Epilogue
SEVRIN
For some time after Colsar vanished through the window, the chamber remained as it had been left.
Cold air moved through the broken frame and stirred the curtains, carrying the distant sounds of the harbor through the room.
The servants waiting beyond the doorway did not dare enter while Sevrin still stood there with the goblet in his hand.
Eventually he turned away from the ruined window and walked deeper into his chambers.
The door to the inner room opened with a light push.
Lanterns illuminated the murals immediately.
Asharin watched from every wall, her likeness repeated in paint and plaster so that the room contained no direction that did not lead back to her.
Sevrin crossed to the table at the center of the room and set his goblet down.
Several drawers had been built into the side of it.
He opened the first. Forks rested in narrow grooves cut into the wood, none of them clean.
Dark remnants of meat and sauce remained along the silver exactly as they had been when the servants cleared the dishes.
Above each utensil a small engraved plate marked the meal: pork roast, braised chicken, trout, venison, lamb. He closed the drawer and opened the next. More utensils waited there, preserved in the same careful order.
The final drawer opened beneath his hand and inside rested a single spoon. The plate above it carried one word: Dessert.
Sevrin lifted the spoon and turned it slowly between his fingers, the silver catching faint reflections as the memory returned with unwelcome clarity.
He could still hear the way she had spoken the word across the table.
He remembered the small sound she made after tasting it, as if she had forgotten for a moment that he was watching her.
For a moment he stood there with the spoon in his hand.
Then he lowered it into the goblet, stirred the wine once, and drank.
Asharin surrounded him. “You asked for dessert,” he said quietly. After a moment he returned the spoon to its place and closed the drawer. When he stepped back into the outer chamber a servant waited near the doorway with his head lowered.
“Majesty.”
Sevrin lifted the goblet to his mouth. “Find Prince Tamal of Yorali,” he said. “Immediately.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“And when you locate him, tell the Prince I require the Blind Gate.”
The servant bowed and withdrew.
Sevrin remained where he was for a moment longer while the cold air from the shattered window continued to move through the room behind him. Eventually his attention returned to the inner chamber. “You will return to me,” he said softly.
He thought of his mother’s words. The girl will be yours. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not tomorrow. The dog will not keep her. He smiled to himself. She was right, because he possessed a trait his brother had always lacked.
Patience.