Sunlight cast pale and strange through the sheer curtains hanging lazily in the window. Everything sat in perfect order, from the writing desk to the happily stuffed shelves, the lounging chaise to the plush bed. Aleaneo sat at the edge of it all, sunk into the fluff of the blankets with her hands in her lap. Her remaining candelabras flashed in the dim sunlight and, as the curtains swayed, the crystal pieces passed from luster to dullness. Beautiful stars shimmered and danced, joyous in the flashes of light. They cast their gleam on the vast surface of the desk and walls, swirling patterns on the floor, glimmering and sparkling until suddenly they vanished.

Thick fabric pressed against Aleaneo’s throat. The black swaths draped around her seemed so unfamiliar, though she’d worn them too many times. She wiggled and shifted, swallowed and itched. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and back, and even the wind burned. The Asyeri Council had been called. Immediate summons. A formality, at this point. They were a land in turmoil. Since the Unraveling a quarter century ago, the six remaining kingdoms of Dalran had crumbled in on themselves, sealed their people away within walls and fortresses to wait out the two decades until their salvation. After years of peacetime, they hadn’t been prepared for war, but the Unraveling had forced them to be, when the corner of the map had been stained black and they had no choice but to stand as one. Arigel had been a mighty force once—the oldest kingdom in Dalran—but not anymore. Their Olerim ancestors were little more than myth now and the oldest Arigelian families, those who could trace their lines back to the city’s founding, had been cut down like wheat. Like Melithe, who had only a brother left.

Maids whirled around Aleaneo, wrapping her in silk and cotton and painting her face and arms with bronze and copper. Aleaneo dipped her head as Melithe nestled a semicircle of gold feathers into her hair and slipped three gold hoops around her wrist, then sat in the chair as two maids laced her sandals. She hiked the skirt of her dress to tuck a thick dagger into the strap on her leg, then carefully pulled the black fabric to cover it.

“Saelra,” a maid stammered, “a—are you sure about the black?”

“It is the Asyeri Council,” another added. “There are the gown and robes made for—”

“I’ll wear the black,” Aleaneo stated.

A knock at the door interrupted the sudden silence. Aleaneo’s brother, Lereth, stepped in. He’d still offered no explanation for his absence at the Highalians’ arrival, and Aleaneo hadn’t asked for one. Her brother disliked public appearances and was uncomfortable in crowds. An inconvenience, given his position. Even now, in the safety of his baby sister’s rooms, he shifted uneasily in his mourning clothes.

“Mother sent me for you,” he said. Mother wants you to go with me.

Aleaneo nodded as her maids finished the braids down her back and smoothed the wild tendrils of hair flinging out on all sides. They gathered their tools, bowed, and left the siblings alone, ushered out the door by Melithe. As Melithe passed, Lereth caught her eye, and they exchanged smiles.

“Are you nervous?” Lereth asked once the door was shut. Aleaneo wouldn’t look at him, though she saw him stiffly roll his shoulders as he admired the same books that had been on her shelf for years. “They are, too. That’s what you used to tell me. They’re all as nervous as you. The islander, the priestess, even the Red Prince.”

Aleaneo scoffed. “You’ve seen him?” She turned to her brother and waited for his reply.

Lereth scowled, “He’s certainly a fifth prince. You can smell the ambition.”

“Is that what you call it?” Aleaneo smirked. “Wouldn’t surprise me if his predecessors…thinned the competition.”

“Come on, Al,” her brother grinned. “That’s only in Nah’i.”

Aleaneo laughed and felt the strain in her neck ease. She relaxed in her chair and stared out the open window. It was a surprisingly beautiful day—clear skies, crisp clouds, a brisk breeze. In the distance, the kaelkyr rippled like golden waves. A gentle knock broke her peace, and Lereth stepped aside as Melithe cracked the door.

“It’s time,” Melithe announced solemnly.

Aleaneo sat motionless in her chair as the seconds crawled past. She peeled her fingers from the armrests and stood, her maids falling in line behind her and her brother as they left her rooms, Melithe close at hand. Fierce guards heaved open the doors of her corridor and immediately a crowd of Arigelian councilors descended on Aleaneo.

“It is a joy to accompany you to the hall, saelra,” said the chancellor, her dark hair swept over her shoulder and twisted with kaelkyr.

“We are honored to join you for this most glorious of days,” chimed the minister.

“To witness the fulfillment of the Asyeri Prophecy,” added the ambassador, “is a blessing from the Olerim themselves.”

Through the milling crowds, Aleaneo spotted her parents. Tucked away from the jostling dignitaries, they leaned close to each other and exchanged quiet words. With dark hair that fell to her waist, woven with braids and chords, and skin that shone like topaz, the kanyra stood tall as the figures of the great tapestries. The korae was dressed simply in his tunic and boots and, if Aleaneo squinted, he still looked the same—the laughter, the smile, the way his face lit up when he read to Aleaneo of some far-off land. Maybe she could see the young man from the portraits, the one she’d never known, who stood from the throne at his coronation to walk down to the crowds, shaking hands and taking flowers, the crown on his head woven from golden grass. Generations of Arigelian kings had worn that crown, and one by one it passed from korae to son to korae again, until it was the only crown left.

As the councilors commended and cooed, Aleaneo’s parents turned to look at her, and the crowds parted as she approached them.

“You look splendid,” her mother ran a hand along Aleaneo’s sleeve, little lines crinkling near her eyes. “It’s alright to be nervous.”

“I’m fine,” Aleaneo replied, eyeing the crisp blue sky over her mother’s shoulder.

“Then forgive us our anxiety,” her father smiled as the councilors waited impatiently. “Twenty years and we still aren’t ready.”

“It’s not forever,” Lereth interjected. “Your new filly’s training won’t fail her.”

“She has more promise than that gelding of yours,” Aleaneo quipped. “Don’t let them neglect her.”

A restless councilor approached. “Korae,” he wrung his hands. “The other councils are on their way to the chamber.”

Aleaneo’s father straightened his hunched back. “As are we.”

Crowded as the corridor was with the legions of Arigelian dignitaries following behind her, Aleaneo heard only the voices ahead. There must have been hundreds, thousands, and they echoed from hall to hall, bouncing from the walls and ceilings. Twenty years she’d prepared for this day, since the moment she came screaming into the world, and it still didn’t seem real. In her rooms, Aleaneo had crumpled the summons in her fist. No words, no message at all. Only the quartered circle and star, the Seal of the Asyeri. There was no time for the United Council. Let the councilors bicker and shout; she would act. It was her purpose to journey across the continent and cut down the Vysarian betrayer, to save Dalran. Twenty years they had waited for salvation, and now the Asyeri were ready.

She walked at the head of the Arigelian procession, as she had all her life. Even her parents walked behind her, her father on her right, her mother on her left, her brother just behind them. Aleaneo had always hated it. Though it was meant to signify her position as an Asyeri, all Aleaneo felt were the dozens of eyes on her back and the fear that she would somehow take a wrong turn. She’d done it more than once as a child, standing terrified in the center of a hall until Melithe had nudged her in the right direction.

The distant voices swelled as they arrived in the great atrium, and the afternoon sun peaked above the glass dome overhead; midday, when the light of the burning sun illuminated the Council’s emblem on the sweeping stone floor. As Aleaneo entered the atrium, she nearly stumbled at the sight of the gathered throngs, but collected herself as they turned to look at her. As many as they were, the divisions were clear: the priests from Bermia in their stark white robes and pious glory, the islanders from Spear with the scent of salty ocean dripping from their cropped cloaks, and the gardeners from Pandrylia with their soft voices and softer eyes.

Another royal entourage entered the council atrium, and the scorching crimson of the Highalian prince’s cloak burned Aleaneo’s eyes from across the room as he approached with his mass of councilors. He, too, walked at the head of the procession and met her gaze across the stone, his hair resistantly tucked beneath a crown of wrapped silk. Aleaneo turned away and focused on the other figures set apart from the rest. The Bermian grand princess would not meet anyone’s gaze; the Pandrylian princess equally reserved, but for far less arrogant reasons; and the Spearian princess seemed to bounce back and forth between laughing amongst her companions and smirking at the Highalian prince.

Only five. Aleaneo dismissed her disappointment. Not one of the Nah’ian directorate had come. After the disappearance of the crown prince two years ago, they had humbly assumed power in the Eiras Mountains, but all Dalran knew the directorate had seized power after the death of their king fifteen years ago. Aleaneo had never met the Nah’ian crown prince, and now feared she never would, though it didn’t particularly matter. The prophecy didn’t say all six Asyeri would be needed to defeat the Vysarian, only that the Asyeri had the power to do it at all, but a shadow Asyeri may have been helpful when facing the Traitor’s hordes.

The great doors opened and Aleaneo stepped forward. Her remaining family was inside, whoever was left, along with the rest of the six kingdoms’ representatives. Royal councils and advisors from across Dalran, each kingdom’s best and boldest. The shouting would be deafening, and already Aleaneo’s neck tensed, but she ignored it and stepped forward.

#

They should have sent Aahran or Khalan, brothers with more experience and skill. Kade’s elder brothers were veterans of the battlefield, trained for years by their father, while Kade had only been a child when he’d died. Kade gripped the tiny pouch of sand at his neck as he led the Highalian delegation down the windswept Arigelian hall. No, they couldn’t have sent Aahran or Khalan, only Kade, no matter how much he wished it were different.

The roar grew like a fire in the distant halls, each turn bringing it closer until the great doors loomed before him. Far from the chamber doors, Kade was still an observer, watching as the crowds shifted and flowed, but one by one those nearest him noticed and turned to look. Voices hushed to whispers as he entered the room, his Highalian councilors following dutifully behind—fifth prince, red prince, fire-hearted. Kade’s fingers played at the hilt of his scimitar as the clasp at his throat pulled tight. Even now their eyes watched him, and he swallowed the tremor rising in his throat.

Dalia’s laughter rang across the atrium, joined by the musical lilt of her boisterous company. Their chatter bounced from the walls to the domed ceiling and filled the room with a chorus of colorful voices. Dalia’s vibrant sapphire cloak flourished around her knees as she turned to watch him enter, her smile flashing in the light of the high sun. She’d wound her thick curls with jeweled cords and pearls, but she wore the same battered leather boots as she offered Kade a playful nod. Though still not far enough, the riverlords of Bermia had placed a substantial distance between themselves and the Spearians, and now alternated between sneering at them and ostentatiously ignoring them. With her gilded crown and shimmering gold breastplate emblazoned with the Asyeri seal, the Bermian grand princess gleamed within the swarm of her white-blonde councilors.

Just over his shoulder, the Arigelian princess stood at the head of her party in a simple black dress, her golden Asyeri regalia laid over the top in stark contrast. She met his gaze for a moment, then took the first steps into the United Dalranian Council chamber as the great wooden doors swept open. One after another, the royal entourages entered the chamber.

Kade’s jaw clenched as he led his councilors forward, resisting the desire to tilt his head to stare at the towering doorway. He forced steady steps and walked to his seat, hundreds of eyes watching as he and the other Asyeri took their places before the enormous audience.

Built by the ancient Olerim, the hall echoed to a magnificent dome embellished with elaborate murals of ancient beasts, and row upon row of elevated seats gazed down on a central stage. The mural behind the stage stretched from the floor to the doomed ceiling, carved with winged drevna, hawks, deer, and horses, and at the center was one larger than all the rest, an eagle with a beam of light in one talon and stalks of grass in the other. He stepped across the map of Dalran carved into the stone and took his seat on the great raised stage at the center of the hall. His chair sat directly over the Jarov Hiv and the little golden point that marked Jarov-sal, and Kade wished he were there still, surrounded by warm sun and canopied corridors.

The Highalian ambassadors filed in behind him as the other Asyeri took their seats around the great map; to his left the Arigelian princess, and to his right the representatives from Pandrylia. Kade had met the Pandrylian princess twice during their youth, but he could not spot her among the shifting shades of taupe and sage, only a small girl standing near their Asyeri’s chair.

The crowds fell silent as the Arigelian chancellor and high priest summoned forth their counterparts from the other kingdoms. Together at the center of the council chamber, they turned to the waiting councilors and offered their blessings and appeals, but Kade only half-listened; he’d heard it all before, though the pressure in his chest told him this time it was real.

“Years we have waited for this day,” the Arigelian priest announced to the hall, “when the saviors of Dalran, foretold by the ancient Olerim centuries ago, would at last unite among us. For twenty-five years we have fought to defend our shared home, and in that cause we are united beyond all borders and lands, as they are united beyond even the trappings of this world. We, the people of Dalran, submit ourselves to their salvation.”

The Asyeri rose from their chairs and approached their priests. Face to face, each spiritual leader handed a token to their Asyeri before stepping aside to allow them to enter the private chamber behind the council hall. Kade had never really known Hanif, the man who had been his father’s spiritual caretaker so many years ago, and he’d always felt uneasy in the Highalian deshk, treated more like a holy relic than a fellow disciple. The gray-haired man handed him a golden vial filled with glittering sand taken from the consecrated dunes of the Shatahran Shrine in Jarov-sal, bowed without saying a word, and stood aside as Kade vanished through the doorway.

Dark and narrow, the slender hallway swallowed them in shadow and led them away from the burning light of the council hall. In the sudden darkness, Kade stumbled and pressed his hand against the wall, waiting a moment as his eyes adjusted. Someone bumped into his back.

“Onward,” Dalia chuckled over his shoulder with a gentle nudge. “Not much choice.”

In the windowless hall, Kade spotted the figures moving up ahead and followed the tiny etchings of gold that shimmered on the floor—a circle, two lines, and a sunburst. Follow the seals. One by one they passed under his feet until he reached a single door at the end of the short hall, the Asyeri Seal carved into the wood, which opened as three figures ahead passed into the warm light inside. The heat radiated from their bodies like campfires, but his own fire sputtered and wheezed. Dalia pushed past and motioned for him to follow, and the echo of the council chamber seemed an ever more distant memory as they entered a vacuum of silence and unease. What hushed voices there were came from the latticed windows far above, behind which sat a handful of royal advisors. Witnesses. A banner on the back wall reached all the way to the viewing windows, the quartered circle embroidered in white thread, and a large, round table filled the space, surrounded by seven chairs. One emblazoned with a golden flame, Kade knew, was meant for him, but two others were already filled.

Her light blinded Kade before he even laid eyes on her, and her crisp white robes emitted a faint glow that engulfed her body and everything around it. With her large nose, square jaw, and silvery gold hair trimmed sharply to her chin, Kade didn’t need to see the glimmering golden sun adorning the crest of her chair. Her unnaturally blue eyes alone would have set her apart in a crowd of thousands as Carmeille Atarah, Grand Princess of Bermia.

Kade had visited Bermia only once during his childhood, known for its extensive trade system and conceited royal house. Though the Bermians represented a substantial trade and security alliance, remained one of strongest bloodlines in Dalran, and held the eastern front with an iron fist, their relations with the other kingdoms seemed an annoyance to them, as was more than obvious in her glare.

Carmeille looked down at Kade and the others through thick lashes, her head towering over his own. Lavishly decorated, her white robes were topped with a golden breastplate that outlined every curve of her torso and a thick crown with a sharp four-pointed sunburst. Kade scowled as he realized it was the seal without the quartered circle.

Dalia poked his arm, brow raised in half-concern, but Kade waved her off. She responded with an exaggerated bow before passing along the table, and Kade’s stomach dropped as Dalia presented herself with a sweeping flourish of her caplet and, with a pucker, flashed the Bermian priestess a comical smile. The Bermian’s blue eyes grew wide and Dalia took her seat, entirely pleased. Silent as she was, Kade hardly noticed Aleaneo standing by her seat. Hers sat beside a larger chair, taller than the rest and meant for a king, and she waited patiently for her father to arrive. Her eyes were fixed on the table, but for a moment she looked up at him.

As the Asyeri had first grown into their powers, and stories of their abilities spread across Dalran, rumors emerged that the Arigelian princess had the true blood of the Olerim, undiluted by time. That, like the greatest of the fabled prophets, she was a shifter. The prophecy he believed; he had to—the fire in his throat was as real as his own breath, so how unbelievable was this? Kade watched her across the table; she seemed as real as him, no less human, and decided they were only rumors.

The Bermian, too, studied Aleaneo, and spoke when Kade did not.

“Custom dictates you wear your royal colors to a royal council.”

The edge of Kade’s cloak flourished at his ankles as a charge filled the air, the same as when lightning struck the sand near his feet and turned everything to gleaming glass shards.

“My cousin was slaughtered by roga yesterday,” Aleaneo met the Bermian’s unwavering gaze. “I’ll wear whatever I damn well want.”

The Bermian shook off the insult, her back so painfully straight Kade half expected a metal rod to be strapped against it. Aleaneo couldn’t have known long. The redness of her eyes was faded, but fresh.

Kade felt another body coming down the shadowed hall behind them and looked down at his own feet, tilting his boots from side to side. They were worn and soft, the toes scuffed and nicked from wear despite several layers of oil, and his trousers, though crafted from fine Highalian linen, were frayed and thin. Even his own fingers betrayed him, the skin dry and calloused. For his twenty years, Kade felt he’d lived a lifetime of death and blood, a thousand forced breaths, a million shaking footsteps, and still he raised his eyes. The man in the doorway clasped his hands behind his hunched back. He didn’t wear a lengthy robe or extravagant cloak, only a plain tunic and polished boots, and still Kade knew him all the same: the king of Arigel, Baellon Yylari. Somehow, he remembered the Arigelian king’s face. He’d only seen it once, but it was there beneath groggy layers of memory. Far more wrinkles and gray hairs, but the same long nose and deep-set eyes. Aleaneo stood at attention and, when her father reached his chair, pulled it out for him quickly and efficiently as any servant.

The chair across from the king sat empty. The Eiras Mountains barely considered themselves members at all and, with no Asyeri, they had no reason to come. Kade understood their hesitation to travel. His company encountered two vargr packs during their journey and lost three soldiers to the hills, a small pile of sand left on each grave. Kade absentmindedly touched the pouch at his neck.

“Your Highness,” Baellon extended a hand toward the door. “Please.”

Kade forced his jaw shut as the diminutive Pandrylian girl from the council hall emerged from the corner, wrapped in layers of loose robes with her eyes fixed to the floor. Princess Ingrid Meliad looked just as young as when he’d last met her ten years ago. The Pandrylians had always been unassuming, keeping to the forests along the Drondu Mountains and tending to the neglected Skywoods. Still, she looked like a child, not a monarch. Her dark hair sprang out in tight curls on either side of her round face and nearly swallowed her whole. She couldn’t have been any taller than Kade’s shoulder, but when she looked up, her eyes shimmered a golden hazel that radiated next to her dark skin.

Silence crept through the chamber.

“I fear this is it,” Baellon motioned for them to sit. Kade’s eyes wandered to the remaining empty chair. The small audience above rustled and waited, and Kade wondered if Baellon cared at all for the opinions of those watching. He had no reason to. This was not for them, or Baellon, to decide. Kade’s back, however, stuck to his tunic and his throat swelled tight against the golden clasp at his neck. Sunlight peeked through the small glass ceiling far above to cast colorful prisms across the table, and a stream of warm light fell on his hand as Kade stretched his fingers to touch it.

“It is an honor to sit among you all,” Baellon bowed his head. “I prayed that I would live long enough to see you gathered, to witness the uniting of Dalran’s salvation. I know I speak for all Dalran’s peoples when I say that we are blessed to live alongside you.”

Kade shifted in his chair. The veneration always unsettled him, though he preferred it only slightly to the Majis’ methodical scrutiny. Carved into the gleaming wood of the table, thick stone lines traced out the Asyeri Seal and Kade ran his finger along a groove. He could have drawn it in his sleep.

“The time draws near,” Baellon continued. “The roga infestation discovered by Fifth Prince Khaden and Princess Dalia, though small, is an undeniable sign of the creatures’ growing desperation. The attack in the southern provinces of the Taure Raer proves that their destruction is passing beyond our control. Since the Unraveling a quarter century ago, the Vysarian’s darkness has spread further across the Drondu Mountains into Dalran and, in recent years, reports from the Six Thrones have documented even greater devastation in the northern Skywoods, increasing nests in the Eilol Valley, and expanding burns in the western Jarov Hiv.”

Kade had seen it himself, the charred sand that smoldered like coals and dunes blown to ash by the wind. Imani was gone and Uma would soon fall, both cities fleeing to the safety of the capital. His brother Khalan had defended Eskishir for weeks and given the citizens time to escape before the city was overrun by vargr. Now his brothers fought on two fronts, to the west and south, and their numbers grew thin.

“Twenty-five years ago,” Baellon’s voice hitched, “we witnessed the greatest betrayal of our time. The Vysarian traitor slaughtered an entire kingdom, deceived his people, his king, and us. When his creatures emerged from the darkness and ravaged our continent, we united to defend it, but we did not possess the strength to defeat him. We gave everything in defense of our home, but it was not enough. Instead, we were blessed with the greatest of gifts—you. For twenty years you have fought alongside your people to preserve our home. You have trained and honed a power beyond our comprehension. You have sacrificed and served, and now comes your time of triumph.”

Baellon stopped and lowered his eyes to the table. Beside him, his daughter watched expectantly.

“You have fought this war already,” the old king whispered. “You have fought it every moment of every day of your lives. This war is all you’ve ever known, and for that I am sorry.”

Under his heavy brows, the king’s eyes sank. The sovereigns of Dalran had defended the continent for twenty-five years and paid for it with their lives—the monarchs of Pandrylia and Nah’i, Carmeille’s young mother, and Kade’s own father were all gone, and those monarchs who remained were beaten and bruised. Kade had seen his own mother’s spirit wane year by year.

“Your Majesty,” Kade interjected, and five pairs of eyes descended on him. It was a chance to say something, to mean something, to be the prince he was supposed to be. Khalan would know what to say, Aahran would be poised and eloquent, but his brothers weren’t here, and if they were they’d whip him. “With respect,” Kade managed, “our people and soldiers have been the ones to face the war each day. Twenty-five years they’ve done this, all to give us time to grow and strengthen our abilities so we may face the Traitor. After the sacrifices you have made, you have no reason to apologize.”

The king’s reaction wasn’t what Kade expected.

“That is generous, Fifth Prince,” Baellon’s shoulders sank, “but in a quarter century we’ve done nothing to stop the darkness, nothing to ease your task. Instead, it has spread and grown stronger.”

“We’re ready, Father,” Aleaneo interrupted. “We’ve trained, prepared. Nothing in the past has deterred the darkness, only delayed it, because we know we cannot stop him with armies. This is our purpose. It’s why we’re here.”

“King Baellon,” Carmeille appealed, “your humility is admirable, as have been your efforts, but you must not blame yourself for your inadequacies. We thank you for permitting us the time needed to reach this day. But every detail of this undertaking has been laid out years in advance. It is both sound and favorable, with the full approval the Bermian High Council.”

Kade grimaced. It was like a Bermian front report come to life, all sharp-edged platitudes laced within excessive rambling. He tossed it away, same as he would any gilded Bermian scroll.

“With the changes in the Dalranian landscape over the last years,” the Bermian persisted, “adjustments will need to be made, but my council has the highest confidence in our swift success. My strongest river ships stand ready to take us along the most heavily guarded river passages in Dalran. A rendezvous with the Spearian armada in Spume will ensure the highest level of—”

A tremor crawled down Kade’s spine, unsettling and cold as the room fell quiet, and crawled across the table like a leech as the prisms cast by the skylight above fled with a sparkling gasp. The metal groove under Kade’s finger bit his clammy skin and the Asyeri rose from their seats, steel scraping on steel, as Kade reached for his scimitar. Not likely to be vargr, but perhaps roga; he could smell it. Instead, a voice seeped from the shadows,

“You still think a handful of rickety ships will take you across the Dramoon Seas?”

As Kade turned to the door, he hoped it might still be roga. Roga he would know what to do with, but the dark eyes emerging from the shadowed corner of the room weren’t vargr or roga, and Kade’s fingers slipped from the hilt of his sword as a figure stepped forward, the world tilting around him.

“Silas.”

Kade’s tongue doubted the name, yet he emerged from the shadows regardless. He could have remained concealed there without notice, he blended so well with the darkness, but there had only been three bodies in the room. Kade had counted.

“Hello, Khaden,” Silas’ dark eyes smiled. “How long it’s been.”

It was a mirage: Silas Vesperus, Crown Prince of Nah’i, breathing before him. It must be, but Kade slowly registered the same black curls, the same ghastly skin and dark eyes, and the same dusty circles permanently pressed beneath them. Silas had tossed a rich brocade jacket loosely over his white tunic and tucked his slender black trousers into fine leather boots, but he stood the same, smiled the same. Smirked the same. Voices shrieked from the observation deck above, and Aleaneo and Carmeille drew long knives and stood in front of the Arigelian king. Pinned by his own disbelief, Kade could only stare as soldiers in full armor slammed Silas against the wall and pressed a blade to his throat. Silas simply laughed and produced a slip of paper in his restrained hand, half from his sleeve, half from nowhere.

“Have I come too late?” Silas asked innocently. “I assumed it was a standing invitation.”

Kade dismissed the guard in front of him and took two steps forward, hand on his scimitar. Silas tilted his head to watch Kade approach, the guard’s sword scraping against his neck. Kade reached out and took the slip from Silas’ fingers, knowing well what it was before he unfolded it. He passed it to Dalia, who passed it to the king, who examined it and motioned for the guards to release the intruder, much to Aleaneo’s disapproval. The king placed it on the table, the Seal of the Asyeri plain on the little slip. Silas brushed a lazy hand over his tunic as the guards left the room and the startled voices of the viewing deck hushed to uneasy murmurings.

Two years. Kade had seen the bird with his own eyes and the black seal it delivered.

“I thought you were—”

“Dead?” Silas’ lips shone blue as he smiled. “I suppose that would have been equally pleasing to everyone involved.”

“Instead you deserted,” Carmeille spat as her knife glinted beyond the fold of her sleeve. “Death would have been far more worthy, dead-eyes.”

“I was unneeded,” Silas lilted, “unwanted. I knew our appointed time; I only made myself scarce.”

Carmeille snarled, “As all traitors do.”

“And treason is all-damning, is it, holy soldier?”

“Enough,” Kade growled as his bones burned beneath his skin.

Silas’ eyes narrowed, the skin around them ashen and dry. “How time changes,” Silas tutted.

“Forgive me for not embracing you.”

Silas smiled. “So sentimental.”

Kade’s fist glowed.

“Prince Silas,” Baellon intervened, “we are honored and relieved that you are here.”

“Most gracious, your majesty,” Silas bowed, extending his arms with a flourish. “I feel exceedingly welcomed. Please excuse my tardiness.” Silas took his seat at the empty chair. The hands folded gracefully on the table, his pale fingers stretched out into the light, were laced thick with scars, knuckles torn and tattered as used parchment. Behind his head, a single silver ring gleamed in the wood of his highbacked chair.

“You’re concerned with the procedures Princess Carmeille and her navy have set in place,” Baellon continued. “Perhaps you could elaborate. I must admit, the last communication we received from you was over two years ago, and even then you were unconvinced of the viability of a river-to-sea journey.”

With a deep sigh, Silas lounged on the table and ran a finger under his eye. He wore a thick silver ring, something ragged and sharp that looked suited for tearing flesh.

“The mists of the Dramoon Seas claim more than just legends of merfolk and sea monsters,” he said as he fiddled with a pendant hanging around his neck. A roga fang. “There are creatures lurking in the depths that we have yet to see…but perhaps the pirate might elucidate.”

All eyes turned to Dalia, who glared at an expectant Silas.

“In the past two years,” Dalia begrudgingly began, “we’ve sent a dozen ships west of Santolos. At first, they came back battered, but whole. We figured it was rough seas and adjusted course, but the next returned with strange burns and damage to the hull, and the coastal traders told stories of fishing boats lost to the fog. They abandoned their villages and escaped to Cecei.” She paused. “Our twelfth ship has yet to return. It’s been four months.”

“Is Spear not home to the greatest sailors in Dalran?” Carmeille asked brusquely. “We’ve seen no such difficulty on the rivers. The coastline must be more passable than open ocean if you avoid the shallows and cliffs.”

“The southern explorations have come back,” Dalia glared, “but the further west and north we sail, the less likely my sailors are to return. I will not expose innocent lives to unnecessary danger.”

“We need only move carefully and skillfully,” Carmeille ignored her, “which my ships are more than capable of doing.”

“Your river ships would crack like reeds in the sea,” Dalia snapped.

“Enough!” Kade shouted. In the sudden silence, Kade’s heart sputtered and he shakily bowed his head to Baellon before turning back to Dalia. “Is it possible?”

Fists clenched, Dalia readied to fight Carmeille across the table. Kade had not seen her in years, but he could still spot the shift in Dalia’s eyes as she began her calculation, quelling the raging swells in her blood to look deeper and deeper still.

“A year ago,” Dalia finally answered, “maybe. But now, I cannot guarantee. It’s as though there is a line drawn south from the mountains into the waters. You can see the waves darken. I’ve felt it.”

They’d hoped to avoid the most heavily damaged areas of Dalran by sailing around the southern border. There they could see firsthand the destruction that leveled the western region when the Drondu Mountains were first taken by the darkness. Kade and his brothers had been told how the smoke could be seen from Bermia. They couldn’t possibly travel on foot across the whole of Dalran, not with vargr attacks increasing each day. The heart of Dalran had been overrun years ago, splitting the land in pieces, and only a small strip of free land remained near the borders, the largest along the Spearian coast.

“Only the rivers Endil and Ilas are navigable across the whole of Dalran,” Carmeille declared resolutely. “The Ilas will take too long. We must take the Endil, and we must pass the Dramoon Seas.”

“If we take it to its mouth, the Endil will deposit us at the southern tip of the Drondu Mountains,” Aleaneo added, “near Summit or Sinophia in Pandrylia. We could part with the navy there and travel north through the mountains to Old Vysarus.”

Kade shook his head. “The Drondu Mountains are treacherous to pass even without the Vysarian’s creatures overrunning them, and we would have to pass through not only the mountains, but the greatest of the Burns to reach Old Vysarus. The burned mountains near Old Vysarus are ten times the destruction of those near Highan. They are untouchable.”

“As enjoyable as it is to flex our strategic muscles,” Silas interrupted, “it doesn’t matter. Do you think the people of Dalran can survive another three years? The Endil faces greater risk each day, particularly near the central valley, which we would have to pass, and the Ilas may yet be untouched, but it is as far from our target as possible. To take the Ilas to the coast and sail west to Salmas and beyond would take nearly three years. And that barely gets us to Old Vysarus.”

No matter which way he turned the map, Kade could not see a path, and he panicked. If they could not sail to Old Vysarus, there was no hope of reaching it by land, but Silas was right. To sail would add years to their journey, years of bloodshed and slaughter.

“If I may,” Ingrid hesitantly interjected. The table looked to her in surprise. Small as she was, she appeared even smaller with so many eyes on her, and Kade was ashamed to notice that he had forgotten she was there. She cleared her throat, “Legends say the Olerim took hidden paths across the continent, and ancient Pandrylian records say they crossed the Drondu Mountains outside the established routes.”

“The Olerim died off centuries ago,” Carmeille scoffed. “Yes, they were notable for their exploration of the continent, but the continent was wilderness then. Whatever paths they took likely don’t exist anymore.”

“Some Olerim documents do exist,” Baellon offered, “from before the kingdoms. Our Arigelian predecessors passed down a collection of documents through the generations, and our scribes have studied them for decades. They have found ancient Olerim maps, but the paths they indicate haven’t been traveled since the time of the Olerim. We can’t be sure they’re safe or even accessible for non-Olerim.”

“How lucky we are, then, to have an Olerim descendant traveling with us,” exclaimed Silas. Aleaneo glared at him.

“I agree, your majesty,” Kade found himself saying. “I don’t doubt the capabilities of the Spearian or Bermian fleets, but I do trust Princess Dalia’s expertise. If she says the seas are impassable, I would not face them for my life, and Princess Ingrid is right.” A small smile crept onto Ingrid’s round face as Kade continued, “The Olerim were famed for their exploration of the continent. I would be interested to see such maps.”

The Arigelian king’s brows pinched as he nodded. “And the rest of you?”

They shifted uneasily in their chairs. More than one looked to the observation windows, hoping for a reassuring glance from their councils, but latticed grates prevented any assistance.

“Given the reports from my sailors,” Dalia nervously tapped her finger on the table, “I cannot approve a sea approach, but I will want to see the maps myself, as will my council. Passing through the Drondu Mountains is no easy feat, especially on a goat trail.”

Kade’s hands grew cold. Three of the six were convinced, but strong forces still stood in the way, mainly the Bermian princess. She sat high in her chair as she surveyed them all, sunburst crown glinting on her forehead.

“My troops stand ready to accompany us down the last remaining strip of free land in the Eilol Valley,” she declared, “and we would travel with them along the most heavily guarded river passages in the region. It’s been years since the last successful vargr attack on Bermian soil. I will not give up that security on the word of a deserter.” She glowered at Silas.

He dropped his hand from his face and raised a questioning brow. He looked left at Dalia, then Kade. “Oh, you’re talking about me now?”

The Bermian raged in her seat, red sprawling from her ears to her neck.

“Interesting that you would make that claim,” Silas pursed his lips. “Do you not consider the villages of the Eilol Valley to be part of Bermia, or do only the Cassion Riverlands earn that honor? I should think the people of Amethus would be very hurt indeed to hear you say that. If they were alive.”

Carmeille’s chair clattered to the floor as she shot to her feet. “You dare speak to me like that?” she growled. “I am Ayeerah ordained.”

Silas’ head lolled back against his chair. “Don’t spout that pious drivel at me. We’re all Ayeera’h ordained.”

Baellon raised a calming hand, “Council, please. High Priestess?”

Carmeille retook her seat, but refused to speak. A humbly staged cough broke her display.

“I submit my consent,” Ingrid offered. The golden tree inlaid at the peak of her chair mirrored the crown of her hair. “I’ve seen the bloodstained fields of the inner valley. It would be unwise to cross them, but I would suggest a route along the northern border of the valley near the Great Desert, if the Olerim had such a path.”

“The eastern reaches of the Jarov Hiv have remained reasonably untouched,” Kade answered. “I cannot speak for the southern dunes. No one has seen them for years. Vargr will be unavoidable, but Highalian tales say the Olerim had paths running through even my people’s lands centuries ago.”

“And what of you?” Baellon turned to his daughter.

The Arigelian princess’s mouth opened, then shut as she stared at the table. She was pale. Kade was used to girls with far richer skin, and dark hair streaked with gold and red. Smaller, daintier; Aleaneo’s shoulders were broad with thick arms and a long neck. She glanced up and caught him staring.

“I’m in favor of the land route,” she affirmed with a nod. “I trust the Olerim’s wisdom.”

Baellon nodded proudly, and Kade was flooded by a sting of envy. Memories of his father had faded quickly in recent years. Even in nightmares his father’s face was hazy. All that remained were sensations—lying on a colorful rug, burning incense, the tapping toes of large boots.

“We remain divided,” Baellon stated dejectedly.

For once, the Bermian appeared uncomfortable with the attention. When she realized she stood alone in opposition, she seemed unsure. Not only did she lack followers, but she was in the minority. In Bermia, she had likely never been questioned, never been argued with, and Kade wondered what must be running through Carmeille’s mind as she fumbled with the notion of defiance.

“It seems we have no other option,” Carmeille finally yielded with a grimace.

Baellon closed his weathered eyes. “Then it is done.”

The breath Kade had been holding since the doors first closed rushed out. They could end it, all of it. They would. But it would mean nothing to the people of Dalran if they died before it happened. Kade thought of the empty helms he’d delivered to countless families, the hundreds more he’d left on the fields, too mangled to even identify. He thought of the tears and screams. He couldn’t feel his toes and he clenched his fists, unable to feel them within his cloak. The world faded around him, all sense and sensation rippling away until King Baellon’s voice echoed in, blurred like a heat haze.

“I’ll see to it the Olerim maps are prepared for your viewing.” The king rose from his seat, and the six Asyeri joined him. “I suggest you begin preparations for your departure.”

Kade found Ingrid’s gaze first and saw her shoulders sink, saw her look to the lattice above to seek some reassurance, and he resisted the urge to do the same. He would look at his mother unobstructed and commit her face to memory. It wouldn’t be forever.

“You have two weeks.”

Next Chapter: Chapter Three