Judge (Books of the Infinite Book #2)

by R. J. Larson

  Kalme Roeh was already crying. And Dan Roeh halted an arm’s length away, staring, as if too stunned by the sight of his daughter’s bloodied, lacerated scalp to take Ela from Kien.

  Kneeling, Kien placed Ela on the ground with a tenderness she’d never feel. And he studied her, trying to memorize her face before the Roehs finally carried her away. They knelt with him.

  Dan touched Ela’s throat now, obviously testing for a pulse. When he spoke, his voice sounded raw with pain. “What did they do to her?” He reached for the edges of the cloak. Kien moved to stop him, but Roeh was too quick—his expression fierce as he opened the cloak, despite the tears in his eyes.

  Kalme screamed at the wounds, “Oh, Ela! Oh, my baby . . .”

  Weeping, Dan Roeh released the cloak and held his wife, preventing her from clutching Ela. Inside the tent, Ela’s infant brother began to howl.

  By now, Jon, Bryce, and Selwin were hovering next to Kien. Akabe knelt with him and grasped Kien’s shoulder, clearly speechless as he stared at Ela’s flayed arms and the dried rivulets of blood marking her face and throat. And other Parnians drew near, staring, aghast.

  Unable to look at Ela’s injuries any longer, Kien reached for the edges of his cloak to fold them over her.

  A blue-white flash appeared in Ela’s swollen right hand, taking the shape of a thin, iridescent, weathered vinewood staff. Ela’s insignia, the branch.

  Ela’s fingers twitched, healing the instant she clasped the vinewood. Kien saw her gasp for air. The gaping wounds closed within that breath. And her eyelids flickered. He leaned forward. “Ela?”

  Behind Kien, Scythe scrambled to stand, huffing.

  She drew a breath. Alive. Why? Infinite, no! Hadn’t she suffered enough? Wasn’t her work finished? Tears seeped beneath her eyelids—real tears. And light glimmered through the edges of her lashes. Unfair! Her pain had ended. She didn’t want to endure more.

  “Ela?”

  Kien? Before she could turn—to see nothing but another hallucination, she was sure—a tickling, nuzzling warmth grazed softly over her face. A breathing, tickling, nuzzling warmth, with hints of slobber. Alarmed, Ela lifted a defensive hand. “Pet! No . . .”

  Voices lifted around her now, laughing, cheering as if celebrating. But somewhere, Jess was crying. Or was she imagining him? Ela opened her eyes.

  Kien was staring down at her, too perfect to be a fever-wrought hallucination.

  Really, this was a very crowded, bright hallucination. Or was it? Unnerved, she glanced around. Oh, how awful! She seemed to be the center of everyone’s attention. And . . . she was holding the branch. Ela clenched her precious insignia tight. Yes, it was real. The vinewood gleamed at her, bathing her with blessed warmth and yet-unspoken promises for the future. “Infinite?”

  A woman clutched Ela now, sobbing. Mother.

  And someone was wiping her face with a blessedly cool, wet cloth. “Prill? Where am I?”

  “You’re safe now,” the matron soothed, ridiculously teary-eyed.

  Kalme snatched Prill’s cloth and scrubbed at Ela’s face, exultant. “Look at you! We thought you were dead! Oh, my girl! You had us fooled!”

  Truly?

  Father’s low voice cut into Mother’s happy hysterics. “How do you feel? Any pain?”

  “No.” But Kalme was smothering her. Ela protested, “Mother! I can’t breathe. And Jess is crying—”

  “Let’s go to him. Can you stand?” Kalme continued to fuss as she and Father helped Ela to her feet. “Your clothes stink, your hair is a mess, and you look starved—ugh! You need a bath!”

  Oh, lovely. This was not prophet-like, having Mother behave as if Ela were three again—amid a crowd, no less.

  And yet . . . and yet . . . While Father paused to speak to Kien, Ela hugged her mother hard. Fighting sobs. Infinite, thank You. I love You!

  Evidently oblivious to Ela’s tears, Kalme patted her shoulder and resumed fussing. “We also need to clean and air this cloak. Oh, dear . . . look at it.”

  Ela looked. Why was she wearing Kien’s military cloak—dirtied and stinking like the well?

  Realization sank in, and she stared at him. Finished talking with Father, Kien sought her with a glance as Scythe loomed over his shoulder.

  Had they removed her from the well? Ela whispered, “Thank you!”

  Kien grinned and retreated as her parents coaxed her away.

  “The Eosyths requested access to the city,” Akabe told Kien as they walked through the sunset-reddened camp, accompanied by Tsir Aun, Jon, and the ever-present Selwin. “I refused their petition, of course.”

  Kien nodded. “The Agocii requested access as well, claiming they’d been promised shares of the gold and gems. We reminded them, politely, that they’d lost. Belaal offered them rights that are no longer defensible.”

  Grim-faced, Tsir Aun said, “Yet Belaal and its allies might return. We cannot leave Parne unguarded. However, Istgard cannot afford the expense of protecting the site indefinitely.”

  Akabe spoke, sounding reluctant, though his expression was determined. “Mine is the commanding army here. Does anyone disagree with this?”

  Jon shook his head. “No. The Tracelands sees its role here as supportive. We’re not the prevailing force.”

  “Nor is Istgard.” Tsir Aun shot Siphra’s young king a questioning look. “Why do you ask? What are you planning?”

  “The plans aren’t mine,” Akabe reminded them. “The Infinite commanded that Parne be destroyed and left a burned waste.”

  Kien heard Jon’s subordinate-commander, Selwin, make a stifled sound of protest. Akabe stopped, then turned, his royal crimson and gold robes fiery in the setting sun. The young king’s easy lilt didn’t hide his coldness. “If you have objections, sir, I wish to hear them.”

  “No, sir.” Selwin bowed his head in apparent acquiescence. Kien saw rebellion beneath Selwin’s outward humility.

  Obviously, Akabe saw the same. He folded his arms and waited, destroyer-stubborn. “I request you voice your objections. A Tracelander’s view interests me exceedingly.”

  Selwin remained silent.

  Jon said, “Selwin, perhaps you don’t give way to kings, but I am your superior, and you will voice your objections freely—and immediately! You’re delaying us!”

  Selwin straightened. “Sirs, you know what will be said if the city is burned. That we had no compassion for the Parnians. That we failed to protect them and show mercy. That, instead, we bow to the cruel whims of their Infinite.”

  Even as Kien clenched his jaw to silence himself, the Infinite filled his thoughts with a stream of questions, ending with a command. Ask him!

  Ask Selwin. And, in the process, give him an arsenal of verbal weapons to use in the future. Watching his career evaporate, Kien obeyed. “Commander Selwin, are you all-seeing? Can you prophesy the future before time’s beginning? Do you see how many souls will be lost in the coming generations if the Infinite’s judgments are not obeyed here?”

  “No, Judge, on all counts, I cannot. Nor do I care to.”

  Kien persisted. “You stood with us this evening and watched a young woman, by the will of the Infinite, healed of fatal wounds. Do you doubt what you witnessed?”

  “There’s an explanation for everything, Judge.”

  “I said the same thing a year ago, while trying to dismiss the Infinite.” Kien smiled at the memory of Ela’s reply. Rephrasing her words, he said, “But the Infinite is the explanation, and you don’t want to hear Him.”

  “Your conclusion, sir.”

  Kien nodded. “Of course. You are dismissed from this meeting, Commander Selwin.”

  The man’s mouth twitched as if longing to defy the order. Outranked, he bowed and departed. Kien’s enemy, no doubt.

  Beneath his breath, Jon said, “You deliberately provoked him! Why?”

  “Orders.” He raised an eyebrow at Akabe and changed the subject. “How will you proceed against Parne, sir?”

  Akabe stud
ied the vast expanse of wall darkening before them in the dusk. “We empty the city and the temple. Remove the survivors to safety, then use Parne’s ores and fire to destroy every standing wall. If Parne was selling the ores in Istgard and Belaal, there must be a cache somewhere. We’ll find it and use it to take down every possible structure.”

  Prepared to bargain, Kien asked, “What are your plans for the survivors?”

  The Siphran king’s tension eased. “We remove them to safety. Restore their health, then—hopefully before the winter storms begin—we bring them to Siphra, where they’re needed.” Bemused he said, “I’m told Parne’s chief priest has escaped with the Infinite’s Sacred Books. Most of our copies were destroyed, but Parne’s is more ancient.”

  “Do you intend to make the Parnians Siphran?”

  “Of course.”

  Not so hasty, my royal friend. “What if they prefer to emigrate to Istgard or the Tracelands? Will you allow them to depart?” Particularly Ela.

  After a breath of silence, Akabe said, “Yes. But I hope they will not.” His gaze turned distant. Joyous. “The Parnians can help Siphra rebuild its temple! Parne’s chief priest has the learning and devotion many of our priests lack. And Parne’s prophet . . . is unrivaled.”

  The soft inflection in the king’s words, and that reverent pause, set Kien on edge. Akabe admired Ela? In what manner?

  Kien vanquished his jealousy. Or, to be honest, he caged it like a snarling beast, then mentally retreated to a safe distance. Infinite, don’t let me rush to judgment! Help me.

  He must speak to Ela.

  Four days after the battle, as they tried to walk Jess to sleep in the shadow of Parne’s wall, Kien complained to Ela in a whisper, “Where do you find your chaperones?” Matron Prill, marching a strict three paces behind them, was more cold-eyed and vigilant than Tamri Het in East Guard.

  Beatific, a near-perfect image while cuddling her baby brother in her arms, Ela murmured, “My chaperones find me. The Infinite sends them.”

  Of course You do, Kien grumbled to his Creator. And, I confess, You are right to have me watched. Won’t You answer me concerning my wish to marry Ela? Is this Your will or not?

  He could only presume that the Infinite’s silence meant neutrality. And if their Creator was impartial in the matter, then Kien meant to pursue Ela until he was certain that his pursuit was hopeless. Really, his self-control was being severely tested right now, being this close to Ela. He wanted nothing more than to snatch up his little prophet and run away with her.

  The idea prompted a swarm of improper thoughts, difficult to fight off. Kien put his hands behind his back and kept them clasped there as he continued to walk with Ela. He almost heard Prill’s silent wish to tie his wrists together. Wise woman.

  “Anyway,” Ela continued, a bit louder, “I love Prill. We’ve been through so much.”

  There. His opportunity. “Speaking of love, my sister said that you admitted you love me.”

  “Not in so many words!” Ela hissed, delightfully feisty.

  “Oh? Then deny you love me.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it and sighed. In her arms, little Jess hiccoughed, still awake.

  Kien grinned at the baby, but spoke to Ela. “You love me, yet you still refuse to marry me.”

  “Nothing’s changed.” Ela patted her brother’s back, a bit too quickly. “I can’t marry you or anyone. I’m too distracted by my responsibilities as a prophet to be a proper wife—too busy almost dying every time I turn around!”

  She released a frustrated puff of a breath and nodded toward the thin, violet-red slash on her left bicep. “I’m amazed I’ve escaped with so few scars. Kien, Parne hated me enough to threaten anyone who befriended me. I can’t ask that of you.”

  “You asked it of Prill,” Kien pointed out.

  “I didn’t ask her. The Infinite sent Prill, and she offered—”

  “I’m offering,” he countered gently. “And if the Infinite didn’t send me your way, then I’m seriously deluded, and you need to pray for me. You must admit that He introduced us.” He leaned toward Ela, determined to coax agreement from her. Behind them, Matron Prill cleared her throat. Killjoy. Kien straightened. “Will you go to Siphra?”

  “Yes. My family and friends have decided to settle there.”

  Beneath his breath, Kien argued, “Marry me! Come with me to the Tracelands instead!”

  “Kien, please don’t make this so difficult for me. I’ve given you my answer. I can’t—”

  “There!” he interposed, smiling, keeping his plea low to prevent Chaperone Prill from overhearing. “If it’s difficult for you to dispute marrying me, then my case has merit. Quite promising, actually! Pray, as I have been praying, and I’ll ask again later.”

  She breathed out a sound of exasperation, but didn’t seem wholly irritated with him. Watching her bite her lip, he was sure she’d covered a smile. A small victory. Even so, best to not risk his advantage. Changing tactics, he whispered, “Please. Just consider what I’ve said. Meanwhile I’ll write you a long letter—as soon as I’ve thought of new arguments to wear you down.”

  “I’d rather you not . . .” She stopped. A tiny frown etched between her eyebrows. “Letter? You mean to say you’re leaving immediately?”

  “See? You already miss me.” Before she could reply, he said, “I’m leaving for East Guard as soon as possible to turn myself in before I’m summoned like a criminal. It’s to be a nonverbal proclamation of my good intentions and, hopefully, my blamelessness.”

  “What!” Her openmouthed shock delighted him and startled the baby.

  Unable to hold back his smile, Kien said, “I’m elated by your obvious concern.”

  Ela jostled her brother lightly, soothing him. “Of course I’m concerned! What do you mean—before you’re summoned like a criminal?”

  “I’ve had a few adventures while you were in Parne, and the Tracelands is about to demand explanations.”

  “Adventures? In ToronSea?”

  “ToronSea was the beginning. I failed, dear prophet. Completely.” It was a relief to tell her every unexaggerated, wretchedly honest detail. His condemnation. Becoming sea-beast bait. The Infinite’s mercy. And his endless warnings in Adar-iyr, followed by that city’s submission. While Ela stared, Kien asked, “It’s all rather prophet-like, don’t you think?”

  Ela’s pace slowed. When she finally spoke, her words were laced with the threat of tears. “Adar-iyr listened to you. . . . Think of all the souls saved! Why couldn’t Parne have reacted the same way?”

  He should have realized Ela would compare Adar-iyr’s repentance with Parne’s defiance and see herself as a failure. Stupid, Lantec! “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She sniffled, wringing his heart in the process. “I’m glad for Adar-iyr.”

  He wanted to distract her. Tell her about Akabe, Maseth, and the disastrous royal bequest of Aeyrievale. But now the baby was dozing in Ela’s arms. And Bryce was walking toward them from the encampment, carrying what appeared to be an official packet, which Kien guessed he should ignore. Moreover, Scythe had somehow escaped his leash. The destroyer merged behind Kien and Ela now, breathing on them. Clearly, their walk was at an end.

  Beyond Scythe, blocked from sight by the destroyer’s massive body, Matron Prill grumbled, “Shoo! Go away!”

  Kien smoothed Scythe’s gleaming black neck. “Don’t listen to her. You stand right there like a good monster-horse.” Matron Prill couldn’t see anything but Scythe’s formidable self, Kien was sure. And neither could anyone else. He wiped Ela’s tears, then slid his arms around her. Mindful of the baby, Kien bent and kissed Ela, his self-control endangered by desire. Her lips against his were delectably tender, her skin so petal-soft and sweet that he could linger with her forever.

  Before Ela could work up a protest, Kien stepped back. But he caressed one last tear from her cheek and whispered, “I love you! We’ve been through so much together! And, perhaps more than any
other man alive, Prophet, I understand your role and honor it. Pray! Think about what I’ve said, and wait for my letter. Please.”

  Dazed, Ela watched Kien lead Scythe away. How dare he be so . . . persuasive? She licked her lips—just a hint—still tasting his kiss and longing for another.

  Forget being a prophet! She twitched, ready to hand Jess to Matron Prill, then run after Kien.

  But Prill caught her sleeve now, furious. Ready, Ela hoped, to talk angry chaperone-sense until these unprophetly thoughts dispersed.

  “You’d best never allow that man such liberties again,” Prill huffed. “Or you’ll have to marry him, Ela Roeh, mark my words!”

  Oh, Prill. Not helpful in the least. Ela adjusted the drowsing Jess in her arms and kissed his curls. She must stop thinking of Kien.

  Destroyer hoofbeats echoed off Parne’s wall. She looked toward the sound and felt a hit of disappointment. Jon. Not that Jon was dreadful, but he wasn’t Kien.

  Jon dismounted from Savage and fell into step beside Prill, though he spoke to Ela. “How are you feeling?”

  Ela shrugged. “All right.” She was about to ask Jon why Kien would be summoned to East Guard, but Jon was already talking.

  Gently, as if fearing he’d hurt her, he said, “Ela, you ladies must return to camp. We’re pulling everyone back for their own safety. Parne is empty. Everything’s set and the Siphrans are preparing to destroy the city.”

  37

  Standing at a distance from Parne with the other survivors, clutching both the branch and Jess, Ela watched vast gaps open in the wall. Parne was being shattered by its own ores, reducing the traitorous Atean shrines to dust.

  Pain tightened around Ela’s throat like a noose and tears spilled down her cheeks, but she forced herself to watch. To face her sentence.

  She, Parne’s prophet, stood as guilty as the Atea-lovers for failing to recognize her city-state’s fatal corruption. Verses from the Book of Praises slid into her thoughts.