Page 3
T he next morning found the fortress in motion. After the grim revelations in the undercroft, Ruith had called the full war council. The council chamber felt different now that I sat here as Ruith's consort. Though I'd earned my place at this table moons ago, the weight of my new title still felt strange.
Smoke from dozens of candles caught in my throat, familiar and bitter. The scent mixed with the sharp pine and leather smell of the Spine warriors, the delicate perfumes favored by Taelyn, the ritual incense that clung to the Empress of Bones' robes. So many factions gathered in one room, their very scents declaring allegiance and status.
The seating told its own story of power and politics. Ruith at the head of the table, of course, with me at his right and Taelyn at his left. The queen wore her silver hair in a single warrior's braid today, the mark of her first victory stark against her court fashion gown. Her storm gray eyes met mine briefly, an acknowledgment passing between us. We had our own understanding, she and I, built on pragmatism and shared goals rather than jealousy.
The Empress of Bones sat halfway down the table, her presence a calculated insult to the more traditional nobles. Her bone white hair and ritual scars marked her as something other, and the empty chairs on either side of her spoke volumes about how the other factions viewed her people. Only Katyr seemed comfortable near her.
Victorin Stoneriver and his allies clustered at the far end, their rich robes and careful manners a stark contrast to the Spine warriors who lounged against the walls. General Niro stood behind Ruith's chair, his position both honor guard and declaration of the Broken Blades' absolute loyalty to their king.
Aryn's absence felt pointed until he slipped in through a side door, followed by Daraith. The necromancer looked better than he had after the working, though exhaustion still shadowed his eyes. My gaze caught on the way Aryn's hand brushed Daraith's arm as they separated, the gesture so subtle I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching.
Hawk's familiar bulk filled the space behind my chair, my commander's presence both protection and a reminder of my own authority. The old warrior's scarred hands rested on his sword hilt, ready for trouble despite the supposed peace of a war council.
"The messenger's words have been confirmed," Ruith's voice cut through the murmured conversations. "Homeshore has fallen. The Order of the Divine Shield has landed in force. Three thousand zealots led by Michail himself, with more ships on the horizon."
My fingers clenched on the arm of my chair, but it was the only outward sign of my anger I allowed.
"An army of fanatics at our backs while Vinolia's battle mages camp at our doorstep," Victorin said, his tone grave. "The timing is too perfect to be coincidence."
"We face armies on both fronts now," I said, leaning forward. “And Michail's zealots believe they fight for their gods. Men like that don't break, don't retreat."
"And how do we know you hold no sympathy for them?" The question came sharply from beside the Runecleavers' empty seats. Lord Northfire stepped forward, his long brown braids held in a loose tie at the base of his skull. "You’re human, are you not? Is their faith not your own?"
The bile rose in my throat at Lord Northfire's accusation. Every eye in the chamber turned to me, waiting to see how Ruith's consort would handle this first real challenge to my authority.
I glared at Lord Northfire. “Michail’s zealotry is not my faith. The gods I serve would never condone a genocide. He’s twisted the faith, turned it into something ugly. Something evil .”
Ruith's hand found mine beneath the table, a subtle gesture of support that none but Taelyn could see from her position. The queen's storm gray eyes held approval at my response. She understood the delicate dance required here, how even the smallest gesture could tip the balance of power.
"Pretty words," Lord Northfire pressed. "But blood calls to blood. How do we know you won't betray us when your brother's armies reach our walls?"
Before I could respond, Taelyn spoke. "The same way we trust that your ambitions won't lead you to ally with Taratheil, should we defeat the Runecleavers."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. The accusation hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Everyone knew the dance of power between the great houses, how quickly allegiances could shift when victory seemed certain. The lord's face flushed beneath his tan.
"My commitment to our cause is not in question," he snapped.
"Neither is mine." I rose slowly. "I've bled for this cause. Died for it." My gaze swept the room. "How many here can say the same?"
The silence that followed held weight. They all knew the story: how I'd fallen defending Calibarra, how Ruith had sacrificed part of himself to bring me back.
Victorin Stoneriver cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should focus on the immediate threat. Homeshore's defenses..."
"Are compromised," Hawk interrupted, speaking for the first time. "With Homeshore under his control, Michail sits between us and the Yeutlands," Hawk said, his voice grave. "He could cut off Khulan's forces before they ever reach us."
"Then we strike first," General Niro suggested from behind Ruith's chair. "Clear the road to D'thallanar before he can fortify his position."
"Homeshore's position makes it a natural fortress," Katyr pointed out. "The mountains at its back, the sea before it. A frontal assault would be costly." The battle mage's fingers traced patterns on the table's surface, leaving faint traces of power that made my skin prickle. "Vinolia won't waste such an opportunity."
"She's already moving," Aryn said quietly. All eyes turned to where he stood near Daraith, the two of them a study in contrasts: Aryn's ice pale coloring against the necromancer's darker features. "My sources report increased activity around her camp at Valdrenn. Supply lines being strengthened, troops conducting night drills."
"Preparing for a winter campaign," Ruith mused. His thumb stroked across my knuckles beneath the table, the gesture almost unconscious. "Bold, even for her."
"We cannot fight on two fronts," the Empress of Bones stated. "Choose your battlefield carefully, young king. The bones of your ancestors whisper warnings of divided forces."
Ruith's fingers drummed once on the table's surface, a rare tell. "The Shikami," he said finally. The temperature in the room seemed to drop at the mention of the assassin clan.
"They maintain neutrality in matters of succession," Victorin reminded him carefully.
"This isn’t about succession and civil war,” I said. “This is about preventing a genocide. Michail doesn't distinguish between rebel and loyalist. His zealots see only elves to slaughter. They’re not going to stop just because you asked them to. They believe they’re on a holy mission to kill every last elf and claim this land for their gods."
“Your gods, too,” Lord Northfire reminded me.
"The gods I serve value justice and mercy," I replied, meeting Lord Northfire's cold gaze. "What Michail brings is neither."
Ruith's grip tightened beneath the table, but his voice remained steady. "The gods themselves are not our concern. The armies at our gates are." His dark eyes swept the room. "Vinolia gathers her forces at Valdrenn while Michail fortifies Homeshore. We must decide where to strike first."
"Vinolia is the greater threat," Victorin argued. "Her battle mages could reduce Calibarra to rubble given half a chance."
"While Michail's zealots butcher every elf between here and the coast?" Taelyn's voice cut through the murmurs of agreement. “There are reports of villages in the north being burned, whole populations slaughtered as far north as the Wolfheart border. My people—”
“Chose to fight for Taratheil,” Northfire pointed out with disdain. “They are not our allies. I say, let the humans do our work for us. Let them decimate the north and Taratheil’s allies while we fight here in the south. We’ll destroy them when we meet in the middle. Why should we care what happens to loyalists?”
“Because they’re our people,” Ruith said, standing. “They are still elves. I did not choose to become king only of the south, or only the king of those who supported me. I am the king, every elf’s king. I swore to protect and serve my people. All my people, regardless of who they fight for during the civil war.”
The council chamber fell silent at Ruith's words. I watched the candlelight play across his features, catching in his dark braids, illuminating the fierce conviction in his eyes. In moments like this, I could almost forget the calculated manipulator who had once kept me collared and chained. Almost.
"Noble sentiments," Northfire sneered, "but fine intentions won't stop Michail's zealots or Vinolia's battle mages."
"Perhaps that's exactly what we need," Taelyn said, her storm gray eyes finding mine. "Words. The right words, from the right person."
I understood her meaning immediately. My fingers brushed the hollow of my throat where the collar had once rested. "You want me to go to Homeshore. To negotiate."
The thought was both terrifying and strangely inevitable. This confrontation with Michail had been coming since the day my collar was removed.
"You're human," she continued. "You worship their gods. And more importantly, you're living proof that coexistence is possible." Her gaze flickered to where my hand rested near Ruith's on the table. "That things can change."
"You suggest we negotiate with those who burn our villages?" Victorin's tone dripped with contempt.
"I suggest we show Michail's men that they've been lied to," I countered, the idea taking root. "They follow him because they believe all elves are monsters who deserve destruction. But I'm living proof that's not true." I turned to Ruith. "They see a human consort at your right hand, a former slave raised to power... it challenges everything Michail has told them."
"And what of Michail himself?" Hawk asked from behind my chair. "He's not likely to be swayed by pretty speeches about cooperation."
"This isn't about Michail," I said. "It's about his men. His supporters. They follow him because they believe his cause is righteous, that the elves are evil and must be destroyed." My voice hardened. "But what happens when they see that the very changes they claim to fight for are already happening here? That Ruith has outlawed slavery, that humans serve in his army as equals?"
"Seeds of doubt," Aryn murmured. "Planted in fertile soil."
"Exactly." I stood, letting my voice carry to every corner of the chamber. "Michail claims to fight for human liberation, for vengeance against elven oppression. But I'm standing here, free, powerful, respected. Everything he claims to want for our people, I already have." I met Ruith's dark eyes. "Because of you. Because you were willing to change, to see us as equals."
The council chamber buzzed with murmured conversations. I could see the idea taking hold, spreading like ripples in a pond.
"It would need to be handled carefully," Ruith said finally. "Full escort, proper protocols. We can't risk them thinking it's a trap."
Niro straightened behind Ruith's chair. "My men and I would be honored to accompany the consort on this mission. You can have a quarter of my regiment."
"Captain Yisra's ship could get us there in three days," I said. "Far better than trying to cross the mountains in this weather."
"A sound strategy," Victorin agreed. "The mountain passes would be treacherous this time of year."
"And if Michail simply decides to kill you?" Northfire demanded. "What then?"
"He won't." I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "He'll want to convince me I'm wrong. Want to show me how misguided my faith in Ruith is, how foolish I am to believe in change." My voice hardened. "His pride won't let him pass up the chance to try breaking me again."
Ruith's fingers found mine beneath the table, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "And when he fails?"
"When he fails, his men will see it. See that everything he's told them about elven cruelty, about the impossibility of peace... it's all lies." I swept my gaze across the council. "They're not all zealots. Many of them are just scared, angry people who've been fed a steady diet of hatred. Show them another way is possible..."
"And they might start questioning other things Michail has told them," Taelyn finished. "About the righteousness of their cause. About the necessity of war."
"It's worth trying," I said softly. "Better than just killing each other until there's no one left to make peace with."
The Empress of Bones rose, her bone headdress clinking. "The old ways change or they die. This is the way of all things." Her cloudy eyes fixed on me. "Go, young prince. Do what must be done."
"Very well," Ruith said. His voice carried the weight of command now, though his grip on my hand never loosened. "You go under the banner of truce, but at the first sign of true threat..." His eyes hardened. "You retreat. Immediately."
"And if he refuses to listen?" Victorin asked. "If this is just a waste of time?"
"Then we'll know we tried," I said. "That we offered peace before war. That everything that follows is on his head, not ours."
The council chamber fell into a tense discussion of details. They spoke of the supplies needed, signals to be arranged, protocols for the parley. I let their voices wash over me, my mind already racing ahead to what waited in Homeshore. To Michail.
My brother would be expecting me to come crawling back, broken and repentant. Instead, he would face a prince of two realms, a former slave who now commanded armies. The thought should have filled me with satisfaction, but all I felt was a deep weariness. So many possible futures balanced on what would happen in that port city.
The candles guttered in a sudden draft, shadows dancing across faces marked by power and ambition. I caught Ruith watching me, concern hidden beneath his mask of royal authority. He knew better than anyone what returning to face Michail would cost me.
"Captain Yisra's ship is due in four days with the supply run," Niro said, consulting a dispatch. "We can have the Broken Blades ready to sail as soon as she makes port."
"Then we have four days to prepare," Ruith said, his voice carrying over the council's debate. "Make them count."
Four days to prepare for a meeting I had both dreaded and longed for. Four days that might determine whether we faced endless war or found an unlikely path to peace.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
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- Page 3 (Reading here)
- Page 4
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