He shook his head. “This war won’t be won or lost by birds or dragons, nor by greed or hate, but by the courage and virtue of an unlikely few who will forfeit everything to save the future. That’s how it works, you know? The proud, the greedy, the vengeful are never the ones to change the world—not for the better, at least. They can’t; they don’t have the tools. It’s like asking a fish to fly. It’s not in their nature to sacrifice for others. But those who went to the swamp understand the importance of doing what’s needed when the time comes, and they’re not the only ones.”
“What do you mean?”
“You, Persephone. Your sacrifices have made a difference, and they will continue to do so.”
She let out a sad laugh. “Me? Maybe I did some good in the past. The trip to Neith and moving to Alon Rhist gave us some time, but I’ve done nothing of value for years.”
“Really? Is that what you think?” He glanced at the dragon. “Why did you choose Nyphron over Raithe?”
“I don’t see how my choice of husband has a bearing on anything.”
“I do, and you do, too. Why are you so reluctant to say it out loud? Tell me.”
She didn’t want to answer, but with so many gone, she was down to just a few people she could speak freely with, and Malcolm was one of those. She sighed, embarrassed to admit it. “Because he was the best for the job.”
“Which one? Lover? Father? Confidant?”
“No.” She returned to staring at the grass.
“Well?”
Persephone was a bit surprised by his insistence. Malcolm had never been so confrontational before. “Ruler,” she finally said.
“Yes.” Malcolm nodded. “Not exactly the trait most women would look for in a man. But why does that matter? The Rhunes have their chieftains.”
“The world has changed. We can’t go back to the fractured clans that we once were, not now that we’ve seen the benefit of a single ruler.”
“But you are already keenig. You are the leader of all the Rhunes, aren’t you?”
“For now, but I’m forty years old. I’ll be lucky to see Nolyn grow to be a man. When I thought there was a chance we would win, I saw Nyphron as a steady hand, a fair hand. He isn’t much of a husband, not passionate or devoted, but he is strong, rational, and our best chance for a better future. He will likely live for another thousand years. In that time, he will bring stability and do great things for us as a people.”
“And that’s why you sacrificed your future—the happiness you might have known with Raithe. You did it for the good of the world and for generations yet to come. And you will keep doing so for the rest of your life.”
Persephone took a hard breath and shook her head. “If it had only been my burden, that would have been one thing, but it wasn’t. It’s because of me that Raithe is gone. I took away his life!”
“No, you didn’t.” Just as Persephone had developed a preoccupation with the grass between her feet, Malcolm looked to the clouds as if bad weather were approaching. “Raithe didn’t die because you rejected him. What’s more, Suri didn’t go to Avempartha because you asked her, and Brin, Moya, Roan, and Gifford didn’t leave because you let them. Take a moment to think. Set aside your devotion to regret and guilt and consider that all these things may have come to pass because that’s how it had to be. Everyone has their part to play. Their own part. It’s not because of you; it’s because of them. They are sacrificing for the greater good, just as you have done.”
“So, is that your way of saying the whole world doesn’t revolve around me?”
He smiled. “More or less. My point is that while much of what has happened is to your credit, the things you see as failures are not your fault. None of it is. Not the war, not Raithe’s death, nor Suri’s capture.”
“Whose fault is it, then?”
Malcolm hesitated, then looked around as if he’d heard something. “Where is Nolyn?” he asked, as if just noticing they were alone.
“What?” Persephone was stunned at the abrupt turn in the conversation.
“I know it’s early, but don’t little boys rise with the dawn?”
“He’s with Justine.”
Malcolm nodded. “Of course,” he said with a lingering tone that was bloated with insinuation.
“What?”
Malcolm frowned. There was judgment, negative and disapproving. “I was just wondering—does Nyphron spend any time with the child?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Hmm?” he said.
Persephone folded her arms. “Whose fault is it, Malcolm?”
The man with the spear frowned. His shoulders drooped, and he sighed. “Fault. It’s an interesting word, don’t you think? When you became keenig, you didn’t ask whose fault that was, but I’m quite certain the Gula leaders did. A fault is only leveled when something bad happens. Success is free of such a burden. Perhaps it might be best to await judgment on events before laying blame where there may not be room for it.”
Tura would just have said, I don’t know. No doubt, Suri would have brought up butterflies or clouds or something even more nonsensical. Malcolm knew the answer—of that she was certain—but he was holding back.
Why? she wondered.
Persephone stared at him as a new thought began to form in her mind. Seers were those who could sometimes read mystical signs that gave them an insight into the future. To her knowledge, none of them was ever capable of shaping events to come.
Is that even possible?
When Tressa had mentioned it was Malcolm who told her about a passageway that could be used to rescue Suri, Persephone hadn’t thought much about it. But now . . .
Malcolm had been with Raithe when Shegon was killed, the turning point when Rhunes began to question the divinity of the Fhrey. When she first met Raithe, it had been Malcolm who had helped persuade Raithe to return to Dahl Rhen, and just in time to face Nyphron and his Galantians. Also, when Arion came to take Nyphron into custody, Malcolm hit her with a rock, keeping both the Galantian leader and the Miralyith in Dahl Rhen.
Can these all just be coincidences?
“Malcolm? How did you know Suri would be captured years before it happened?” she asked.
“That’s not what you really want to know, is it?”
He was right; it wasn’t. “Is there still a chance for the survival of mankind?”
The funny-looking man with the sharp nose and lanky frame nodded. “I’m not saying it’s a certainty. And while I was gone, I discovered things that make matters even more precarious. But I’m here to tell you that plans have been set in motion, and I still have faith. I want you to have some, too.”
“You’re talking about the people who went to the swamp, aren’t you? Are they all right? What has happened to them?”
“You may want to sit down.”
“Oh dear Mari.” Persephone wavered. Returning to her knees, she waited before him like the guilty under an executioner’s ax.
Malcolm knelt down as well and took hold of her hands. “Moya, Tekchin, Brin, Roan, Gifford, Tressa, and Rain—they are . . .”