“At Randall. At you. At Vadoma. This is my life that you all meddled in.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I spat at him.
He looked older than I’d ever seen him before. “Every choice I’ve made, whether good or bad, has always been with your best interest in mind. Yes, I knew of you before. Yes, I could have done more. Yes, this impossible situation feels like our hand was forced. But Sam, I chose to love you as I do because of who you are, not who you were supposed to be. I love you because you mean the world to me. You have always been the joy that is in my heart.”
“Godsdammit,” I said, wiping my eyes. “That is so unfair. You manipulative bastard. Hitting me right in the feels.”
There was a small smile on his face. “Is it working?”
“Maybe. I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to hug you, though.”
I thought maybe his shoulders sagged a little in relief at that, but he put on a good front. “Must we?”
“We must,” I said, shuffling forward. And I didn’t even have it in me to chide him when his arms came up around me and held me tightly, his beard tickling my cheek. It was a good hug, but I didn’t let it last very long. I had a point to prove, after all.
I pulled away, and he let me go. I took a step back, shouldering the pack again. I wanted to leave, to put some distance between us so I could clear my head, but I needed more.
“Myrin,” I said.
Morgan looked away. “We couldn’t save him. Not when he started walking a path we could not follow. Not I, his brother, nor Randall, his love, could drag him away from the dark. There was a king, long before the Good King, that was driven mad b
y Myrin’s counsel. Randall brought the king back by the sheer force of his will, and together, we banished Myrin to a realm of shadows because we could not bear to end his life. We begged him. We pleaded with him. But he was already lost to the dark. And nothing we could do would have brought him back. We failed him, Sam. And I will have to live with that for the rest of my life.”
“Did you know it was him?” I asked. “When Vadoma came to you about the dark man in shadows?”
“No,” Morgan said. “Or at least I’d hoped. I’ve spent the decades making sure the seals remained in place between this world and the shadow world. I didn’t even feel them crack.”
“Then how did he come back?”
“That is the mystery, Sam.”
I set the pack on the countertop and sighed. This was already more complicated than I had hoped it would be. “You have to tell me,” I said. “Everything. Because if this is true, if the star dragon was right, then Myrin will come for me. And I will do everything I can to stop your brother.”
And so he did. He spoke in a monotone, flat and expressionless. By the time he’d finished, his voice was hoarse and my heart hurt. For him. For Randall. And for what it was I was being called on to do. And I was trembling, because the story he’d told, the things that had been done, shook me to my very core. Before I left, I took his face in my hands and kissed his forehead as he gripped my arms.
He said, “Be safe, Sam of Wilds. The world depends upon it. As do I, because I need you so.”
I nodded and left him standing in the labs with nothing but the memories of loss and betrayal.
And I didn’t look back.
Chapter 13: The Gypsy City
AS WE approached Mashallaha, the picture became clearer as to what waited for us. I had never ventured this far west, knowing I was considered banished given that I was my mother’s son. And the desert really didn’t appeal to me. All that sand getting into my crevices was not my idea of a good time.
I knew of Mashallaha, as I knew of every major city in Verania. I’d heard the stories, seen the drawings, but nothing prepared me for the first sight of it.
It was in the middle of the oasis, the buildings and homes and shops built atop the lake that was fed from some underground source. Mashallaha was mostly wood, the city resting on thick pillars that were embedded into the lakebed below. Everything was connected by wooden planks and pathways above the water, with narrow channels built for speedier travel by long, thin canoes. It looked like paradise with its brightly colored flags and lights on strings that stretched between all the dwellings.
The rich would often come to Mashallaha on vacation, as it was as exotic as anything got in Verania. Most of Mashallaha’s economy was built around tourism, with lavish and rustic hotels and gypsy customs that seemed mysterious and bizarre to the more refined city-folk. Traveling to Mashallaha was harsh and arduous but supposedly made worth it when you were lying on a bed padded with palm fronds, feeling the room rock gently around with the waves below, staring up through an open panel at the stars above.
I didn’t have time for shit like that.