‘What are you doing?’ Gilwyn asked.
Thorin hesitated. ‘Kahldris. He does not believe you, Gilwyn.’
‘No? Was Kahldris ever bitten by a rass?’
‘Kahldris thinks you should be well enough by now,’ said Thorin. ‘And in truth, you should be.’
Cornered, Gilwyn grew defensive. ‘I can’t work with the catalogue today, Thorin. It doesn’t matter what Kahldris thinks. I’m telling you I’m sick.’
In all the days that Gilwyn lay in bed, Kahldris had never come to him, not even at his weakest. He had expected the Akari to appear, to threaten him or cajole him out of his sickbed, but Thorin had forbidden it, Gilwyn supposed. It was a good sign, and Gilwyn knew Thorin was making progress. But he needed more time.
‘All right, Gilwyn,’ said Thorin gently. ‘You don’t have to look at the machine if you’re not ready.’
Gilwyn smiled. ‘Thank you, Thorin. I will look at it, just as soon as I’m able.’
Without another word, Thorin turned and headed back the way they’d come. Gilwyn followed him, his good mood deflated. Obviously, they were going back to Lionkeep without seeing Lucio’s painting. Gilwyn knew he had to play along and not make a fuss. But before they made it halfway to the entrance, he detoured himself into one of the smaller reading chambers. Annoyed, Thorin called for him to come out, but Gilwyn refused. There were a dozen chairs in the little room, each of them exactly the same, crammed among the books so that scholars could study peacefully. Gilwyn chose one of the chairs, faced it toward the entrance, and sat down to wait for Thorin. The baron came in after him, pausing in the threshold.
‘We’re going, Gilwyn.’
Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ Sullen, he asked Thorin, ‘Is that why you brought me here? Just to get me to work on the machine?’
‘Certainly not,’ said the baron. ‘I thought you were well enough to see what has been done here. It’s important that you see.’
‘Why?’ asked Gilwyn.
‘Because,’ said Thorin, sauntering into the room, ‘this will be your library soon.’
Gilwyn sat up. ‘Say that again?’
‘The library needs someone to run it,’ said Thorin. ‘I can’t do it. Neither can anyone else. That’s your job, Gilwyn. It’s your destiny.’
‘What? No! I mean, I can’t-’
‘Why can’t you?’ said Thorin. ‘Because you are promised to White-Eye? I have considered that already. It does not matter.’
‘But it does matter, Thorin. Of course it does! I love White-Eye. And someday I’m going to return to her.’
Thorin’s face darkened. ‘I know you think that.’
Gilwyn studied him. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Thorin? There’s something. .’
‘The library needs you, Gilwyn. This is where you belong. Not in Jador. You were born to this place.’
‘Thorin, White-Eye needs me too.’
‘No,’ said Thorin. ‘You may think she does, but she does not.’
‘She’s blind, Thorin,’ argued Gilwyn. ‘Your demon made her so. Do not tell me that she doesn’t need me. She does, more than ever now because of Kahldris.’
Thorin turned away, hiding his face. ‘Gilwyn, there are things you still haven’t worked out. You mean to save me from Kahldris. I understand. Others have tried, and believe it or not I am grateful to them all.’
‘But you are better now, Thorin,’ said Gilwyn. He went to the old man, speaking soothingly. ‘I have seen the change in you in just the past few weeks.’
‘I am better,’ Thorin admitted. ‘I am myself again, because I am happy you are here and because I have learned a little how to placate Kahldris. But it is not what you think, Gilwyn. I belong to Kahldris.’
‘No,’ spat Gilwyn. ‘I don’t believe that. You’re nothing like Kahldris, no matter what he makes you do.’
‘If you think that, you are a fool.’ Thorin’s eyes blazed. ‘Look at me, boy. I have my arm again, and all my manhood. I have my vigour back and a kingdom to rebuild. I have returned home. These are fabulous things, and it was Kahldris who bestowed them on me. I owe him a debt.’
‘He gets to live through you, just like any other Akari,’ retorted Gilwyn. ‘He uses you to walk through this world. He has drank a river of blood thanks to you, Thorin. You don’t owe him anything.’
Pain pinched Thorin’s face. ‘Will you take what I offer you, Gilwyn? The library is a great gift. You can be happy here.’
Gilwyn hesitated. ‘Thorin, I don’t know. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
Thorin put his hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘I want so much to give you the things you lost when you left here. Can’t you see? I’m trying to rebuild all of it. And when you returned, you put something good in my heart.’
‘You’re scaring me, Thorin. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’
‘But you can’t stop it! This is what I’m telling you, boy. Lukien is coming to kill me. What will you do when he gets here? You mean to stall until he arrives. That’s your plan, I know it is. You’re well enough to use the machine! Any fool can see that. You’re just waiting, hoping that something good will happen.’
‘All right,’ said Gilwyn, flushing with embarrassment. ‘So it’s true. But I’ve seen the change in you, Thorin. I have! I am reaching you. Don’t deny that; I see it too clearly. And if Lukien is coming to kill you, then I won’t let him. I’m going to stay with you, no matter what. Do you understand that?’
There was real warmth in Thorin’s touch as he tightened his hand on Gilwyn’s shoulder. ‘One day soon I’ll have to stop calling you ‘boy.’ You’re a man now. When did that happen, I wonder?’
‘Tell me what you’re keeping from me,’ pressed Gilwyn. ‘Why are you giving me the library? Why can’t I return to Grimhold?’
‘The reason should be obvious. What do you think Kahldris wants from me, Gilwyn?’
Gilwyn thought for a moment. ‘Your body. That’s what all the Akari want, a chance to be among the living.’
Thorin shook his head. ‘No. Think deeper. Think like a demon.’
‘Thorin, I don’t want these riddles. Tell me what he wants from you!’
‘Revenge!’ Thorin spun away, laughing mirthlessly. ‘Imagine a lifetime locked in that armour. A thousand lifetimes! Imagine the horror of it. Kahldris made the armour for his people and they shunned him. Not just his brother, but his whole damned race. They had the means to defeat the Jadori in their hands, and instead they let themselves be slaughtered like sheep.’
Finally, terribly, Gilwyn understood. ‘He wants revenge against the Akari.’
‘That’s right,’ said Thorin. Madness crackled on his tortured face. His voice became a twisted whisper as he stuck his nose close to Gilwyn. ‘I’m just a puppet on a string,’ he said. ‘So are you. So are all of us. Thank you for trying to save me, boy, but it’s already too late. Because once Kahldris takes care of his brother, he’s going back to Grimhold. And then he will destroy it.’
Lukien saw a distant kreel, its legs propelling it across the shimmering sands. The rider caught no sight of him, disappearing quickly through the dunes that led in a meandering line toward the white city. Lukien squinted against the powerful sun. His neck burned from long days on horseback. He stopped himself, leaning back in his saddle to admire the fleeing kreel, knowing he was home. The tall towers of Jador’s palace twinkled in the orange haze, stark and beautiful against the desert backdrop. The high wall surrounding the city blinded, its polished rock sending shards of sunlight in all directions. A great, wistful smile twisted the knight’s blanched lips. He had come across the world and back again, and the weight of his journey made his shoulders slump with exhaustion. Beneath him, the horse that had given him everything threatened to collapse, its legs made brittle from the impossible trek from Tharlara. Lukien patted the beast’s lathered neck.
‘You can rest forever now, my friend,’ he rasped. ‘That is home.’
Within him, Lukien felt the thrill of his Akari, Malator, as the long-dead spirit watched the city through the eye of his host. In Kaliatha Malator had mourned, but now his feelings soared like an eagle, buoyed by Lukien’s own indescribable joy. It was enough for the spirit to share the happiness, and Lukien honoured the moment by falling silent himself. So far, none within the city or on its walls had seen him approaching, the ragged knight in his bedraggled clothes, his face heavy with beard. Not even the fleet-footed kreel had smelled him. But soon they would know he had come. He was Shalafein — the defender — and they would feast and celebrate his homecoming. Lukien’s mind turned to the good foods and fine wines and the faces of his friends, and summoning the last fibres of his horse’s mettle he drove the weary mount onward to the city, through the sands that sucked at its hooves and along the dunes that swept dust into their eyes. The glorious city loomed ahead, growing ever taller as Lukien approached.