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‘I t lies that way,’ Meera’s apprentice murmured.

Jai gently extricated himself from the young woman, who had helped him hobble much of the journey there. He let his crutch fall away as he approached the overgrown hollow in the Blue Mesa’s lee. He would walk the last steps to his mother’s grave unaided, no matter the pain. He owed her that at least.

He wished Winter could be with him, but he could not wait any longer. She had remained in the great litter that had carried her on the long journey home, and though she was fast recovering, she had slept for much of the journey and he had chosen not to wake her.

She needed that rest, for while Jai had healed her with what mana he could spare – even as he’d soulbreathed, nestled in the hollow of her belly – there were hundreds of men and women waiting for the ministrations of the few soulbound that had survived the battle.

Even now, he allowed his body to heal on its own, saving whatever mana he could for the mortally wounded that still clung to life.

The victory had been bittersweet, for many had fallen in battle. A full third of his army had been wiped out, spread across khiroi, mammoths and men, and another third were injured and might never fight again. But the way his men told it, he had won a great triumph.

Jai had avoided the celebrations, calling for Meera and finding her apprentice instead, the old woman’s whereabouts unknown. He was sure she was angry at how he’d ignored her entreaties to meet urgently in the days since his return from the mountains. He did not begrudge her for it.

But it was his mother he first had a duty to and he would not tarry longer. Even now, he could hear the laughter, the khymis running freely as soldiers drowned their sorrows, and citizens celebrated their victories.

Not for him. Not tonight. He’d earned this moment. His head was clear, and the weight of destiny, for now, had lifted. There was time for grief, now. Time to think.

‘Thank you,’ Jai said. ‘I can make it from here.’

Jai left the young woman waiting in the shadows, and ducked beneath the hanging lianas, wishing he had mana to see clearer in the darkness. But his destination was unmistakable.

It was a beautiful place. An oxbow lagoon, with a small mound at its middle, alongside a simple gravestone. Willows trailed their long leaves into the water, and the jungle was alive with the chirr of insects, the night calls of birds and the croaking of frogs.

Jai could see why his father had chosen this site. He wondered if he had brought Jai here, as an infant, before leaving for his final battle with Leonid. Meera would know.

He approached the grave, collapsing in front of it. Flowers, fresh cut, had been laid before the gravestone, and he saw a name scratched in the rock, barely legible for the moss and wearing of time.

‘Miranda.’

It might have been the first time her name had passed his lips, and Jai felt tears spring unbidden to his eyes. He pressed a hand against the cold, uneven stone, as if he could somehow bring himself closer to her.

‘It took you long enough,’ Meera’s voice said.

Jai turned to find the old lady hobbling out of the darkness. It seemed she had been lying in wait.

‘Meera,’ Jai said, a little angry at her interruption, but the feeling faded fast as he caught her expression. She was sorrowful, her face a picture of pity.

‘This is a private moment,’ Jai said. ‘You may have your audience in the morning.’

Meera nodded, inclining her head and backing away.

‘Your will, my khan,’ she said. ‘I only offer myself to answer you. It was I that laid the stone some years later, when your father did not return. We used to play here, with your brothers. Before your uncle came, and took you.’

Jai held up a hand as she turned to leave.

‘Wait,’ Jai said. ‘Did my mother have time to name me, before she died? Or was it my father?’

Meera turned back, her face twisted in a strange expression.

‘Your father named you,’ she said. ‘He met you but once. Flew back here with the Caelite, buried her with his own hands, plague be damned. But you had another name, one he refused you. She named you for her father.’

Jai furrowed his brow, confused.

‘What do you mean?’

She sighed, and looked at Jai.

‘Only now I have read the diary, as you have, do I know why she chose it. I had thought it was to spite Rohan, for abandoning her to war... How wrong I was.’

Jai stared at her.

‘Make yourself plain, now.’

Now it was Meera’s turn to stare, her hands raised to her face.

‘You did not... you have not...’

Jai reached into his pocket, pulling the diary free.

‘I never finished it, Meera. Who was she?’

She pointed a finger at the diary, her finger shaking.

‘I did not know, truly. I thought you had always known. That you gave me the diary because you were too... because you could not tell me in your own words. I am so sorry, my khan. Read it. Read the last page.’

Jai did, flipping through, his hands shaking. There, scrawled in a small note, amid a mess of wage bills, maps and camp plans. It was Leonid’s very last entry.

I will not rest. I will show no mercy. I will bring his people to their knees.

He has stolen my heart. Begotten her with child, and now she lies dead.

He took her from me.

Now I will take everything from him.

I mourn her, and yet I cannot share the pain. For how can I tell my men he has taken my heart, my only daughter? My Miranda.

The End