Prologue | An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom

Temmin could still smell his father’s blood, though he'd changed and washed so many times that his batman had given up and left him alone. Two the deaths that he may rule, thought the new King bitterly. One I expected, but...

He pulled back the entrance to his pavilion and looked out over the encampment.

Through the netting walls of the Healer’s tent, he saw Sisters, Lovers and Beloveds, Mothers, and Brothers moving among the beds, offering healing, comfort, absolution and, sometimes, when the wounds and suffering were too great, release. Not far away, Friends prepared the dead to be taken to the nearest Hill, stacking the shrouded bodies as carefully and respectfully as they could on wagons. 

At least it’s finally over, Temmin thought. “Pass the word for Teacher,” the young King told the left-hand sentry.

“I’m here, Your Majesty,” came a cool voice behind him.

Temmin turned to see his counselor already standing in the middle of the pavilion, changed from battle dress and once again in the familiar, severe black suit and robes. “Everything’s changed but you,” said Temmin.

“I am always the same, sir,” said Teacher.

“I’m not,” said Temmin, screwing his mouth into a grimace.

“You’re King now, and you have been through a great deal, but you are still you, Temmin,” said Teacher, moving to take Temmin’s hands. “Inside you are still you, always have been, and always will be.” 

Temmin squeezed the long pale hands and sat down heavily. He toed the thick Inchari carpet beneath his boot, watching the patterns blur and reform as he brushed the pile this way and that. “I’m twenty-six. I’m too old for tears.”

Teacher gave him a half-smile. “One is never too old for tears. Trust me.”

“Oh, I believe you.” 

“Then believe I mourn for Harsin, too, and wish I could have saved him.”

Temmin sat up straighter, wiped his eyes, and set his face. “You know why I called for you.”

“Yes,” murmured Teacher. “This is the day my heart breaks again.”