The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) by James Maxwell

loved him, but he knew there was something between her and the kalif, and even when Killian innocuously brought up Ilathor in conversation with her, she never explained a thing.
    He now sat in the war rooms, high in the Imperial Palace, his palms resting on the rune-covered surface of a simulator. Rogan was speaking in his deep, rumbling voice—something about the Imperial Legion.
    He needed to concentrate. He knew how important these discussions were.
    But Killian couldn’t stop thinking about Ella.
    He’d seen it in her eyes; the ruler of the desert had been speaking the truth. Did she love Ilathor? He cast his mind back to the chamber inside the Sentinel, on the day of the primate’s death, when she’d entered with Ilathor by her side. He’d seen the protective way the handsome Hazaran held her back from danger.
    Ella had risked everything to bring Killian home from the wasteland that was Shar, and he’d thought that what was between them was powerful enough to keep them together through any adversity. Killian had thought Ella loved him.
    Yet Ella left the day after the Chorum without a word of explanation. She’d left in the same ship as the kalif of House Hazara.
    “You’re far away,” Rogan said. “Am I boring you?”
    “No, I’m sorry,” Killian said, returning his gaze to the simulator as he realized he’d been staring at the wall. “There’s something on my mind.”
    “Well set your mind on this. As I was saying, the signaling system is a good idea, but it doesn’t change one key fact. If Altura calls, you’re going to have to make a choice. Do you head for the west, leaving Seranthia exposed? Or do you leave Altura to her fate?”
    “What should I do?”
    “You can’t leave us defenseless,” said Marshal Trask, a staunchly loyal Tingaran.
    “Either way,” Rogan said, “you should prepare your strategy before the moment itself comes.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Killian said. “Please leave me now.”
    The marshals swiftly bowed and departed, leaving Killian alone in the room. He looked down at the simulator in disgust; he knew the map in every detail. He knew how his men were deployed and the travel times from one place to another. He didn’t need further reminding.
    Deciding to find a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, Killian deactivated the simulator and left the war rooms.
    He climbed a staircase and entered an empty sitting room with antique cushioned sofas and low tables. Looking at the furniture , he wondered how previous generations had managed to seat themselves on something so uncomfortable. Killian found the balcony doors and pulled them wide. Heedless of the biting wind tearing at his clo thing, he stepped out and gazed at his city.
    From his vantage, Killian could see the common people below as they passed through Imperial Square. They all deserved his protection . Could he leave them exposed? He knew Sentar Scythran would come for Seranthia, even if it was just to remove the city as an obstacle as he entered the Sentinel and opened the way to Shar. It was an outcome Killian had to do everything in his power to avoid.
    But Killian also knew that if Altura called, Ella would be in the thick of the fighting, and she would be battling revenants. How could he abandon her homeland to its fate? Even if Ella managed to survive, he knew she would never forgive him.
    Additionally, if the enemy gained a foothold in Altura, their numbers would swell in size, like a plague of locusts feasting on the fields at harvest time. Killian had faith in Miro, but surely Altura couldn’t hold out alone?
    Were his feelings for Ella clouding his judgment?
    Perhaps he could split his forces if Altura called, as Miro seemed to think was certain. Would a smaller force be enough?
    Killian looked down at his hands, the silver symbols decorating the palms only barely visible in the low light of Seranthia at night. Who would challenge Sentar, if not Killian? Staying in Seranthia and