Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 34: A Painful Truth

Libro woke with a painful jolt. He was lying awkwardly, head twisted against his chainmail shirt, the cold metal digging into his cheek. His knees were drawn up into his chest, just like in the dream.

He rose in a panic, expecting stone and the Empress's cold eyes, only to find relief a second later. He wasn't in the palace. He was in Elena's home at the alienage where the last of the Keevan Ras resided.

Or so he'd been told. Memories of the dream bubbled up from the haze. The Empress said there'd been a rebellion and that the army had been sent for pacification purposes, not genocide. And yet Libro couldn't shake away how adamant Elena's father had been about what he'd said. That Keevan Ras was gone, it's people wiped out.

Libro felt his feelings tug between two places. What the Empress had told him sounded wholly unbelievable. Keevan Ras had been the Empire's closest allies ever since they'd defeated the Vostoch Orda as a combined effort. The Confederacy still, to this day, provided levies to the Vangen as a tribute to the Empire. There would have been peace talks first, or negotiations, or something at the very least. Not a rebellion that required military action on the Empire's behalf. But the Empress simply wouldn't lie to him. She loved him. She'd said so herself.

Libro's paranoia reared its ugly head once more. He shook away the thought. No, he had to trust the Empress. It was his duty, after all, as a Vangen. As a soldier to the Empire. As one of the last possible bloodlines to a fading lineage.

His hand brushed against the spine of the Archive, still strapped to his side. Even when sleeping, he never parted with the tome. It was his job as the Chronicler to record the current events of the Vangen. Didn't amount to much now, though. His dip in the Bosba had seen fit to erase the three centuries of history recorded in those pages. His work and the work of the Chroniclers before him were probably out to sea by now. What a colossal waste.

There was a soft knock at the door. Elena's voice called from outside. "Ketro, are you awake?"

Libro looked out the window. The moon stood at a crooked descent. Why was she here at a time like this? Nervously, he answered. "Yes."

"May I come in?"

Again he responded. "Yes." The door opened slowly as Elena crept back in. She carried a candle with her, the soft light bathing the room in an amber-orange glow. Shadows drew themselves over her cheeks and eyes.

For a moment she stood there, watching him. Then she said, "I hope I didn't disturb you."

Libro felt his thoughts start to swim in syrup again. Elena's words seemed to have that effect on him. Just like when she'd kissed him. With some difficulty, he stood up and said, "Oh no, it's all right. I was having trouble sleeping anyway. What with everything going on right now."

That produced a soft smile from her. "Right, that's good." Her eyes drifted to the floor, where Libro's chainmail shirt lay folded. "Did you not sleep in the bed?"

Heat flared up Libro's neck. "Old habits die hard, you know?" He bent down and picked up the shirt, draping it over one arm. "Is everything okay? It's late. What are you still doing up?"

Elena's nervousness was palpable. For the first time, her confidence had all but disappeared completely. "I'm all right."

Libro wanted to believe her, but his paranoia told him otherwise. Something was up. No matter how hard he tried to push away the feeling, it kept coming back. Something was up.

"Are you sure?" Libro pressed.

Elena raised a surprised brow. "I am." She said, her tone a little sterner.