Page 24 of Acolyte (Tempris #2)

-A letter from Sarah Dixon to Kato Emrys, former heir to House Ghislain

Dearest Kit,

I still don’t agree with your decision to send me away, and I hate that you made that choice for the both of us.

I hate that I’m the one that has to leave our home, and I hate that you turned your back on the life that we made here.

But I don’t hate you. I don’t, and I’m sorry that those will likely be the last words I ever get to say to you in person.

I’ve had some time to think, and I understand now why you did what you did.

Your duty is to your family, and I know that I will never fit into the future they have planned.

You’ll find enclosed with this letter the sum of gold you left in my purse the last time you visited.

Even if I wanted your coin, Kit, fey gold won’t do me much good where I’m going.

Without you, there’s nothing keeping me here anymore, so I’ve decided to go home—back to New York.

When my sister last wrote to me, she said exciting things were happening in the human realm.

They’d put a man in space, and they were already talking about going to the moon.

It seems so hard to believe, but if it’s true, I want to see it.

Science is a kind of magic, after all, though I imagine most fey would disagree.

For what it’s worth, I don’t regret a single moment of the time we spent together. For the rest of my life, I’ll always be glad that I was able to know you.

With all my love, because it has and always will be yours,

Sarah

Kato sighed as he shouldered his pack, mumbling a tired apology to the mortal woman that stumbled into him.

The night had quickly turned cold, but the fires that dotted the camp warmed the air.

Fey and mortal alike huddled together, stretching their hands towards the flames, desperate for any meager trace of heat they could find.

There were tarps to ward off the rain, and a few places where water mages had laid down enchantments to wick away moisture.

Many of the refugees had bound themselves in rough blankets that were already damp with mist.

Funeral pyres burned at the far edge of the camp, close to the healing tent where the menders were busy sorting the living from the dead. They’d lost even more men and women on the trip from the canyon, those whose wounds were too severe to warrant saving.

Kato paused, watching as one of the earth mages ducked out of the healing tent carrying a body far too small to be covered in a death shroud. A tuft of blond hair peeked from beneath the black linen. In the dark, he could just make out the delicate arch of a fey ear.

Kato swallowed back bile. The priestesses lied, he thought.

Death was rare among the fey, but during the few times he’d heard the Faerasanna speak on the subject, they had described a journey.

They had spoken about a boat and a peaceful homecoming.

They’d told stories about tall, shining gates waiting to welcome the world-weary traveler into the rolling green hills of Moriah.

But none of that was true. Not unless that boat was made of bone, those hills blanketed with corpses. Not unless the rivers of that rotting kingdom ran red with blood.

A keening wail sounded over the din of the camp as a woman tried to claw the child’s body from the healer’s hands.

Kato wanted to blame his brother for this.

The battle at the canyon was a massacre—an outright slaughter.

They had walked straight into a trap, and Shards, he’d felt so vindicated as he watched those people dying.

Now though, facing the realization that Skye’s “scout” had saved them all…

all he felt was remorse, guilt, and just a touch of shame.

All week, he’d been sure that Taly was the traitor.

He’d convinced himself that Skye had known, had let her escape with all their secrets.

So, instead of preparing these people, instead of using his skills and talents to repair weapons or even learn about those damned guns, he’d wasted his time trying to pin guilt on an innocent woman.

So really, today was as much his fault as anyone else’s. He’d been more focused on seeing his brother fail than helping him succeed.

“Hey, hold up there!”

Kato started, turning just in time to see a man weaving through the crowd. His hair was bone-white, and his eyes were a bright Highborn blue. His face was narrow, his jaw artfully shaved. Instead of armor, he wore a stained frock coat and scuffed riding boots.

Quickly falling to one knee, Kato winced when his pack tweaked an injury that was still trying to heal.

He recognized the man as Lord Kalahad Brenin, the High Lord of Earth’s younger brother, and although Kato possessed a higher standing among the nobility, he was no fool.

He had learned early on that bad things happened to those stupid enough to piss off a Genesis Lord’s favorite.

“Sire,” Kato said as the man came close enough to hear. A contingent of guards followed close behind, each one adorned with the High Lord of Earth’s crest—Yggdrasil, the tree of life.

“None of that,” the man said, laughing. He pulled Kato’s pack from his shoulders, pulled him straight to his feet. “Call me Kalahad. And you’re Kato, yes? Kato Emrys?” When Kato nodded, Kalahad said, “Come. Sit with me.”

Not knowing what else to do—and too tired to put up a fuss—Kato allowed himself to be led over to a large grouping of tents near the edge of the camp.

A massive bonfire crackled in the misty haze, and more guards milled around, cleaning weapons and charging crystals.

They dispersed as soon as they saw Kalahad and Kato approaching, sketching out hasty bows as they backed away.

Beneath the main pavilion, there was a scattering of mismatched chairs and couches, even a rug spread over a few pieces of planked wood.

Old sheets had been hung around the sides of the tent to keep out the moisture, and there was a serving bar set against the back “wall” where women in smocks and aprons were spooning stew into real china.

“Sorry about the mess,” Kalahad said as he dumped Kato’s pack and bedroll next to the fire.

Throwing himself onto a large leather-bound chair, he leaned back, lounging in a way that reminded Kato of a king on his throne.

“I had my men scour the village for anything still intact, and this is what they came up with. I don’t mind, but some of the other nobility took great offense at the prospect of sleeping outside.

” Kalahad held up a hand, and the serving ladies began to flutter with activity, reaching inside boxes and crates.

“I hear that Lord Achard and his wife-to-be have taken shelter on the main floor of the inn. You’re welcome to take advantage of my hospitality, but I have no doubt they’re more comfortable.

If that’s where you choose to make your bed, no hard feelings. ”

“I… thank you.” Kato blinked at the cup of wine that was suddenly thrust into his hands.

“I appreciate the offer, but that’s probably a non-issue.

” A woman with a bowl of stew approached him, but he waved her off.

He was still covered in blood—his and others—and he didn’t think he could stomach anything just yet.

Even if it did sm ell delicious. “I’ll likely be on guard duty most of the night. ”

Kalahad nodded, accepting his own cup of wine. “That’s right. I remember now. You joined the Gate Watchers last year. In fact, I hear you were leading the party sent out to find me.”

“Uh… yes.” Kato claimed a seat—a scuffed wooden affair with a ripped blue cushion.

It was true. Lord Brenin—or rather Kalahad —had come to Tempris only a handful of weeks ago, claiming an interest in the island’s economic rehabilitation.

Instead of going to see Marquess Castaro, however, the noble had set off on his own, intent on inspecting the farmland on the southeastern edge of the island.

The Gate Watchers had lost track of him after the attacks began.

Kato hung his head. “We didn’t do a very good job, I’m afraid, and for that, I apologize.”

Kalahad smiled, holding out his glass. A servant immediately rushed to refill it. “Not to worry—I have a tendency to wander off. I got separated from my group, and Lord Castaro and his scouts found me two days ago—dazed, confused, and covered in mud, blood, and my own filth.”

“And the rest of your party?” Kato asked, sipping from his cup. The wine was remarkably smooth, and he savored it. It was likely the last good wine he’d have for a while.

“Fine, all fine. My brother made sure that I had only the purest of the purebloods on my protection detail. Mages with long illustrious backgrounds that loudly resented being sent here to babysit a half-breed like myself.”

Kato looked up. “You’ll have to forgive me. I was unaware you had human blood. ”

Kalahad shrugged. “On my mother’s side. You’re a demi-fey as well, yes? Your father was a Feseraa?”

Kato nodded, but before he could open his mouth to respond, Kalahad signaled for the servant to refill both of their cups.

“Nice to know I have a friend in this place,” he muttered.

“Us half-breeds—we have to stick together. We’re not Highborn enough for the Highborn, but the Lowborn are still too scared to even look us in the eye. ”

Kato snorted. “A High Lord’s younger brother? I’m sure there’s no shortage of nobles wanting to kiss your ass.”

“And you can say differently?” Kalahad grinned. “You used to be heir to the most powerful household in the Imperium.”