“Would have been much worse if not for you,” Imaly said. She sported her own wound as the scrape on her head continued to seep blood that dripped down the side of her face. Some of her hair was matted to it, drying like glue. To Mawyndulë, Imaly appeared as a living personification of the ancient order; both had been assaulted, hurt, and scarred.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s still up, isn’t it?” She turned and looked back, then nodded. “Yes, the Airenthenon is still there, just that crack. Don’t think it could have survived without help, do you? All that shaking, all those attacks. No, I think it would have been destroyed.”
“I didn’t do it to preserve the Airenthenon.” It felt good to say so out loud. “I didn’t even do it to save you or anyone else.” He looked down. “I wish I had. I wish I could say I did it for some noble reason, to protect our heritage and the people cowering inside, but that’s not true.” He sighed and shook his head. “I did it to save myself. When the building started to come down, when it cracked, I was terrified. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not very good with the Art.”
He would never admit that to anyone, not even himself. He didn’t know why he told her, except maybe because she was the only one he could tell. More than anyone, Imaly seemed to understand him. To her, he wasn’t the prince, or a son, and not even a Miralyith. To Imaly, Mawyndulë was just a young Fhrey, well meaning but inexperienced. He told her because he needed someone to know.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Maybe? Oh, no, it’s true.” He nodded at her. “That’s what happened.”
“I believe you, and I’m certain that’s even how you remember it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Not the whole truth.”
“Of course it does.”
Imaly gave him a wise smile. “Mawyndulë, you could have run out of the Airenthenon. Almost everyone else did. Why didn’t you? I’m not a Miralyith, but I imagine there were easier ways to protect yourself than preserving the entire structure of that building. That had to be more difficult than putting some sort of shield around just your body. You had a number of options, but you chose the one that preserved our great heritage and saved the lives of all those around you.” She took another painful step and then paused again. “A lot can be determined by the choices we make, even if the action is initiated by self-preservation. Many…no, most…of our choices are driven by fear: fear of death, fear of humiliation, fear of loneliness. But it’s how we respond to fear that matters. It’s what defines us. What makes us who we are. So maybe in your mind you acted selfishly, but I’m alive because of the choice you made. So I’ll remember it as an act of kindness and, yes, even bravery.”
She nodded then, as if coming to a conclusion, and by the look in her eye, it was an important one. “There you have it. Two realities to choose from. In mine, you acted heroically, risking yourself to protect the lives of the entire Aquila. Yet you remember it as selfish because you’re uncomfortable with the idea of being a hero. You feel guilty, don’t you? You think you didn’t do enough and therefore don’t deserve an honorific for failure. Heroes, you are certain, don’t feel guilt. Personally, I like my reality better, but you pick whichever you like. Just don’t share yours with anyone else.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re the prince. One day you’ll be fane. People prefer to see their leaders as renowned, something larger than themselves. This hierarchy makes society possible. It’s so much easier to humble oneself before greatness, to obey someone universally known to be superior in every way.
“But…but…I don’t think I am, not really.”
Imaly turned and smiled warmly at him. “That’s why you are. You’re a good person, Mawyndulë. You’ve been warped a bit by an insular life and the powerful influence of a few dominating people, but deep down you’re still a good, decent person. That’s why you feel guilt. It’s when you no longer feel that nagging sense of doubt, that pain of regret, that it’s truly over for you. But you aren’t there yet. You can still be salvaged.”
“What do I have to do?”
“What do you plan to tell your father?”
“The truth.”
“And what is that?”
“That I didn’t know anything about the rebellion. That I went to the meetings a few times where they got me drunk, but never told me what their plans were. That I was used.”
Imaly shook her head. “No, don’t do that.”
“No?”
“Absolutely not.” She took another step and winced.
“We should get you to a doctor.”
“It’s a broken leg. I’m not dying, and this is more important.”
“What is?”
She looked at him, peering into his eyes as if trying to find something hidden. “Mawyndulë, do you understand what just happened, and what will happen now?”
“Some people…people I sorta knew…tried to murder my father.”
“That’s one way to see it.”
“How do you see it?”
“Do you realize that except during the Uli Vermar, no Fhrey has ever attempted to harm a fane. Ever. Just as until today, there had never been violence inside the Airenthenon. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s wrong?”
“Because until today, it was unthinkable. The very foundation of our society is grounded in tradition, the observance of rules. Those rules have been challenged, and the result will be catastrophic.”
“How so?”
“Let me ask you this. What do you think your father will do now?”
Mawyndulë had no idea. Like she said, what had happened was unthinkable. What his father would do was equally so. “I don’t know.”
“He was just attacked by his own people, the Miralyith, those he trusted the most. They very nearly killed him, and did kill many of his friends. How do you think he feels? Angry?”
Mawyndulë nodded.
“Frightened?”
He had a harder time with that one. He couldn’t imagine his father scared of anything.
“How did you feel in the Airenthenon when the battle was just outside? You were scared. You just told me so. There you were, surrounded, while people around you died…no…were killed. No one, on either side, wanted to hurt you, and yet you were rightfully terrified. Imagine how the fane feels. They were trying to kill him, and like I said, most choices are caused by fear. The question is, will your father choose to hold the building together or save himself and let it rip apart? You could make the difference.”
“Me?”
Imaly hopped on one foot, and this caused a sharp grimace. “Let’s sit down.” She pointed to the fountain with the severed stag legs, and he helped her lower herself to the rim of the basin. In the water, he spotted a shoe.
“A lot of people died today.”
Mawyndulë nodded. He didn’t know about Makareta, but from the doorway of the Airenthenon, he had seen Aiden’s body. Rinald, Inga, and Flynn were also dead, and he’d seen faces of other Gray Cloaks who had died. Several of his father’s personal guard were dead, along with three of the seven members of the Aquila. There had also been bystanders who lost their lives in the square. Most of them had worked or shopped in the marketplace, as they had on any other day.