Page 87 of Between Imminent Fates

Isaiah’s eyes were weary, but sharp. Seeing his closest friend awake and aware was jolting. For a moment, Derikles’ skin grew hot, and he had the urge to sob.

“Please forgive me, Derikles. It’s never been my intention to unfairly hoist responsibility on your shoulders, but I did it anyway. Too many in our clan would have been harmed by the catastrophic loss of a sovereign. I would never take that risk.”

Tilting his head slightly, Isaiah continued.

“You know I’ve been searching for something, and you’ve most likely guessed by now what it was. While I won’t go into details about what Nina and I will attempt to do, the second piece of the puzzle is far more important to you now.”

Derikles allowed himself to breathe.

“I know that a sovereign’s life was never one you desired; you’ve been explicit in that regard. But you’ve proven yourself strong and resilient, and I trust you to see to the good of the clan.

“I don’t believe anyone is more capable of leading them than you, Derikles. Your desire to remain out of the spotlight, never chasing power for power’s sake, shows just how suitable you are for the role. I sought a sovereignty for the wrong reasons, while it was forced onto you.Yourintentions will be pure, and our clan will prosper with your leadership.

“Remember that it is the people who rise from the ashes who shine the brightest,”he continued.“I trust you with the people I love most: my family and my clan. I put them in your care, Derikles.”

A tight smile, as sad as it was apologetic, and he offered a ray of hope.“But don’t despair, my friend. If you’d prefer the mantle of this burden to fall on another, there is hope. In the archives, Nina and I managed to piece together what our forebears did before a sovereignty became a death sentence. It was knowledge lost to time, and a hope of what we can once more become. To my own horror, I believe it was those of my creed—those born of destruction—that purged the knowledge from the original texts.”

What followed was an intensive description of how to move the sovereignty to another within the clan. Derikles listened with rapt attention. He made mental notes about the complex process, astounded by the mind-numbing details his sovereign had captured.

Isaiah, who’d unfairly hoisted responsibility on him, had just as readily offered him hope.

By the time Isaiah’s dissertation on the sovereignty shift had finished, Derikles’ anger had abandoned him. What remained was a bitter sadness at the loss of a leader and friend, who’d seen his role through to the end.

But Isaiah wasn’t through.

“Derikles, please know that if there was any other way, I would’ve taken it. I’m … uncertain what will happen to me after our attempt with Key, but I do know one thing. If, for some reason, my body survives, I’d ask that you end me, Derikles. It would only torment Rukia, and I can’t bear the thought of her unfounded hope.”

The man swallowed harshly, his features pinching with the many emotions running under the surface. As he reached to shut off the feed, Isaiah hesitated.

And then he asked Derikles for something that gutted him.

“I’m fairly certain Rukia will hate me for all of eternity—”Isaiah gave the recording a tragic smile,“—but please keep her from seeking the Light. She doesn’t deserve to die just because I did. She’s worth so much more than that.”

Isaiah’s voice wavered, the closest Derikles had ever seen him to a breaking.

“Please take care of them. Please take care of Rukia and Isaak. My mate will never forgive me, that much I know.”He chuckled, but the sound was more sad than anything. “Please tell them I’m sorry and that I loved them. And when Isaak is old enough, tell him that I was so very proud of him.”

The feed shut off.

Derikles stared at the black screen: empty, broken-hearted, and fundamentally changed by Isaiah’s message. The silence that flooded the office was oppressive, a reminder that he’d never have another conversation with his sovereign again.

There was no doubt in his mind that he needed to show the video to the Raeth community. He squared his shoulders and made his way to the Great Hall.

Rukia was hovering near the entrance. Anxiety was written all over her face, but the moment she saw him, it vanished in a storm of determination.

“Give me that computer, Derikles,” she warned, “or so help me I’ll drown everyone here.”

He wasn’t surprised. “Do you want to watch it alone?”

“I don’t care who sees it, I just need to seehim.”

By now, every immortal in the room was paying attention. Though Derikles would’ve loved to snarl and warn them off while Rukia grieved, he realized the importance of what Isaiah had detailed.

Rukia snatched the laptop from him before walking to the ring of chairs, using one as a makeshift table. When she pressed play, no one could look away.

Rukia stared at her mate, but not a single tear fell until he spoke about her directly. There wasn’t a single person who was unaffected by the personal note at the end.

Around the room, there were heads dipped in respect. On some bizarre level, Derikles thought he’d have to defend the choices his former sovereign had made, but that wasn’t the case. Even the other breeds of immortals knew enough about Raeth culture to respect his decisions.

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