’t about to.
Genn’s white brows drew together in a frown. “Anduin—”
“We will revisit this topic, I promise. But for now, there’s another argument I’d like to get into with you.”
Despite himself, Genn chuckled. “You know I’ll argue with you any time, Your Majesty.”
“I do indeed,” Anduin said, “and especially about this. After Magni’s visit, Moira, Velen, and I went to the Netherlight Temple. I don’t think it would surprise you one whit to tell you that I found it to be…” He shook his head. “Truthfully, words fail me. It was serene and beautiful, and simply being there made me feel so peaceful. So focused.”
“The only surprise I have about your visit was how long it took you to get there,” Genn said. “But then again, a king has little time for serenity and peace.”
“While I was there, I met two people who surprised me,” he said. He took a breath. Here we go, he thought. “One of them was Calia Menethil.”
Genn stared. “Are you certain? Not an impostor?”
“She looks a great deal like her brother. And I trust the priests of the temple have made sure her claim is true.”
“You place a lot of faith in the priests’ goodwill.”
Anduin smiled. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, out with it. What did you learn? How did she escape? Does she still lay claim to the throne of Lordaeron, provided we can one day evict those rotting squatters who currently defile it?”
Anduin smiled a bit ruefully. “I didn’t press. I’ll return and speak with her later. I got the impression that it wasn’t a happy story.”
“Light knows it couldn’t be,” Genn said. “That poor family. What the girl must have been through. Probably escaped those wretches by the skin of her teeth. How she must despise the undead after that!”
“Actually, that’s the next thing I wanted to tell you.The Netherlight Temple is a hall for Azeroth’s priests. All of its priests. Including Horde.” He paused. “Including Forsaken.”
Anduin had braced himself for an angry bellow of protest. Instead, Genn calmly put down his fork and spoke in a carefully controlled voice.
“Anduin,” he said, “I understand that you always want to see the best in people.”
“It’s not—”
Genn held up a hand. “Please, Your Majesty. Hear me out.”
Anduin frowned but nodded.
“It’s an admirable trait. Especially in a ruler. But a ruler must be careful that he’s not played for a fool. I know you met and respected Thrall. And I know you consider Baine a friend, and he has acted with honor. Even your father negotiated with Lor’themar Theron and held Vol’jin in high esteem. But the Forsaken are…different. They don’t feel things like we do anymore. They’re…abominations.”
Anduin’s voice was mild. “A current leader of the Conclave is Archbishop Faol.”
Genn swore and sprang to his feet. Silverware clattered to the floor. “Impossible!” His face had flushed, and a vein stood out on his neck. “That’s worse than an abomination. That’s blasphemy! How can you tolerate this, Anduin? Doesn’t it sicken you?”
Anduin thought about the impish good humor the late Alonsus Faol had displayed. The kindness, the concern. We are priests before all else. And he was.
“No,” Anduin said, smiling. “Quite the opposite. Seeing them there, in that place of Light…it gave me hope, Genn. The Forsaken aren’t mindless Scourge. They’re people. They have free will. And yes, some of them have been changed for the worse. Those have moved on in their new existence with hate and fear. But not all of them. I saw Forsaken priests speaking not only with tauren and trolls but with dwarves and draenei. They remembered the good. Moira’s worked with Faol for some time now, and—”
Genn swore. “Moira, too? I thought dwarves had sense! I’ve heard enough.” He turned, about to stalk out of the room.
“No, you haven’t.” Anduin’s voice was soft but brooked no disagreement. He held out a hand and indicated the chair the other had vacated. “You’ll stay, and you’ll listen.”
Genn eyed him, surprised, then nodded in approval as he sat back down, albeit with obvious reluctance. He took a deep breath.
“I will,” he said. “Though I won’t like it.”
Anduin leaned forward intently. “There’s an opportunity here if we’re bold enough to take it. Sylvanas gave the Forsaken life. Of course they follow her. But the Alliance turned away from them. All we had to offer them were names—‘deaders,’ ‘rotters.’ We viewed them with fear. Disgust. We couldn’t even fathom that they were people.”
“Were,” Genn said. “They were people. Once. They’re not any longer.”
“We’ve chosen to see them that way.”
Genn tried another tactic. “All right.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “Let’s say that you saw a few decent Forsaken, an extremely small handful, all of whom happened to be priests. Have you encountered any others like that?”
There was another An
duin recalled who had most definitely not been a priest. At the trial of Garrosh Hellscream, the bronze dragons had offered both the defense and the prosecution the ability to show scenes of the past through an artifact known as the Vision of Time. In one such vision, Anduin had witnessed a conversation between a Forsaken and a blood elf in a tavern shortly before that tavern had been destroyed by those too devoted to Hellscream.
The two soldiers had been against the violence and cruelty that Garrosh had personified. And they had died for their beliefs. Oh, what was the name…It began with an “F.” “Farley,” Anduin said. “Frandis Farley.”
“Who?”
“A Forsaken captain who turned against Garrosh. He was outraged by the violence of Theramore. He lived right here, in Stormwind, when he was alive.”
Genn looked as though he couldn’t even comprehend what Anduin had just said.
“Frandis Farley wasn’t a priest. Just a soldier who still had enough humanity left in him to understand evil when he saw it.” The more Anduin worked it out, the more certain he became.
“Anomalies,” Greymane said.
“I don’t accept that,” Anduin said, leaning forward. “We have no idea what the average citizen of the Undercity thinks or feels. And one thing you cannot argue with me: Sylvanas cares about her people. They matter to her. And that may be something we can use to our advantage.”
“To bring her down?”
“To bring her to the negotiating table.” The two men regarded each other, Anduin calm and focused, Genn struggling to suppress his anger.
“Her goal is to turn more of us into more of them,” Genn said.
“Her goal is to protect her people,” Anduin insisted. “If we let her know we understand that motivation, if we can assure her that those who already exist would never be in danger from the Alliance, she’s going to be a lot less likely to use Azerite to create weapons to kill us. Even better, we might actually be able to work with the Horde to save a world we both have to live in.”
Genn looked at him for a long moment. “You sure you didn’t catch something in Ironforge?”
Before the Storm Page 9