Page 16

H omeshore rose from the morning mist, black stone walls bristling with war machines. Michail's golden banners snapped in the winter wind. Four days at sea had sharpened my rage to a killing edge.

"They've fortified the eastern harbor," Captain Yisra said.

I took the spyglass from her weathered hands. Iron-tipped barricades jutted from the water like teeth. Soldiers in golden armor patrolled the walls. Not zealots. Trained troops.

"We won't be docking there," I said, passing the glass to Commander Caris.

"Three thousand, at least," she confirmed. "Well-armed, well-supplied."

"That changes nothing," Niro said as he arrived. "We sail under the banner of truce."

I almost laughed. "You don't know my brother. For him, faith is just another weapon."

"Your men are ready?" I asked Niro.

"They were born ready." A hint of amusement flickered across his face. "The question is, are you?"

The question hung between us, heavier than it had any right to be. Was I ready to face the brother who had sold me into slavery?

"I've been ready since he put a collar around my neck," I said, my voice rough.

Niro studied me with battlefield-worn eyes. "Rage makes for poor diplomacy, Lord Consort."

Captain Yisra shouted orders, and the crew moved to carry them out. Black sails lowered, replaced by white truce banners. Beside them flew the blue of House Starfall.

We approached the western harbor. Soldiers on the seawall pointed and ran to secure the harbor. A horn sounded in three short blasts.

"They're sounding an alarm," Niro said beside me.

Minutes stretched thin. Then a procession appeared. At its center walked a figure that made my heart stutter. Tall. Clad in ceremonial golden armor that caught the winter sun. A mask covered the upper portion of his face, polished metal formed into features more beautiful than those it concealed.

Michail. My brother. My betrayer.

Behind him walked Modir Caracas, bald head gleaming, a serene smile fixed on his face.

Shock froze Michail's face when he spotted me. Even at this distance, I saw the moment of recognition, and the quick recovery as he hurriedly gave orders.

My fingers crushed the ship's rail. Wood creaked under my grip.

"Be ready," Niro cautioned. "He'll try to turn this to his advantage."

"He always does."

The ship bumped against the dock and crewmen rushed to secure lines. Michail and his entourage reached the harbor stairs. His mouth had shifted into the same controlled smile I remembered from childhood, the one that never reached his eyes.

"Deep breath," Niro murmured. "Remember who you are now. Not a slave. Not a prince. You're Lord Consort to the Rebel King."

I adjusted the Starfall blue jacket. Its weight felt like armor.

"Stay close," I told Niro. "But let me speak first."

Captain Yisra lowered the gangplank. "My ship remains ready," she said. "First sign of trouble, we're gone."

The gangplank hit the dock with a hollow thud. I squared my shoulders. I was no longer the broken slave he'd sold. I descended onto the dock. My stomach lurched with the shift from the sea to land beneath my feet. Niro followed a half-step behind. Six Broken Blades came next, hands conspicuously away from weapons.

Human soldiers drew back. Some made warding gestures at the sight of elven warriors, while others muttered prayers to the Eight Divines. One soldier traced the sign of the Warrior across his chest for courage. Another whispered to the Mother for protection. A third clutched an amulet of the Stranger, as if its magic could shield him from elven sorcery.

The air between us thickened with hatred. I could almost taste it, metallic and bitter on my tongue. These weren't just the usual suspicious glances humans cast toward elves. This was something deeper. More primal. The kind of hatred that would drive men to commit atrocities without question.

What had Michail been telling them? Humans and elves had always maintained a careful distance. Centuries of raiding and slavery breeding justified resentment. But this was different. Their eyes held the fervor of those who believed they faced not just enemies, but demons. Monsters. Abominations before their gods.

"Elindir!" Michail called, voice warm with practiced sincerity. "By the grace of the Eight Divines, you've been delivered from your captors!" He extended his hand in brotherly welcome. "Since the elven demons abducted you from Ostovan, we've prayed for your safe return to your people."

Before I could respond, he pulled me into a tight embrace. The unexpected contact made my muscles lock. He tightened his grip, mouth at my ear.

"Play along, little brother," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin, "or these soldiers will cut down your elven friends where they stand."

He pulled back, hands still gripping my shoulders as he turned to the gathering crowd. "A miracle!" he proclaimed. His visible eye glistened with false tears. "The Eight have returned my brother to us!" He made the eight-pointed star symbol over his heart. Many soldiers followed suit, murmuring prayers.

He played his role as the concerned brother and divine leader well.

"Your concern is touching," I replied, projecting my voice for the gathered crowd. "Especially considering you were the one who had me collared and sold to the elves in the first place."

A murmur rippled through the humans. Confusion. Suspicion. Michail's visible eye narrowed, but his smile never faltered.

"The poison they fed you has twisted your memories," he said sadly. "You were taken from us. We mourned you as dead until rumors reached us that the demon king had taken a human pet."

I saw how gaunt he'd become beneath his finery. The Rot advanced faster than I'd expected.

"Is that what you told these people? That I was kidnapped rather than sold on your orders after you poisoned our father and brother?"

Michail's smile tightened. Modir stepped forward before he could respond. The royal physician's serene expression hadn't changed since the day he'd pronounced our father and brother's deaths as natural causes.

"The elven corruption runs deep in him, Your Majesty," Modir said, his soft voice carrying despite its gentle tone. "They've twisted his mind with their fell magics. See how he keeps their demons as companions?" He gestured toward Niro with obvious disgust. "No true human would willingly stand among such creatures unless bewitched."

Some soldiers made warding signs again, genuine terror in their eyes as they looked at Niro.

"I'm not bewitched, Modir," I said, meeting the physician's placid gaze. "And you know it. Just as you know exactly how my father and brother died by the poison you crafted for Michail."

Modir's smile never wavered. "The elven corruption speaks through him. It pains me to see the proud captain of the guard reduced to parroting their lies."

"Enough of this charade," I said, turning back to Michail. "I've come to speak with you about the invasion of these lands. Your soldiers have attacked innocent villages, slaughtered civilians who posed no threat. This isn't about faith. It's about conquest."

Michail's visible eye darkened. "You dare speak to me of conquest?" His voice dropped, no longer performing. "Look at yourself. Dressed in elven colors, surrounded by their warriors. You've become the very thing our people have feared for generations."

"I've become something new," I countered. "Proof that another way is possible. That humans and elves can live together."

Michail laughed. The sound was brittle. "The elves have enslaved our kind for centuries. They raid our villages, take our people in chains, strip us of dignity and humanity. And you stand here defending them because one of them has taken you to his bed."

His words struck deeper than I wanted him to know.

"Ruith has outlawed slavery in his territories," I said, keeping my voice steady. "He's creating a world where humans and elves stand as equals."

Michail studied me. His eye traveled from my Starfall blue jacket to the elvish blade at my hip. Something shifted in his expression. Calculation replaced performance.

"Come," he said suddenly, gesturing toward the harbor keep. "We should speak privately. Brother to brother."

Niro tensed beside me. A subtle movement only I would notice. "Lord Consort—"

"It's alright," I said, though uncertainty gnawed at my gut. "We came to talk. Let's talk."

Michail's smile didn't reach his eye. "Your... companions may wait here. They'll be treated as honored guests under the laws of truce."

"General Niro comes with me," I said firmly. "The rest may remain here."

After a tense moment, Michail nodded. "Very well. One demon may attend you. Consider it a gesture of good faith."

We followed him through the harbor yard toward the keep. Soldiers parted before us with wary glances. The smell of incense grew stronger. It caught in my throat, sweet and cloying. Every window bore the eight-pointed star of the Divine Shield. Priests in golden robes stood at intervals along our route, murmuring prayers as we passed.

"You've certainly embraced the faithful," I said as we climbed the steps to the keep's main hall. "I don't recall you showing much interest in the Eight Divines before."

"Faith is the most powerful weapon in any arsenal," Michail replied quietly. "Give men a god to fight for, and they'll commit atrocities they'd never dream of in their own name."

The admission was startling in its cynicism, even for Michail. "You don't believe any of it, do you? The divine mission, the cleansing fire. It's all just a pretense."

His smile was thin. "Belief is for the simple-minded. I need soldiers willing to die for my cause. The Eight Divines provide that motivation far better than any speech about territorial expansion could." He glanced at a nearby mural of the Warrior slaying elves. "Tell them the Mother weeps for human children taken as slaves. Tell them the Maiden's virtue is defiled by elven magic. Tell them the Reaper cannot claim elven souls because they have none. Give them a holy purpose, and they'll march into fire without question."

The great hall had been transformed. What had once been an elven administrative chamber now resembled a temple to the Eight. Golden braziers burned incense. The air felt too thick. Banners bearing religious symbols hung from every wall—the scythe of the Reaper, the Warrior's sword, the Mother's broken heart.

A massive altar dominated the far end, beneath a mural of the Reaper harvesting elven lives. The painting showed elves falling like stalks of wheat before his great scythe, their essences rising up as golden light to feed human figures who stood tall and strong in the background. The altar's surface was stained dark. Blood. I was certain of it. The ritual implements arranged nearby matched those Modir had used in his "treatments" - silver knives, crystal vials, brass collection bowls. This was no temple of worship. It was a slaughterhouse dressed in religious garb.

Michail moved to a raised dais where an ornate chair awaited him. Modir took his place at Michail's right hand.

"Leave us," Michail commanded the guards and priests. "I would speak with my brother alone."

The attendants filed out, throwing suspicious glances at Niro, who stood silently at my shoulder. When the heavy doors closed, Michail's posture changed. The religious performance dropped away.

"So," he said, leaning forward. "The slave returns as a consort. Quite the promotion, little brother." His fingers toyed with a small idol of the Maker on his armrest. "The faithful would call it sacrilege. A human lying with an elf. The Maiden herself would weep."

"I'm here to discuss the withdrawal of your forces from elven territories," I said, refusing to be baited. "This crusade serves no one but your own ambition."

Michail laughed. The sound echoed in the vast chamber. "Always so direct. It's refreshing, actually, after so many sycophants." He gestured to the empty hall. "No audience now. Just us. So tell me, did you truly come here believing I would withdraw my armies on your word alone?"

"I came hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed," I said. "Your so-called holy war threatens everything we're building."

"Touching," Michail said, voice dripping mockery. "You speak of equality and a better world while wearing his colors." He leaned forward, dropping all pretense of dignity now that we were alone. "Tell me, brother, is elven cock really so good that you'd betray your entire species for it? Or did he simply break you so thoroughly that you've convinced yourself you enjoy the leash?"

My jaw clenched. I saw what he was doing. Trying to provoke me. To make me lash out so he'd have cause to strike. To prove I was still the hot-headed brother he remembered rather than the diplomat I'd become.

"You don't care about human oppression," I said, keeping my voice level. "You'd sacrifice every human in Ostovan if it meant another day without the Rot showing on your face. You're just annoyed that I found purpose while you're still rotting from the inside out."

Rage flashed across what was visible of his face. His hand gripped the throne's armrest until his knuckles whitened.

"Does it burn you," I continued, watching his reaction carefully, "knowing that while your body rots, I've found something worth living for? Something beyond just surviving another day?"

"Surviving? Is that all you think I'm doing?" He rose from the throne, approaching with measured steps. "I'm building a kingdom, little brother. Carving out humanity's rightful place in this world while you spread your legs for our ancestral enemy."

I gestured to his mask. "How much of your face is left beneath that pretty gold? How long do you have before it consumes the rest of you?”

His hand twitched toward his face, then dropped. "You know nothing about it."

"I know more than you think. I know my slave collar wasn't just about control. I know you used it somehow to try to fix your face."

Shock flickered across what remained of his face before he tipped his head back, barking out a laugh. “You really have no idea, do you? You think the collar was the beginning? Really?”

A chill crawled up my spine. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, little brother." His voice dripped with false pity. "We've been draining you for years. Those headaches after drinking wine with your lovers? The strange fatigue that would come and go?" He circled me slowly, like a predator. "Every lover you took to your bed was paid handsomely for their service. A few drops in your wine, and you'd sleep so soundly while Modir collected his vials."

The room tilted around me. Memories flashed through my mind. Waking with unexplained bruises, the persistent weakness I'd attributed to training too hard, the metallic taste that sometimes lingered in my mouth upon waking.

"You're lying," I whispered, but I knew he wasn't.

"You accuse me of poisoning our father and his heir." Michail's voice was almost gentle now, as if explaining something to a child. "But no, brother. They were…” He turned to Modir.

“Necessary sacrifices,” Modir provided. “Fortunately, I’ve refined the process now.”

"Father was already dying," Michail said, as if this justified everything. "He couldn’t keep his cock put away. Probably spread syphilis to half the Free Cities. I only took advantage of an opportunity. And Andrej... well, he became inconvenient. Started asking too many questions. The irony is, he was concerned about you. Noticed your recurring 'illnesses.' The fool might’ve lived if he’d cared a little less."

Bile rose in my throat. I'd thought Andrej distant in those final months. Cold. He hadn't been withdrawing from me. He'd been trying to protect me.

"And when I wasn't enough anymore, you sold me to the elves," I said, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "Turned me into bait to catch something more potent."

"You understand!" Michail clapped his hands together, mocking. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite brother. Yes, elven life force is remarkably... efficient. One elf provides what would take three or four humans." He gestured to Modir. "Show him."

The royal physician's serene smile never wavered as he reached inside his robe. He withdrew a crystal vial filled with dark red liquid. It pulsed with an internal rhythm, like a disembodied heartbeat.

"Pure elven essence," Modir explained, his voice clinical. "Extracted through a specialized process I've developed. The subject typically survives for several extractions before expiring, maximizing yield."

"Subjects," I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. "People. Living beings."

Modir's expression didn't change. "Resources," he corrected.

I turned back to Michail. "There's no cure," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady as my world continued to fracture around me. "Not magical, not mundane. Not Andrej's blood. Not mine. Not these elves you're butchering. You're just buying time."

"Time is all any of us have," Michail replied. "I'm simply ensuring I have more of it than others." He approached, circling me like a predator. "With your connections to the rebel king, you could deliver us a truly valuable resource. Royal elven blood."

My stomach lurched at his meaning. "Ruith."

"Or Tarathiel." Michail's eye gleamed with hungry anticipation. "Or any of them. Selling you to the elves was strategic, no matter who came to claim you. All that mattered was getting close to them. You served your purpose. But you could still be of more value. Imagine what I could accomplish with royal elven blood. The king of the rebels himself, delivered into my hands."

The room closed in around me. Braziers burned hotter. Incense clogged my lungs and coated my tongue.

"You think I'd help you capture Ruith?" My voice scraped against my throat.

"No." Michail tilted his head. "I think you've been thoroughly corrupted. But that doesn't matter. Your willing participation isn't required."

My fingers found my sword hilt. Familiar metal, cool against my palm. Niro shifted behind me. Steel whispered against leather.

Guards filtered silently into the hall from side entrances, surrounding us.

I stared into Michail's exposed eye, searching for any remnant of the brother I once knew, but nothing remained.

"You won't win this war. Not against the elves, not against the Rot. There's no victory for you here."

"Victory?" Michail laughed. The sound bounced off the stone walls and rattled in my skull. "I passed beyond simple victories when the Rot first appeared. This isn't about winning anymore, little brother." He gestured to his masked face. "This is about survival. At any cost."

His hand moved. A signal.

The first guard came from behind. I spun, drawing my blade. The blade sang as it cut through the air, then met steel with a jarring impact that traveled up my arm.

Niro’s blade sang through the air in two precise strikes, and two guards fell. More rushed forward to fill the gap.

"Take him alive!" Michail shouted. "Kill the elf!"

Modir retreated behind the throne. He withdrew something from his robes. A vial of shimmering blue liquid. He uncorked it. Muttered words crept along my skin like insects.

I parried a blade and kicked a guard back. "Niro! We need to go!"

The general grunted, and we worked in tandem to clear a path. Three more guards fell. A path to the door appeared.

Cold air slammed into my back. My limbs turned to stone. Modir's spell. The blue liquid had evaporated into tendrils of mist that slithered across the floor. Frost formed on stone wherever it touched.

I lunged forward as if trying to escape the mist and two guards moved to intercept me. Instead of engaging them, I dropped, sweeping low beneath their blades. My shoulder hit the brazier's base. It toppled, scattering burning incense and hot coals across the floor.

The carpets caught immediately. Flames raced along intricate patterns, feeding on oil and incense. Smoke billowed upward and the blue mist ignited, flashing in brief, brilliant bursts of azure fire.

Guards shouted in confusion. Smoke stung my eyes, but also concealed us. Modir's concentration broke as he backed away from the spreading flames. Michail shouted orders no one could follow through the chaos.

I launched toward the window and kicked through the stained glass. Cold sea air rushed in. Below, harbor waters churned black and uninviting. This was not the main harbor where Captain Yisra waited, but a narrow channel between keep and outer wall.

"Niro!"

The general appeared beside me, unharmed aside from a cut above his eye. “You first!” he demanded, pushing me toward the opening.

I jumped. Glass cut my face as I fell. I hit the water like stone, the air rushing from my lungs. Cold seized my body, momentarily rendering me numb. By the time I fought my way to the surface, everything hurt. My first gulp of air burned my throat like fire.

Niro surfaced beside me, already swimming toward a gap in the harbor defenses. Alarm bells rang throughout Homeshore, carrying across the channel.

"The ship," I gasped.

"Too risky." Niro cut efficiently through waves. "They'll expect that. We need another way."

My limbs grew heavier with each stroke. Cold stole my strength, but I forced myself to keep going. Niro seemed less affected, but perhaps his elven blood was better suited to winter waters. He grabbed my arm when my strokes faltered and helped me toward a small cove sheltered by rocks.

We dragged ourselves onto a pebbly shore. Cold air bit at my exposed skin and violent shivering threatened to overtake me. Above, Homeshore blazed with torchlight. Soldiers ran along walls, searching waters.

"Move. Now." Niro was already on his feet, scanning the coastline. "They'll have trackers."

I forced my frozen limbs to work. The wet clothes weighed me down, but fear was a powerful motivator. We pushed deeper into the rocks, staying low. Hounds brayed, the barking steadily growing louder.

Niro pulled me into a narrow crevice as torchlight swept the shoreline. We pressed against cold stone, barely breathing as soldiers passed within twenty feet of our hiding spot. A dog whined, catching our scent, but the handler pulled it toward the more obvious trail we'd left along the beach.

"We need to get to higher ground," Niro whispered once they passed.

"We need to reach D'thallanar," I said. "The Assembly needs to know what Michail is doing."

Niro studied me in the darkness. "On foot? That's at least ten days' journey through hostile territory."

"We have no choice." My sodden clothes clung to my skin. Shivering had given way to a dangerous numbness. "First, we need fire."

Niro nodded toward the coastal forest that began where the cliffs receded. "There."

He led us to a sheltered hollow where thick pines blocked the wind. My fingers were too stiff to help as he gathered kindling and struck sparks from his boot knife against a stone.

The tiny flame that caught felt like salvation. We huddled close, steam rising from our clothes. Ten days to D'thallanar, through winter forests and enemy patrols. It seemed impossible.

But as warmth slowly returned to my limbs, so did resolve. The Assembly had to know what Michail was doing. They had to understand they weren’t just facing an invasion. They were facing the end of their very way of life.