Chapter Sixty
Torin
Iblanched, frozen at the sound of my father’s voice.
One uttered command once carried so much authority that it stopped bickering viziers without much more than a whisper.
In my memories, he was as tall as a house and thick as a warhorse.
I expected grey to infiltrate his oil-black hair and age to show in the weathering of his skin and the wrinkles around his eyes, but nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for this current reality.
My father sat on the low couch, turned away from me and the open-air balcony, allowing only a view of the back of his head.
While his rooms remained unchanged from when I called Iluul home—blue and white mosaic tiles still dominated the space while white gauzy curtains hung loosely, separating the balcony from the rest of the room—my father’s hair was completely white.
His shoulders were hunched, and, even from this distance, he appeared thin and frail.
“Are you going to stand there and stare, or are you going to come in?” While the undertone of command was still there, his voice was thin and reedy.
A hacking cough and a rattle in his chest had me moving from the balcony to enter his suite fully.
Subconsciously, I inhaled deeply and felt a pang of longing and homesickness as the incense that my father always burned when he prayed to gods long dead tickled my nose.
Cautiously, I circled the couch until I stood in front of my father.
Shock and despair rolled over me in waves as I gazed at the man who I once thought held up the world by sheer will alone.
His head bent forward as if pulled by gravity while the plain blue kaftan hung loosely around his brittle frame.
My gaze flicked to his gnarled hands as one rested atop a cane while the other pressed a white handkerchief against his mouth.
I held my hands out hesitantly, unsure of what to do.
Eventually, as my father’s coughing subsided, I let them fall to rest against my thighs.
The handkerchief came away stained pink with blood-tinged spittle, and I felt my heart break in two.
The vizier at the gates of Iluul wasn’t lying—my father was sick, incredibly sick.
But the worst thing of all was when my father raised his head, fixing me with a milky-white, unseeing stare.
He was blind.
Twenty years away from home, and my dying father wouldn’t be able to look upon me again.
Why did I leave? What have I done?
My heart cracked in half, and I sat heavily back on the low tea table in front of my father’s couch.
“Come now, it’s not that bad,” he said with a grimace in my general direction.
I simply shook my head mutely, dumbly.
“You’re dying.” A strangled whisper worked its way out of my throat and past my lips. The first time seeing my father and my first words to him were about his own mortality. The back of my eyes burned, and I blinked rapidly, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.
“Torin,” my father barked, pulling me from my thoughts. “This is not your fault. Staying here would not have delayed my disease, it only would have allowed Elyria to fall quicker.”
“So it’s hopeless then,” I asked numbly.
My father shook his head in irritation.
“That’s not what I said, son.”
“You just said that if I stayed, Elyria would have fallen to the gods earlier. It is inevitable, then, yes? So I should have stayed, should have been here for you, helped you, given you grandchildren . . .”
My father waved a hand at me, silencing my tirade.
“Torin. Breathe.”
I closed my eyes, relishing his familiar command and desperately trying to calm my racing heart and spiraling thoughts.
It was all too much.
“Gods, I forgot how much like your mother you are,” he said on a dry chuckle. His humor and change of subject brought a reluctant smile to my lips as I ruefully shook my head. “Apparently, it’s only grown worse during your time away in the north.”
I hummed as my lips twitched. “Funny enough, I was considered reticent when I first joined the Matriarch’s army. Cold, even.”
Laughter burst from my father’s chest, pulling a full grin to my lips. Hearing his joy was a balm to my aching soul, even as a second coughing fit followed. These were louder and more forceful, and I looked around desperately for water or some type of medicine to help him.
As if I projected my thoughts, the door to my father’s suite swung open. Immediately, I was on my feet, pulling at my Fire Magic with the intent of incinerating anyone who came close to my father.
A man near my father’s seventy-some years strode into the room; a tray balanced in his hands.
Despite his blindness, my father’s milky gaze followed the man’s movements.
A fond smile tilted the corner of his thin, chapped lips as a shaky hand reached out to clasp the manservant’s after the tray was abandoned on the low table.
My father squeezed once, the manservant’s other hand briefly caressing my father’s skin, before he pulled away.
“Please call me if you need me, Kerem.” With that, he swept from the room, closing the door softly behind him.
We sat in companionable silence as my father finished his tea, the sun slowly descending toward the horizon until it was just peeking over the ocean, sending its last warm rays into the room and casting the furniture in an almost unearthly glow.
Soon, the moon would rise as darkness fell, and Iluul would be blanketed in night that only felt colder by the absence of the relentless heat.
With a sigh, I moved to stand, intent on pulling the movable wall that separated the balcony from his room closed, but my father stopped me with a gentle hand on my forearm.
“Leave it for a little longer, son. The cold reminds me of her and you.”
I sat on the couch this time, near enough to my father that I could inhale his sharp, spicy scent and feel the warmth of his body against my shoulder. I patted his hand where it rested on my arm and felt him squeeze in reply.
“So, my son, tell me of your time in the north.”
I sat against the back of the couch with a sigh, closing my eyes as I rifled through my memories, both old and new, good and bad.
“What do you want to know, Father?”
“Everything,” he begged. “Tell me everything.”
And so I did. For long hours, way past when the sun winked from the horizon with a quick flash of bright green over the water until the moon was high in the sky and the stars twinkled in greeting, I spoke.
I told him about the north, my time in the Matriarch’s army; discovering my nature as a godling and training in Vespera; about rescuing the Bondsmith and my friendships with Peytor and Folami; about a little girl who called me “uncle” and a woman who called me hers.
“You have a woman?” He interrupted for the first time since I started speaking hours ago, a lightness to his expression that wasn’t there before.
I barked a hoarse laugh.
“Of all my tales, of all my harrowing adventures, that’s what piqued your interest?”
He squeezed my arm tightly, an action he’d repeated over the hours whenever he felt I needed comfort or support.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Your mother was—is—the most important person to me. She was my backbone and comfort. I’d given up hope that you’d find someone who would be that for you. Tell me about her,” he commanded, and I obliged.
“She is . . .” I trailed off, my tone reverent and gaze far away as I thought about the woman who owned my heart and soul.
I must have paused longer than I thought because I felt pressure on my arm again as my father’s bony fingers dug into muscle.
“That incredible, hmm?” he asked wistfully and full of awe.
“Beyond what words can describe. She’s my true north, the light in my storm. She guides me home and rejuvenates my weary soul,” I paused. “There is nothing for me here if she is not by my side.”
My father was quiet, thoughtful.
“Why are you here, son?” he finally asked. Exhaustion laced his tone even as his face looked lighter than it had when I first saw him on the couch.
I swallowed thickly, hating myself for the answer that sat on the tip of my tongue.
“I wish I could say that I came for you, that I missed Iluul, or that I came for my legacy in these walls”—I shook my head—“but it’s much more self-serving than that.
I need to use Iluul’s navy, Father. The gods .
. . the gods are moving quicker than we anticipated, amassing an army the likes of which Elyria has never seen.
It’s almost time to make the final stand, I can feel it in my very soul.
And if we stand alone, we’ll die. All of us.
Me and Ellowyn first, then they’ll come south.
They’ll come and conquer every city, kill or enslave every person until they have total dominion over mortals. It truly is the end of days.”
My father was silent for a moment, contemplating my words.
“If you’re searching for the legacy of the d’Eshus, you won’t find it here.
Legacy is not in the adornments you put on a building.
It’s not tied to your family name or awarded based on your progeny.
It’s not found in a mausoleum or from the mouths of others.
Legacy is in the way you shape the world, the way you treat Elyria’s people, the impact you have. ”
I smiled wistfully as I patted the old man’s knee.
“I have missed you, Father.”
“And I have missed you, my son. But you were never meant for Iluul. You were made for Elyria, for its people. For that woman who loves you and you love in return. Made to protect them from a greater evil than your mother or I could comprehend at the time of your conception. You say you need our army? I trust you. You have my blessing.”
Tension eased from my posture immediately as I sank bonelessly into the couch.