Scion of Cyador

CLII

His Mightiness Toziel’elth’alt’mer looks up from the high bed. His head does not move as he murmurs. “Ryenyel…my dearest…you can do no more. There are so few shreds of order left in this frail form, that any strength you give me…it will destroy me yet sooner. I would…have liked…to have spent…another spring…”

“So…so would I.” The redhead whose hair whitens even as she holds his hand, kneels on the chair beside the bed, her head almost beside his.

“I would…not…have left Cyador…so.” He takes several wheezing shallow breaths before he speaks again. “We tried so hard to find one who could hold…our Land of Eternal Light…”

“We did as we could, dear one.” She squeezes his hand, offering the slightest hint of order.

“Your touch…good…as always.”

“I am here, dearest.”

“You must…write out the documents-one for each, naming him as heir-hold as you can…and choose as you must.” He forces a smile that lapses as he struggles for another breath. “How…Which…?”

“Lorn-he may yet surmount what faces him. I would have him over Kharl or any merchanter, but either Kharl or Lorn will keep Cyador strong.”

“Cyador…Cyad…there is no other…no other.”

Once she has completed her task, and he his, as the night darkens, the Empress-Consort continues to hold Toziel’s hand, long past that time when she can offer strength or warmth.