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His father had been busy influencing the factions, indeed, and his approach—Torin assumed—was that he was protecting Emara. But for what reason? Was it because of their marital agreement?

Torin bit into his lip.

However, the information to absorb from this briefing was that empresses of earth and spirit had been killed after the Uplift, not by the same elite member, but by the Dark Army.

The magic in his blood thrummed to fight at the thought of them.

Viktir’s voice brought him back to the present conversation. “Five of the most powerful witches in this kingdom have been murdered, and we haven’t seen something so detrimental to the magic community since the Great War. With the loss of the empresses, every magical ward they had put in place to protect our lands has been severed, leaving us wide open for an attack. Anything of this magnitude would draw the attention of the prime, and because it took place in our territory, there will be an emergency summit requested here. The prime will want the next elemental heirs to ascend with immediate effect.” Viktir walked off to the side, looking over his men. “And we are going to help reinstate order to help with the damage that has been caused to the covens, but more guidance on this will be highlighted at the summit.” Viktir changed his direction, his boots heavy on the floor. “Now, we are all aware that the prime is made up of Hunters, Fae, Shifters and Witches. However, they also have an elite faction, so I am going to say this now: do not, and I repeat”—Viktir’s icy gaze found Torin’s once again—“do not do anything to provoke the elite or endanger their community in any way. They are part of the prime just as much as we are, though they aren’t part of the magical community, and they are protected. We cannot hold them all responsible for one man’s actions, regardless of the effects. We do not need a civil war on our hands, not as we battle the Dark Army every day.”

Torin could feel himself snarling but stopped himself and swallowed. He wasn’t convinced it was just one man’s actions.

“You all fall under my jurisdiction, and you must remain professional at all times. Do you understand my order?”

A collective “Yes, Commander Blacksteel.” vibrated through the room, but Torin just dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Torin wasn’t going to make any verbal promises that the Gods could hear, especially not promises that he knew were near impossible to keep. Viktir expected him to sit at the summit like a good little dog and not bite the hand that attacked him?

Not likely.

Torin liked to bite, and if he got to the bottom of who was responsible for leading the Solden heir down the route of darkness, he wouldn’t be on his best behaviour, that’s for sure.

“The other clans from around the kingdom will start to arrive tomorrow.” Viktir allowed a taut smile to pull at his lip, his tone a little lighter. “Some of you might not have crossed paths in years, some might have caught up at the Uplift. However long it has been, we all have a duty, and we are all on high alert.” He pointed a finger and scanned the room, making Torin want to reach out and snap it. “Behave! I know how you boys can get when you all come together; it would be in your best interest to remember this is not a family reunion.” Viktir moved from the centre of the room with a crooked smile on his face. “It is a professional summit that will be scrutinised by the eyes of the magic world. We must get to work making the tower fit for such a purpose. Have your affairs in order. I shall see you tomorrow, bright-eyed and pristine.”

No matter how light-hearted Viktir tried to be in front of his audience, Torin could see his stone-cold mask lying just underneath.

When the commander left the room, the hunters burst into a warm chatter, filling the space full of baritone and bass tones.

Marcus leaned forward in his chair and ruffled Kellen’s hair again. “Do you know what that means? The Stryker’s will be in the city tomorrow. Didn’t you meet their youngest at the Selection?”

Kellen didn’t turn, nor did he fix his messy hair, he just kept spinning the knife in his hand.

Marcus sat back, raising his eyebrows at Torin and Gideon, who both shrugged. Although Torin was the wild card of the family, he didn’t rule out Kellen for unpredictability. His youngest brother was very unique, a law unto his own.

“Well,”—Marcus grinned again—“you know that means Artem is going to be here too.”

Torin smiled. Artem Stryker was his closest companion from the Selection. They were like brothers, forming a bond amidst the harsh conditions in the process to become a warrior of Thorin. Artem had been healthy competition for Torin, and they always attempted to best each other even now. But he liked that about him. They could spar and combat, similar in height and almost identical builds, and they never knew who would win. They could have been twins, but Artem was fairer-haired with golden eyes and inked from head to toe.

Gideon let out a hearty laugh. “By the Gods, Huntswood won’t know what hit it with both Torin and Artem roaming around. Lock the tavern doors now.”

The boys chuckled.

“Well, it looks like Huntswood is about to find out. It’s been a while.” Torin winked at his brethren.

A knock on the double doors startled Emara’s dreamy gaze from the city view. She must have sat there looking out over the city all day, hunched against the frame of her window. The sky had changed to a darker colour of grey and she knew it was past lunch, or maybe even dinner. Stars had started to sparkle and peek through the clouds.

“Come in,” she called, wondering who could be at her door.

Naya Blacksteel’s sapphire eyes peered around the doorframe and found Emara. Her honey-brown hair curled naturally, resting above her shoulders, and a delicate smile highlighted her elegant face. She walked towards Emara holding a dish wrapped in a cloth.

“When you weren’t at lunch or dinner in the dining hall, I thought I would bring it to you.” She smiled, her tiny shoulders coming up to meet her ears in a charming gesture. “It’s chicken with roasted vegetables in a sticky wine sauce.” Her eyes lit up, trying to entice Emara into eating. “It’s delightfully tasty, even if I didn’t cook it myself.”

“I got lost inside my own head for a while.” Emara moved off of the window ledge and took the dish from her hands. “Thank you so much, you didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I did, my love.” Naya placed a delicate hand onto her arm. “You need to eat.”

Emara looked down at her toes scrunched into the woven rug. “I just don’t feel hungry,” she replied, her voice small and croaky.

“I know, but you must start eating properly if you are training like one of my boys and learning magic. You can’t run yourself into the ground.”