Chapter 450
Chapter 450
Chapter 448: A Silent and Unmoving Conflict
Just now
KATHYLN GLAYDER
I hurried down the long, strangely empty halls of Etistin Palace toward the East Wing, where two very unusual guests were waiting for me.
My pulse was beating quickly in my throat, driven by my own inexplicable nervousness.
Calm yourself, Kathyln, I thought, my mental voice sounding all too much like my deceased mother. But everything had moved so quickly after the appearance of the dragons, with Curtis and I being swept along in a tide we could not control or fight, and I had just begun settling my head around this new normal. It was only natural that such visitors who asked for me and me alone, would make me nervous, given the political context.
The clipped beating of my feet on the marble floor resounded off the walls and came back to me as a subtle echo, like someone was walking just behind me. Normally such sounds wouldn’t be noticeable in the palace; the dull but constant drone of conversation, or competing footsteps, or the ring of training blades from the courtyard, would swallow it up.
But few could stand staying in the palace now, so near the dragons’ heavy auras—the King’s Force, as they called it.
I passed by a guard, whose arrow-straight posture straightened even further at the sight of me. He did not meet my eye, but I felt his gaze burning into my back once I’d passed. Could he sense my anxiety, read me like an open book? I listened for the telltale armored steps of the man retreating down the hall to report my strange behavior to Guardian Charon.
I’m being foolish, I acknowledged. Do not succumb to your overactive mind. Again, the thought in my mother’s voice…
As I approached the sitting chamber where my guests had been placed to await my arrival, I straightened my dress and fixed a welcoming smile on my face, feeling it tremble only slightly.
They were both already standing as I entered, their eyes on the door.
Such inhuman eyes they had, one pair the liquid gold of the sun’s reflection on water, the other like two shining rubies.
“Lady Sylvie,” I said, acknowledging her with a sharp but shallow bow, not exactly sure how she ranked in the currently complicated politics of Epheotus and Dicathen.
She returned the bow, much deeper, a respectful but also carefree gesture that made me regret my own calculated greeting. Her pale hair tumbled over her face, bright against the dark horns curving up from the sides of her head. When she straightened, smiling, I was struck by her height and the sharpness of her features.
I shouldn’t have been. It was only natural that she would age and grow. But the last time I’d seen her—sometime during the war, I wasn’t even quite sure exactly how long it had been—she had presented herself physically as a child when in her humanoid form. Now, she was a young woman, and yet the confidence and maturity that radiated from her like an aura made her seem much older.
She stepped quickly forward, and her black dress swished and caught the light, its thousands of tiny black scales glittering.
I stiffened as she wrapped me in a brief hug.
She didn’t seem to notice as she released me, still beaming brightly. “Lady Kathyln. It is good to see you again. Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I have no doubt you are very busy, and I understand the nature of our arrival is somewhat…unusual.”
As she said “our,” I turned to her companion with the red eyes.
Blue hair fell down the full-figured woman’s shoulders, simultaneously dark next to the black horns wrapping around her head like a crown and bright as it framed those ruby eyes. She was Alacryan, one of the beings they called Vritra-blooded. She was suppressing her mana, preventing me from properly gauging her core level, although that alone told me something: she was stronger than me.
The woman copied Lady Sylvie’s bow, although she did not break eye contact, giving the motion an almost aggressive air. “Lady Kathyln Glayder. My name is Caera of Highblood Denoir. As Sylvie said, thank you for meeting us.”
I gestured to a stiff couch across from a high-backed chair, taking the chair for myself. My fingers automatically went to the carefully carved grooves in the arm’s woodwork, tracing the lines as I considered them. “Lady Sylvie, I find it somewhat disconcerting that you’ve asked for me in some secrecy when there are members of your own race present in this very palace. Why not seek the counsel of your own kind? Furthermore, why keep your presence a secret?”
Sylvie sat very properly, her gaze unwavering. It was very easy to see her as some divine princess from the far-off land of dragons. It was a bit more difficult to keep in mind my own purpose and the guidance and direction I had received from Guardian Charon and Windsom about how Arthur and his companions were to be treated in the event they returned to Etistin.
Meeting with them in secret behind Guardian Charon’s back was certainly not a part of said guidance.
“Arthur has sent me to inform you of a potential attack on the palace,” she said, managing to be both confident and consoling. “An attack targeting the dragons that would nonetheless put you and your brother in extreme danger.”
I felt my lips’ desire to frown, but I held them firm, keeping every muscle in my face in its natural place, just as my mother had taught me from a very young age. “I hope you have more to say than that. An attack on the dragons…who would dare such a thing? The fact that you’re here offering a warning makes it clear you find the threat to be sincere, but I can’t imagine who, short of the opposing asuras, would be a relevant danger.”
Sylvie seemed to consider something for a moment, then words began to flow out of her as she wove a story of visions and powerful, asura-killing assassins, dead dragons, and even my own death. I was surprisingly unmoved as she explained this part, although her mention of my brother’s demise raised goosebumps all over my skin.
I maintained my posture and expression throughout, but on the inside, I was a roiling sea of uncertainty. I was aware of Arthur’s fight against these “Wraiths” in Vildorial, as were Windsom and Guardian Charon, but it was the dragons’ opinion that Agrona’s soldiers did not pose them, or us, any threat. The war was over, and the dragons were protecting Dicathen.
It was perhaps not fair to Lady Sylvie, but I was also skeptical of any such visions that claimed to see future events. My parents, as the king and queen of Sapin, had been surrounded by soothsayers and seers attempting to peddle prophecies at every juncture. Except for Elder Rinia, I had never met anyone claiming to be an oracle who could tell so much as the next day’s weather.
The Alacryan woman, Caera, listened just as raptly as I did, clearly not having known the full story until that moment. Another point of strangeness working against them.
When she finished, Lady Sylvie was silent as she waited for my response, giving me time to properly formulate it.
“Forgive me. That is a lot to take in,” I said, searching her golden eyes for any sign of deceit but finding none. I imagined Arthur stalking a faceless creature of shadow through the streets of Etistin at that very moment, and a shiver ran through me. “I admit, hearing your tale has only made me more confused. If the goal is to prevent this attack on Guardian Charon, why not speak to him directly?”
I thought through the question even as I was asking it and came to the answer on my own. “You do not want the other dragons to know you are here until Arthur is with you. And Arthur does not want to go to Charon without some proof of the Wraiths’ presence.” I felt the smallest frown purse my lips and smoothed it away. “Are such gifts of foresight common among your kind, Lady Sylvie?”
Her head cocked slightly to the side as she considered me. “No. Arthur has always trusted you, Kathyln, and so I chose to as well. I hope I made the correct decision.”
Coming from anyone else, the barbed words would have drawn my ire, but coming from this golden-eyed dragon, all I could think was that I also hoped that she was right to tell me the truth.
“There is a general council meeting tomorrow,” I said after a long pause. “What you describe, it sounds like what we—”
Mana erupted in the distance, and I forgot what I was saying, instead staring at the wall in the direction of the source.
“A decay-type mana art,” Caera said, frowning. “That was a lot of mana.”
I stood suddenly, smoothing out my dress. “Stay here. No one will bother you. But the dragons will have sensed that as well—hells, the entire city will have. I need to make sure there isn’t a panic.”
Before either of the women could speak, I turned on my heel and marched out of the chamber. The guard from before had moved from his post and was standing in the middle of the hall, staring as if expecting an army of Alacryans to come pouring down it at any moment. He spun and snapped into a salute when he heard my approach.
I whisked past him and headed for the main palace entry. As expected, I found Curtis already there, standing in the outer courtyard and staring east. He glanced at me as I moved to stand at his side.
Energy crackled like a physical force between them as they regarded each other. There was a silent and unmoving conflict between them, or rather the intent they both wielded like a weapon. In a way, they were a sort of mirror of each other.
Charon was the same height as Arthur and yet seemed to tower over everyone around him. His build wasn’t powerful, matching Arthur’s lean and graceful athleticism, but his raw strength was visible in his every movement. He shared Sylvie’s light-colored hair, which I assumed was an Indrath trait—does that have something to do with Arthur’s transformation, I wonder?—but his eyes were deep, dark pools of plum purple.
In their faces, though, the two were nothing alike. Although Arthur had returned aged, his face sharper and more mature than before the war, he still looked like a boy next to Charon, whose features were grizzled with the scars of a thousand battles, pock-marked with old burns, and hardened into unbending expectation.
It was a face that conjured both fear and respect with nothing more than a look.
What it did not do was smile often, and yet the Guardian’s scarred cheek twitched, and the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement. “Yes, Vajrakor was quite thorough in his description of that meeting, as well as in his approximation of your abilities and temperament.”
Windsom took this as some sort of cue and moved forward again, taking up his position to their left. The dragon guard flanked Charon. Wanting my physical position to remain neutral, I stood opposite the group from Windsom, my brother at my side.
“Welcome to Etistin, Arthur Leywin,” Charon said, his deep voice a thunderous rumble. “It is good that we are finally meeting, even if the circumstances are less than ideal. The disturbance outside the city—what were you up to?”
Arthur scanned the crowd of counselors and guards. “Perhaps we could speak in a less public setting?” Arthur suggested quietly.
The Guardian made a sudden, sharp gesture with his hand. The two lines of guards spun on their heels and began marching out of the throne room, creating an aisle between them where the counselors and other noble types could leave as well, although this latter group did so hesitantly, without the snappy military precision of the soldiers.
Curtis shifted, glancing at the retreating counselors, and I knew he wished he could join them. He and I had been under a constant bombardment of “guidance” from our counselors since Lyra Dreide officially ended the occupation of Dicathen and Arthur left us in charge of Etistin. Not all of the advice we received was what I would call “good advice,” and that had only gotten worse since the dragons’ arrival. Curtis in particular struggled to balance his own desires with those of the people, the dragons, and our chosen council.
The truth was that we needed the dragons. We needed their power and their leadership, and the confidence it gave our people in the future. Too much had happened—the death of the kings and queens, the defeat of the Lances, the loss of the war and subsequent occupation, the destruction of Elenoir—for our people to simply expect that we could rebuild what we’d lost.
The dragons provided a new foundation on which to build, and without them, I feared the ground would always be waiting to slide right out from under our feet.
And yet…I had been raised around politics and court intrigue my entire life. I could see the manipulation of public opinion as it was happening; the dragons had silently been undercutting the people’s view of Arthur. It was an “out with the old, in with the new” mentality that I understood, but it was unjust and terribly unfair to a man who had given so much to save us.
Then, he had been the one to bargain for the dragons’ protection. I also felt it was necessary to trust that he knew what he was doing.
The last of the crowd left, and two guards worked together to shut the large throne room doors.
“Better?” Guardian Charon asked, holding his hands out to his sides as he gestured around the wide, empty space. “Now, what are you doing here? What happened?”
Arthur retold the story that Lady Sylvie had told me, although he left out the part about her apparently having witnessed the attack in a vision. Arthur, in fact, seemed to gloss over how exactly the evidence of an attack had come to him.
“Although I’ve eliminated one, there will be others,” Arthur concluded. “I can’t promise that this will dissuade their attack, either.”
Charon crossed his arms and shook a lock of hair out of his face. The look of intensity he projected was one I’d seen many times before. “I assure you, I have no need of protection against Agrona’s soldiers. Your earlier defeat of the Wraiths should have disabused you of this notion that they can defeat my kind. Certainly not warriors. I promise you, Kezess did not send farmers or fledgling children in training to guard this continent.”
Arthur took a couple of steps as he began to pace, then forced himself to be still. His eyes jumped to mine for the briefest instant of contact. “Even a battle where you defeated them could result in the deaths of dozens, even hundreds of the city’s residents. All I’m asking is that you help me scour the city and surrounding countryside. Let’s make sure they’ve gone.”
Charon shrugged, a motion that was at odds with everything else about his posture and expression, which rarely relaxed into anything less than that rigidly militaristic. “I don’t want you scaring the people of Etistin by turning the city upside down in a search for ghosts.” He looked at Windsom. “See what can be done, subtly. Perhaps call in a few dragons from the patrols, faces the people here won’t recognize. And they should be adept at hiding themselves among the lessers.”
“Of course,” Windsom said with a shallow bow.
“The presence of Agrona’s most powerful forces on Dicathen only reinforces my other reason for being here, however,” Arthur continued, his voice carrying the weight of words he expected not to be taken well. “I have spent some time in Alacrya, fighting alongside Seris Vritra, the leader of a rebel faction fighting back against Agrona.”
“That is a rather generous way to phrase that,” Charon rumbled, a suppressed laugh in his words.
Arthur didn’t acknowledge the interruption. “I have offered Seris and any of her people that wanted to join her sanctuary in Dicathen, safely in the Elenoir Wastes with the submitted Alacryan army. Seris has asked me to extend my hand in friendship with you and your kin. She hopes that, in exchange for the protection you’re already offering this continent, she can provide you with useful information about Agrona and Alacrya’s defenses among other things.”
Charon’s brows, left half bald and tattered by the scarring on his face, had slowly crawled up his forehead as Arthur had spoken. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. “That is certainly a brave request, if not a rational one. That you can so boldly claim to have smuggled an undisclosed number of enemy combatants into this continent, reuniting an enemy general with many thousands of her soldiers in the process, and not seem to understand the ramifications, suggests to me that perhaps your reputation as a strategic genius is exaggerated by the people here.”
I held my breath as Arthur cocked his head slightly to the side, but before he could respond I took a quick step forward. From the corner of my eye, I saw my brother reach for my arm, but I evaded his grasp and put myself next to Arthur, directly across from the weighty gaze of Charon’s dark eyes.
“Guardian Charon,” I began, my words clearly enunciated and polite, “thank you for including my brother and me in this meeting. We both have come to greatly appreciate the healthy working relationship you have maintained with Etistin’s new governing body, and I hope that you’ll allow me to speak on Arthur’s behalf. Having known him since we were children and benefited directly from his actions on multiple occasions since then, I can tell you with no hesitation or doubt that the reality of his accomplishments regularly goes well beyond the rumors that follow in his wake.”
I took a breath, having rushed to get everything out before I was interrupted. Windsom was eyeing me with thinly veiled annoyance, but Charon was attentive.
“Although he has never taken steps to make it so, Arthur is looked up to by many as the de facto leader of Dicathen, uniting humans, elves, and dwarves in their respect for him. The presence of your kin here has been a blessing, Guardian, one we will never be able to repay, but not everyone has it in them to forgive the past and trust that the dragons really mean peace.”
I looked between the two, mentally urging them to listen to me. “You need each other, Dicathen needs you both, for this ever to work. Charon, as named regent of the continent, I believe Arthur is well within his authority to offer sanctuary—”
“Regent is not a title we acknowledge,” Charon said smoothly, his deep voice swallowing mine. “A title invented by invaders and handed down by a turncoat. There is no legitimacy in it.” He paused thoughtfully. “But you are right beside that, of course. Our presence in Dicathen is down to this agreement between Arthur and Lord Indrath, and I don’t intend to work against my lord’s purpose. But neither will I ignore my own best judgment.”
Before he could continue speaking, a heavy knock on the doors pulled everyone’s attention in that direction. One opened partially, but instead of a guard, Lady Sylvie Indrath walked in, her fair hair and skin practically glowing against the darkness of her horns and clothes. I felt a spike of disconcerting fear, but knew that Arthur could speak with her telepathically. I could only assume her arrival at this time was by design.
“Cousin Charon,” she said, marching down the aisle toward us at speed, the soles of her boots clacking with each step.
Caera slipped through the door behind her, walking in her shadow.
Windsom’s nose wrinkled up in annoyance or frustration, I couldn’t be certain which. He glared at Arthur.
But Charon gave a warm smile that softened his harsh features and broke away from our group, moving to meet Lady Sylvie. “Second cousin, thrice removed, but I suppose that doesn’t matter outside of Epheotus. Have you been slinking around the palace all this time?”
“Of course she has,” Windsom snapped, growing increasingly irritated. “Charon, Sylvie is to be returned to Lord Indrath immediately, per his very explicit instructions.” Windsom’s galaxy-colored eyes bore down on Arthur. “This is not a request, Arthur. If you value this continent, you’ll—”
“Guardian Charon, is it you or Windsom here who is in command of the dragons in Dicathen?” Arthur asked smoothly, his note of feigned curiosity like the twisting of a dagger.
“Windsom…” Charon said, his tone thick with warning.
As the two powerful asuras exchanged a long, meaningful look, my own gaze slipped away from the drama of their confrontation.
Also sharing a meaningful look behind the asuras’ backs were Arthur and Sylvie. Some silent communication drifted through the air between them, drawn on nearly visible line of their shared eye contact.
After a handful of very long seconds, Windsom straightened his uniform and nodded.
Charon let his dark gaze linger on Windsom for a long moment even afterward, then turned back to Sylvie. “Now, I believe we were having a reunion. Please, let us all go somewhere more comfortable. We have a lot to talk about.”