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Kyroun had been given his own complex of chambers in the Gebbi Senafa, which befitted his status among the Matile and his close relationship with the Emperor. In previous times, the Emperor and the Leba had been estranged because of the antagonism between Gebrem and Alemeyu, and Gebrem had resided in the House of Amiyas rather than the Palace. The Seer’s presence in the Palace symbolized the alliance between the two men.
Now, though, Kyroun knew that partnership was about to be put to the test. And he could not foresee whether or not it would survive that trial, which Kyroun knew would come sooner rather than later.
Like Gebrem, Kyroun was clad in a plain garment and seated in a meditative posture on the floor in front of his bed. He could have joined Gebrem in the golden desert that was Almovaar’s Realm, if only to observe what passed between the Emperor and his god. But he chose not to do so. There was no point; he already knew what Almovaar would say to Gebrem. However, he did not know how the new Emperor would react.
He would soon find out, though. And he was waiting for that moment. So he was not surprised when Kyroun entered the chamber, unannounced and without ceremony.
Gebrem looked as though he were still in Almovaar’s bleak fastness. The hot wind had left the braids of his hair askew, even though only his spirit had been away, not his body. His eyes were red, as though tiny granules of sand still stung them. And when he spoke, his voice sounded like the rasp of a sliding dune, similar to the voice of Almovaar.
“You knew,” he accused. “You always knew, Kyroun. Yet you didn’t tell me. Why?”
Gebrem’s eyes blazed. Kyroun could sense the gathering of the Emperor’s nascent power. It was a power that might well have matched his own, for all that it was still new to Gebrem. The Leba had assimilated Almovaad magic far more quickly than any of the Amiyas; it was as though he were born to wield it. The Seer knew that his future, as well as that of Gebrem and the newly reborn Matile Mara Empire, depended on how he replied to Gebrem’s anguished question.
He answered it with a series of questions of his own.
“If I had told you, would you have accepted Almovaar? And if you had not accepted Almovaar, would you – and the Matile Mala – be where you are today? Would you, or your daughter, or anyone else here still be alive? Would this city still be standing?”
Gebrem’s eyes didn’t waver from their intense lock with Kyroun’s. But the flames of wrath in the Matile’s gaze slowly diminished to embers. And the scowl on his features relaxed, becoming an expression of deep melancholy – and, perhaps, regret. Finally, Gebrem turned and departed from Kyroun’s bedchamber without saying another word.
He never replied to the Seer’s question. He didn’t have to. For both men knew what his answer would have been.