The Wanderer's Mark: Book Three of Imirillia (The Books of Imirillia 3)

by Beth Brower

“I can think of only one other person who might know,” Basaal said. “You are really going to bring this accusation before the emperor?” “No—perhaps,” Basaal said, moving his hand across his face. “But who else could have done it?” Ammar’s mouth twitched, his response sounding thick. “Who else indeed?”

“You are not empty,” Edythe said through a clenched jaw, and she spoke from her own determination. “You are grieving. Yes, you have changed. There is no way around our own life experiences. We must live through them, and we do.” Edythe pulled away and met Eleanor’s eyes. “You have not been depleted. You have been added upon. Gift this to your people. Draw strength from who you have always been, and draw wisdom from what you have now seen.”

“Well played, my love. Well played.”

“You let him break. You let him crumble.” Eleanor didn’t understand. “But why?” “Because you are the only person in his life with whom he feels safe enough to break. And that, my dear, means a great deal.”

You have chosen your side, and whether you recognize it or not, it is what you would have eventually wished you had chosen. Stop moping.”

Eleanor’s thoughts glanced on Blaike as she met Edythe’s eyes honestly. “Then let us dance.”

“Physician’s make two covenants, Father. One is to never take a life. The other is to uphold life and to uphold Imirillia—” Ammar paused and moved his fingers across his chin. “I desecrate the first to consecrate the second.”

You’re trying to carry all the sorrow in Aemogen on your own shoulders,” Edythe said, “thinking that, somehow, it will diminish the pain of those around you. But you can’t, and it won’t.” Eleanor lifted her head and stared at Edythe. “Grieve with us, Eleanor, not for us.”