Chapters (34)
- Praise for the Series
- Works by Michael J. Sullivan
- About the Book
- Copyright
- World Map
- Dedication
- Author’s Note
- Chapter 1: The Twelfth Night
- Chapter 2: The Ragman
- Chapter 3: The Book
- Chapter 4: The Bear Man
- Chapter 5: The Scribe
- Chapter 6: The Truth of His Story
- Chapter 7: The Ferry
- Chapter 8: The Mystic Wood
- Chapter 9: The Greenway Round
- Chapter 10: The Truth About Lies
- Chapter 11: Dibben
- Chapter 12: Unexpected Consequences
- Chapter 13: Merredydd
- Chapter 14: Sephryn
- Chapter 15: Going Home
- Chapter 16: Homecoming
- Chapter 17: The First Minister
- Chapter 18: Birthday
- Chapter 19: The Gamble
- Chapter 20: The Horn
- Chapter 21: The Library
- Chapter 22: The Prophecy
- Chapter 23: A Blizzard in Summer
- Afterword
- Kickstarter Backers
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
Farilane was back on her feet before they reached the imperial capital. She insisted on walking a bit the first day, then more the second. By the time the funeral procession for Empress Dowager Sephryn rolled into Percepliquis, Farilane was able to take her proper place with her brother alongside the black-and-purple draped wagon. With them was the honor guard of four Teshlor Knights and First Minister Dray, which made quite a sight. They drew crowds of hushed onlookers and helped spread the news of a great one’s death throughout the city. Kile was still nowhere to be seen.
“He did come back with us, right?” she asked the knights.
“I think so,” Enzio said.
“Anyone speak to him?”
The four glanced at each other. No one had.
“I only saw him that first day,” Kolby reported, “when he was in the chair next to your bed. Looked about as good as an old snowman on the first day of spring.” The others nodded agreement.
“Was he hurt? Was he burned?” Farilane tried to remember, but everything that first day was a bit hazy.
They all shook their heads. “He just wouldn’t eat anything, and we couldn’t get him to leave the room. All he ever did was stare at you and on occasion shake his head. After you woke up, I never saw him again.”
More people arrived as word spread, not only of the funeral, but who it was that had died.
This was no ordinary death march because this was no ordinary death. While her family and the palace staff had worked hard to keep Sephryn a secret from Farilane, the rest of the world knew of her. They likely didn’t know much, probably far less than Farilane had discovered, but it was enough. The woman in the box wasn’t a woman, she was—as far as anyone knew—the second-ever myr, Sephryn’s husband being the first. She had lived over eighteen hundred years, and much of the empire reflected her influence. Persephone and Nyphron had created the empire, but Nolyn and Sephryn transformed it from a harsh, warring, military entity into a peaceful civilization of art and beauty. The two had acted as symbols of unity between the Instarya and the human citizens, encouraging tolerance and empathy that formed a culture of broad-mindedness and reduced tensions. This in turn, resulted in a blossoming of ideas, discoveries, and innovations—the fruits of different cultures working together.