Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3 by E. J. Godwin Read Free Book Online Page B

dreading this moment all during the conversation, but perhaps she saw things differently now. She took a few limping steps toward him. “I can only claim ignorance as an excuse. I offer the apology of a very humbled Raén.”
    “It would accomplish nothing to hold a grudge against you,” Caleb managed to say. “Yet a question comes to my mind: What if you’d known it was Warren?”
    “My answer won’t change what happened. You are here, so I’m obligated to apologize for my error—nothing more.”
    “What about Joásen? He’s the one who exiled me.”
    Wirden hesitated, a look of pain or perhaps anger darkening her eyes. She faced Soren again. “Forgive me, my lord. Joásen is dead.”
    Caleb’s self-righteousness vanished in an instant. He waited in nervous expectation, but Soren did not cry out or display any kind of emotion. He blinked at Wirden as if confused, then bowed his head.
    The Raéni standing near shifted nervously. Caleb knew how close Soren had been to his father, and he saw the soldier in him fighting for control, hiding his grief from those under his command. In time Soren nodded, as if he had been expecting this for some time.
    “My lord,” Wirden murmured, “Toár and I must hurry if we’re to find the other scouts in time.”
    Soren emerged from his trance. “Of course.” Wirden and Toár returned to their horses as he addressed the company. “We ride until we reach the city.”
    Caleb said nothing as they resumed their journey, knowing it was inappropriate to offer any comfort in front of his soldiers. Save for matters of necessity, Soren kept to himself for the remainder of the day as they rode forward at a swift pace, pushing their teams to the limit.
    ♦
    Evening approached, and the inviting picture of Ekendoré appeared at last. Caleb could make out the silver spires of Wsaytchen, as well as the massive pale stones of Krengliné halfway between, all fading in the light. But as they drew closer he saw that the gates of the Old Wall were closed, and by the comments he overheard it was the first time in generations. Soren hailed the guards above, who acknowledged him and gave the sign to let them through.
    The last of the day’s light faintly illuminated the snow-covered valley beyond, and shadowed the high bank of Sonién miles away. In time they passed the smaller gate there, and after nearly sixty days of exile, Caleb Stenger returned to Ekendoré. He remembered that early summer day with Telai and Warren, when he had clung to the boat like a frightened cat. Now the Tarn was frozen thick beneath a layer of snow. As they rounded the lake he sought out Gerentesk among the city lights, and beyond it the cherished home and its balcony where he had first kissed her.
    The other Raéni took the teams away and went to find lodging for the night. Soren, tired as he was, would not rest until he spoke to Rewba, or at least Garda. Caleb’s feet dragged as he followed his companion up the street to the tall, engraved doors of Wsaytchen.
    Soren tugged on the rope, and the clear toll from above engulfed Caleb in a wave of bitterness. For one terrible instant he saw Warren at his side, agape and full of wonder again. It wounded him to the core, and he wished now he had gone away to his quarters like the others, leaving matters of war to the Master Raén.
    The doors opened, and Soren informed Derré that he needed to meet with Lord Rewba as soon as possible. After recovering from the shock of seeing them both again, Derré nodded curtly and hurried off to obey.
    Another attendant stood nearby in the shadows, a young man barely out of adolescence with a Fetra at his side. At this late hour the exquisite dome beyond was lost in gloom, and Caleb wandered in and lowered himself to a bench along the wall. Soren stood close by, his dark form silhouetted against the light from the vestibule.
    “I’d like to ask something rather personal,” Caleb said.
    “Then perhaps you shouldn’t ask,” Soren