“Have you looked at this report, Kyr?” Lhoris asked, jabbing his finger at the sheet of parchment. “Is this accurate?”
Kyr leaned over the desk and his gaze fell on the document. His armor groaned as he clasped his hands behind his back, nodding to Lhoris. “I had, my Lord,” Kyr said. “I believe it to be true.”
Lhoris considered him.
The captain had been a comforting, trusting presence for most of Lhoris’ life. Normally, Kyr’s honor would be enough, but since taking the throne, it was difficult to accept opinions without consideration for truth. The what-if’s shook Lhoris. What if Kyr was working with the enemy? What if he was taking advantage of Lhoris’ naivety and was garnering support for a hostile takeover?
Lhoris shook the thoughts from his head.
Kyr was dependable, loyal, and had never betrayed the realm—even when the realm’s survival was bleak. His captain never wavered, was always a stalwart resident ready to defend against slander.
The war had taken a toll on Aeleria. Though the realm won years ago, many good Fae died and they were still picking up pieces of a life they had once known. Lhoris knew the Fae in Valthoria and surrounding villages were struggling to make ends meet, and unrest breeds corruption and contempt. While Lhoris was doing everything he could to ease their strife, worry still wormed its way through the defensive walls he had been building since he was a Faeling.
Kyr removed his helm, his eyes softening as if he could sense Lhoris’ hesitation. “The finest scholars have trained you well to rule effectively—and with a just hand, no less. Aeleria’s citizens see this. They support you, my Lord. Times are far less tumultuous now than they once were years ago.”
Lhoris lowered his head, ashamed, thinking of how unbecoming it is for a Lord to show weakness to his subjects. How could anyone support a ruler who doubted himself? What would his parents think of him?
My parents…
Had his parents been here, they would have known how to deal with Osma quietly, with little to no bloodshed. Taking the throne at a young age had been taxing. He still had years left under the tutelage of his educators, but conflict cut it short. So, he made do with the hand dealt to him.
“What do you think of my plan?” he asked Kyr.
“May I be honest?”
“I’d expect nothing less. Go on.”
He rubbed the scruff of his chin with a meaty hand. “I’m skeptical. Many Fae have tried—and failed—to find any remaining of the lost race. It’s hard to believe they’re really out there. They seem to be myth, legend, a bedtime story read to a Faeling. Not an all-powerful race hunted to near extinction out of fear.”
Lhoris knew it would be difficult, nearly impossible even, to convince anyone that his plan to find at least one Starweaver would work. He knew they were out there, could feel it in his bones. And if he couldn’t smooth things over with Kuskyn, then he needed a backup plan.
According to the report in hand, the Osmanian leader had been quietly amassing an army. For what, though? Was he planning to go to war with Aeleria, Alyll, and Edosia while Aeleria was still on the mend? It was a troublesome problem that had to be dealt with to keep peace in Dioscuri. Lhoris didn’t think Aeleria could handle another war.
“That’s accurate enough, but none of those who have searched had a Shadow Walker at their disposal. Besides,” Lhoris said, waving a dismissive hand. “This is simply a contingency if I can’t bring Osma to heel.”
Kyr grunted in agreement and set his helm on the desk. “Speaking of your Shadow Walker, where is she?”
As if on cue, a knock on the door sounded. Lhoris wondered if her arrival hadn’t been as coincidental as one may think. Perhaps she had been listening from this very room, hiding amongst the shadows, lurking in a dimly lit corner. They would have been none the wiser.
“You may enter,” Lhoris said.
She walked confidently across the room, her long black braid swaying at her hips, but her face belied her gait. She avoided making eye contact with either Fae. Bits of dried blood coated her nail beds, suggesting she had been picking them.
Lhoris kept his face neutral. “Elincea, report your status.”
She inhaled sharply, holding her breath for so long he had sworn she turned blue before releasing it all at once. “I-found-her,” she said, words running together.
Lhoris felt his jaw drop. He glanced at Kyr, who had a similar expression.
“You did?” he asked, leaning closer toward her. “That’s fantastic! Good work.”
Elincea nodded, flopping down in the seat across from him. Kyr shifted out of the way as the chair nearly slid into him. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said as she scrubbed her face before pinching the bridge of her nose.
“What’s the problem? We have what we need to prepare for whatever Osma is planning. Bring her in.”
The Shadow Walker sighed. “Lhoris, she’s living in squalor. She can’t read or write or use magic… she needs work.”
His face fell as he registered her words. “This makes no sense. What happened to her?”
The old texts said the Starweavers were some of the wisest beings, hailing from the heavens themselves. According to scholars, their worldly knowledge was unparalleled. If what Elincea was saying was true, then she was useless in her current state. Aeleria needed the myth, the legend—not some watered-down version.
Elincea shook her head, letting her shoulders slump. “From what I’ve gathered by observing her, the Starweavers abandoned her, leaving her in a rundown village so remote it isn’t on any map. The Fae who live there know enough to get by, and that’s pretty much it. There’s no one to teach her. Even if there was, I doubt her family could scrounge up the coin to afford it.”
Lhoris furrowed his brows, tapping his fingers against the desk. Perhaps this had been a way for her kin to preserve themselves. Smart of them to do, but did they think that no one else would look for her? If Elincea hadn’t been who she was, who would have found her first?
Something had to be done.
“You’ll go to her,” he said. “Teach her until I call upon you.”
Elincea stood, knocking the chair over, and slammed her palms on the desk. Kyr promptly pressed his back against the wall.
“You cannot. This is a misappropriation of my skills. I’ll not stand by and let you waste my talents on watching a Faeling,” she said.
While Elincea’s assertion left something to be desired, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Though the Starweaver may not be Fae, his request was a misappropriation of her skills—but only if he was wrong about the Starweaver.
His mouth formed a thin line, eyes narrowing to slits. “Stand down,” he said. “Now.”
“Absolutely not! This is an unwise decisi-”
“Now!” he bellowed, causing Elincea to stumble back before picking the chair up and taking her seat. Even Kyr was startled. “You’re truly going to question my authority? Do you not understand the position we’re in—the position you’re in? Between Osma and the Order, you’re out of options.”
“Lhoris, this is unju-”
“Enough! You will teach the Starweaver. There are no other options. Aeleria needs her—Dioscuri needs her. Or should I send you back?”
“You wouldn’t,” Elincea whispered. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
Lhoris wouldn’t.
He tore his eyes from her and focused on the report, crinkling the parchment with his hand. The two sat in silence, interrupted only by grains of sand filtering through the hourglass and occasional groans of Kyr’s armor.
Elincea wouldn’t leave until dismissed. Lhoris knew where her loyalties lay, but it didn’t change the fact that the mood had shifted. The Order scared her. Returning wasn’t an option. She’d rather die than go back.
He sighed, forcing his features to soften. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Elincea. You’re too dear to me. I know this isn’t a task you should undertake, but you’re the only one I can trust to see this through until the end. Please do this for me.”
“How long will it take?” she asked.
Lhoris shifted in his seat, glancing at the hourglass before returning to Elincea. “I don’t know.”
Her eyes widened, her nails digging into the armrest, puckering the leather. “You don’t know? Will it take weeks? Months?”
Lhoris didn’t respond. Elincea shook, wiping cold sweat from her brow. His eyes fell, and he said, “You’ll likely be there for years.”
“Y-you want me to leave for years? Are you insane?”
He opened his desk drawer, clicking open the false bottom, and took out a scroll. “Here,” he said as he handed her the document. “This missive details your mission.”
“By Xestia’s light, this was your plan all along.”
“One of them,” he said, folding his hands on the desk. “I’m always prepared, Elincea.”
“Bastard!”
“Mind your tongue, or I may think you truly hate me.”
Elincea clutched the orders at her side and scoffed at him as she stormed out of the room.