Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book... - Chapter 77: Chapter 77

"He would have loved this place," said Uachi.
A hand fell to rest on his shoulder. He looked up at Matei, who was gazing down at the dark mound of fresh-turned earth before them. Uachi wiped his brow with the back of his hand and drew a slow breath. As he let it out, he realized he felt lighter, as if one dark chapter in his life had closed and another had opened.
What that new chapter would hold for him, he had no way to know. But the familiar weight of Matei's hand on his shoulder told him without words that he would not be alone through the writing of it.
"Thank you for coming with me, Matei," he said.
"I never knew him," Matei replied, "but I will honor him in my memory as a brother as long as I live."
There was a silence for a while. Matei's hand slid away from Uachi's shoulder, but the emperor did not depart. He stood silently at Uachi's side, his presence a promise of friendship, a reminder that although Uachi had lost his parents and his brother, he was not without family.
At length, Uachi drew his dagger. It was the blade he had stolen from his master, the blade he might have used to end his own life but had instead carried with him for years. It was a half-cursed, half-blessed token, a reminder of his past and a ward against the future. He had used it to defend himself and others, had used it to complete hundreds of mundane tasks...but the very last thing he had done with this dagger had been to end the life of the man who had killed Uaran.
Uachi knelt in the damp grass next to his brother's grave. Here in Hanpe, grave-markers were simple, usually discs of wood with the names of the departed burnt in with a careful hand. Over the years, they would wear down, the oldest of them dissolving back into the soil. There was a beautiful simplicity to it, with no overt references to the religion of the realm, just a humble acknowledgment that the body beneath the soil would return to nourish the grasses, the trees.
Uachi drove the point of his dagger into the earth just before Uaran's wooden marker. The well-worn hilt and burnished pommel gleamed in the last of the golden afternoon sun.
Rising to his feet, he said, "I hope he can be at peace now." He turned to look at Matei.
Matei returned his look, solemn. "I hope the same for you." He had lost his mother to a violent death; although Esaria had lived a life of luxury and Uaran had lived as a slave, the two of them had been betrayed by people they should have trusted, and they had both met bitter ends they had not deserved. In that moment, Uachi and Matei shared a silent understanding, a mutual wish that the souls of their loved ones might be at peace.
"Well," Uachi said, turning away from Uaran's grave, "it's off to the Holy City soon, isn't it?"
"It is." Matei fell into step beside Uachi, and the two men began to walk back toward the longhouse, where the citizens of Hanpe would be gathering for the evening meal.
"Luckily, I haven't much to pack."
"Uachi." Matei slowed, turning to look at him. "Before we go in."
"What is it?" Uachi stopped.
"I want you to stay here."
Uachi frowned at Matei. After all the two of them had been through together, he didn't believe him at first. When it struck him that Matei might truly be asking him to stay behind, he was confused at first—and then the realization settled over his shoulders, and he shrank from it, an unexpected pain.
He had not thought through the consequences of his actions in killing the archmage. Revenge—justice—had been his only aim, and he had not spared a thought for what might come after. He had not cared. That much had been apparent to Diarmán, who had called his shortsightedness betrayal. And, as Uachi had sat in a prison cell near the soldiers' barracks on the outskirts of Karelin, it had come home to him.
He had restored to his friend's good graces by bringing home the lost princess—and he had thrown himself out of them again by taking justice into his own hands and executing the archmage. Had they been in the heat of battle, it would not have been a concern, but Uachi had killed a prisoner. Matei understood his motives and empathized with them more deeply than any man could, but he was a sovereign, responsible for the law.
He could not overlook Uachi's crimes.
The trial had been brief and private, and the sentence agreed upon by the High Council: Uachi had been stripped of his title. Matei himself had pressed for a harsher punishment—hard labor—but the council had advocated on Uachi's behalf, taking into account his brother's death, the deceit the archmage had worked on the empire.
Matei sighed. "Don't look like that. You may come back to Karelin if you wish to, Uachi, and I will be glad to have you there. But I remember a day several years ago when you came to me and asked my leave to return here to Hanpe. I wouldn't consent then—as if I held any sway whatsoever over your choices. As if I ruled you. I'm ashamed of it now. I still believe we've done things we never could have had you left us, but it was not right of me to ask you to sacrifice your happiness to stay."
"I'm grateful for it. The rebellion was over. The hard work to be done was in the capitol."
"And now? Now we have peace, at least for a while. You deserve rest and retirement."
Uachi huffed a laugh. It was a bitter thing, what he had lost, but he harbored no resentment toward his friend. There was a reason he loved and respected the man, and it was this. He was fair and balanced, conscious of his own biases, committed to holding everyone accountable in the same way. Yes, it had hurt to hear him speak out against him at trial, but Uachi knew it had hurt Matei too. He had done it because they were friends, because Uachi had sorely disappointed him, and because no one—not even the man they saw as a family member—could be above the Blood-Bound Sovereigns' law. "Retirement, is it?" he asked. "I thought it had been dismissal?"
Matei frowned, a shadow passing over his brow. "My friend—"
"Oh, don't pout, Your Finery-and-Fanciness." Uachi put a hand on his shoulder. "'Twas my crime, and 'tis my punishment, and there's not a part of me that blames you or would have expected anything else."
"I know." Matei's smile was pained, but genuine. "As I say: you may come back to Karelin if you wish, but something tells me you'll find it a challenge to take orders for a change. You grew rather used to giving them."
This time, when Uachi laughed, Matei did, too. Then he said, "Go where you will. Do as you wish. If you come to the capitol, come as my friend—as my guest." The rest was unspoken, but Uachi heard it. That is all I can offer you now.
Uachi fell silent. As the shock of Matei's command subsided, relief swept in to take its place. "Go where I will, you say."
Matei nodded. "Or stay where you will, I suppose. I imagined you would be glad to put roots down here in Hanpe."
Roots.
Uachi did not know what it would feel like to settle. He'd been half-settled once, living in Karelin with Ealin, but after the stillness of their peaceful life had been broken, his future had been cast again into uncertainty. He simply had not thought far enough ahead to make a plan. He was too used to crisis, to moving, to reacting to his life's turns and twists.
Now, Uachi took a step forward, opening his arms, and Matei stepped into his embrace. The two of them folded their arms around one another for a moment, clapping one another on the back as brothers do.
Over Matei's shoulder, Uachi caught sight of a figure standing at the edge of the woods, looking their way. After a second, the figure raised a hand.
Uachi stepped back, breaking the embrace. He gazed at Diarmán across the distance.
For the first time, he allowed himself to look. To really look.
For the first time, he allowed himself to acknowledge that Diarmán was looking back.
He raised his hand in response, and he did not fight the smile that rose to his lips.
"Maybe I'll take a holiday," he said.