City of Towers_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [55]
Monan was distracted by the arrival of the meal—tribex stew seasoned with selas leaves. Teral may have considered the meal humble fare, but after six months of tasteless gruel, it was a true delight. The twins pounced on the stew like starving men, and it was Teral who finally answered Lei’s question.
“There are a few people in our community who believe that Cyre deserved its fate,” he said.
Daine almost dropped his spoon. “What?”
“Hundreds of refugees live in High Walls, and each person has a different opinion. But the root of this argument is that Cyre was weak. Mishann was the rightful heir to the throne of Galifar. If she’d been more aggressive, she might have put down the rebellion before it came to war.”
Greykell scowled. “In other words, she should have killed her brothers and sisters instead of trusting them to follow the laws and wishes of their father.”
Monan looked up from his stew. “Well, they didn’t, did they?”
Hugal laughed.
“Remind me, Monan, what you did during the war?”
Hugal stopped laughing and Monan looked away.
Greykell smirked, then looked back at Daine. “Speaking of the war, how long are you planning to wear that uniform?”
Daine flushed slightly, remembering his conversation with Jode earlier in the day. “Why? Was it so easy for you to abandon it?”
She shrugged. “Wearing a cloak or a pin doesn’t change who you are. Cyre is still with us. But the nation is gone. The army is gone. All you’re doing by wearing that cloak is angering the people you need as friends, and you should know better. You’re encouraging a fight when we need to work for peace.”
“This is a point that Greykell and I don’t quite see eye to eye on,” Teral said. “If we let go of our tradition, our unity, what do we have left?”
“What do we have now?” Greykell was still smiling, but her voice had taken a sharper tone. “Are we going to be the kingdom of tents? You’ve seen the Mournland. Cyre’s not coming back. I don’t like it any more then you do, but we should be trying to find good lives for our people here in Breland. We need to get our people out of High Walls, not rejoice in our isolation.”
Monan broke in again. No, this time it was Hugal. “We’re still a force to be reckoned with. What do you say, Captain? Do you believe the war is over?”
Is he serious? Daine didn’t know what to say.
“No offense, Hugal,” Jode said, “but how can you say otherwise? Let’s be honest. We were losing the war. Even if every surviving Cyran could wield a weapon, you couldn’t field an army capable of standing against Breland.”
“Who said anything about an army?” Hugal’s eyes glittered.
“What then?” Daine said.
“Have you seen the Mournland?” Hugal asked.
Greykell rolled her eye. Apparently she’d heard this before.
“I spent months searching for survivors,” Daine replied. “Teral, you said you found the serving girl there, didn’t you? That’s one more survivor than we ever found.”
Teral stared down into his water, his eyes distant. “There were more in the south, Daine. I myself was in Metrol when the Mourning came. I’ll never forget that night.”
“If you’ve seen it, you should know,” Hugal said. “Cyre isn’t dead. It’s simply changed.”
Daine thought back, remembering the corpses that wouldn’t decay, the burning mist, the rain of blood. “I … suppose.”
“We can’t go back there,” Hugal said. “The land can’t support life. We know that. But it is still our homeland. It is our past—and perhaps our path to the future. There is power in Cyre. You’ve seen the wonders and horrors that lie beyond the mist. What if we can harness that power? How could anyone stand against us then?”
“And what would we do with such a weapon?” Greykell asked. “Olladra’s teeth, Hugal! Our ancestors prided themselves on their skill and wisdom. Alone of the five nations, we held true to the dictates of Galifar. Would you spread the Mournland across the entire continent?”
“The throne of Galifar was ours by right. The others betrayed a thousand years of tradition,