[r.] Doubt that the stars are fire

Faraine thiel Kyrenic was not in the mood to be disturbed. Her head throbbed, pulse thundering at her temples, and all she wanted to do was close the door on the world and sink into a hot bath.

Court days were always arduous, but she particularly loathed the seasonal meetings of the generals—a conference of high-ranking military soldiers that took place twice a year in the spring and autumn. Two representatives from each of the noble houses crammed, egos and all, into a stifling, windowless room deep in the cliffside. For the better part of a day, Faraine had listened to reports and ideas and strategy until she thought her ears might bleed—important and necessary items for discussion, of course, but hours upon hours of bickering in an attempt to impress the Queen was enough to drive anyone to the brink. Faraine, who possessed no regal reputation for patience, had managed to keep her frustrations hidden away…and now it seemed they were punishing her in the form of a migraine.

A sudden knocking at her door echoed in her ears like piercing rhythmic thunderclaps, and she wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

“I am not to be disturbed until dawn,” she called, massaging her temples with her fingertips.

But the rapping came again, this time more urgently. Heaving a sigh, she wrapped her velvet robes tightly around her lithe frame and hauled herself to her feet. “I have requested privacy for the night,” she said tersely, swinging open the ornately-carved wooden door. “I do not—oh. Commandant Jhaartael.” Her eyes narrowed in confusion, and a pit of dread formed in her stomach. The military man’s weathered face was noticeably pale even in the dim light of the corridor, and though he tried to hide his heavy breathing, it was clear he had sought her chambers in a hurry. “Apologies, Commandant,” the Elven queen said smoothly, straightening her posture. “Is everything all right?”

“Your Majesty, I would not bother you were it not urgent,” the commandant panted, bowing, “but I felt you needed to know.”

“Needed to know what, Jhaartael?” the queen demanded.

“His Highness.” The commandant straightened. Faraine furrowed her brow.

And then he spoke his name.

“His Highness, Theoduin thiel Kyrenic—”

Theoduin. “His remains have been found,” she murmured solemnly. She knew this day would come eventually. After her brother’s abrupt departure so many years ago, they had presumed his death…and never recovered his body. It had only been a matter of time before a scout or a guard uncovered them. It seemed that day had finally come.

“No, Your Majesty,” Jhaartael continued. “He is here. We have escorted him to the guest wing to await your audience in the morning.”

Faraine’s eyes widened, but remarkably her face betrayed no emotion otherwise—the controlled visage of a true Elven ruler. “Is that so?” she replied, although the monarch could barely hear her own words through the roar of blood in her ears. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Jhaartael. This is a matter for the morning. You are dismissed.”

“Your Majesty—”

“You are dismissed.”

The queen closed the door calmly and slid the lock closed, but as soon as she heard the commandant’s footsteps disappear down the hall, she let out a strangled cry and dropped to her knees in her chambers’ vestibule. She squeezed either side of her skull with her palms and clenched her eyes closed. 

Her brother, the man who had abandoned her, renounced their family, and betrayed his kingdom, was back and living and breathing beneath the palace roof once more.

Theoduin was alive.

Relief washed over her like a cold rain. Her only remaining sibling, whom she dearly loved but had never forgiven, was essentially back from the dead. After the shock of his abdication, the kingdom had mourned him when the days turned to weeks turned to months and he did not return. An elf, even one raised royal, was not likely to survive long in this era of war and political turmoil. Myrddin was the only safe place for their kind after Eyraille’s crusade of magical genocide, and Faraine, like the rest of the kingdom, had accepted his death long ago.

But as quickly as there was solace in the news, her anger pushed it away. Jaw clenched, she rose to her feet and made her way to the bath. The large steaming pool was no longer a place in which to unwind; now it matched her scalding hot mood, and she couldn’t wait for its blistering embrace to validate her fury. She dropped her robes in a pile at her feet and plunged into the searing water.

She remained submerged as long as her lungs allowed, her long, dark hair suspended like a shadowy halo around her face, and emerged with a gasp that sounded more like a scream than an intake of air. How dare he. How dare he. If it weren’t for the hot water and the fact that she was unclothed, she might very well have marched straight to his room and let him know exactly how she felt about his reappearance. She was required to hold her composure in the High Court, but anywhere else, she was his sister—his only remaining immediate family—not his queen, and ceremony could not protect him.

Faraine would not allow her brother’s resurrection to undermine the progress that had been made under her rule. Myrddin had changed so dramatically with her reign that it was barely recognizable as the same kingdom Theoduin had left in his wake all those years ago. Their oldest sister Talaess and their father Cyran before her had left behind a ravaged and war-torn empire, with a scattered, frightened population and little economy to speak of. Although they had successfully fought off the most aggressive wave of Eyraillian advances and eliminated the then-current Sorde tyrant, their military efforts hadn’t left room for much else but bare-bones survival.

But that was changing. Crumbling infrastructure had been restored to a glory fitting of more peaceful times. Commerce had begun to flourish again as Myrddin’s government, spearheaded by Queen Faraine, refocused its gaze inward to its people rather than keeping her military on the offense. She had earned her subjects’ respect as well as that of her high-born, tradition-minded cohort—many of whom had struggled with accepting the youngest Kyrenic heir as their ruler in Theoduin’s stead. No thanks to him, Myrddin could stand on its own two feet again…and more than that, it had muscles to flex.

The queen released a breath, calmer now, and emerged from the bath smelling of clean sage and lavender. Steam emanated from her skin as the cool night air caressed her bare flesh. Although magical tendencies did not strictly run in families, she too was gifted with talents connected to the air—and she tapped its shoulder now, summoning a steady circular breeze that dissipated the humid vapor and left her skin and hair completely dry.

Tomorrow she would face Theoduin for the first time in nearly a century and a half. And as conflicted as she felt about that now, she had all night to plan how she would receive him…and couldn’t guarantee it would be with open arms.

—————

The birdsong that heralded the Myrddian dawn was a melody straight from a memory: the bedchamber window open wide, a chilly morning breeze bearing the soft aroma of damp earth, and the soft giggles Theoduin shared with Faraine as they crept in to wake their oldest by leaping enthusiastically onto her bed.

The elf scholar strode to the window and drew a deep breath. His childhood, haunted though it had been by the threat of bloodshed and war, had not been an unhappy one. With the much-older Talaess in line to take over their father’s crown, Theoduin and Faraine had been largely shielded from the worst of the kingdom’s dire state in their earliest years. It was only as they grew and matured that the reality of the world became clear—that Myrddin’s deteriorating walls, declining population, and overall atmosphere of terror were not supposed to be their norm, and the issues about which their elders whispered behind closed doors were their burdens, too.

Theoduin and Faraine had reacted to this information in two completely different ways. Faraine, with her fiery personality and youthful ambition, had taken to her mandatory warrior’s training with all the anger and resolution of a woman who had simply had enough. Theoduin, on the other hand, avoided his military training as long as he could—choosing instead to hole himself up with his books. The key to winning this war, he argued, was not brute force; even with magic on their side, Myrddin could not overpower Eyraille’s sheer numbers and bloodthirsty determination for long. Centuries of bloodshed, however, had shaped their traditionally-peaceful culture into a military state—a societal and governmental defense mechanism that was not likely to shift unless the change came from within.

The palace library hadn’t seen regular upkeep in more years than Theoduin had been alive, but that hadn’t stopped him from living amongst the stacks, leaving new fingerprints in old dust. He sought the few scholars who had not succumbed to Eyraille’s crusades, but convincing any of them to take a young prince under their wing proved futile. “This isn’t our time,” one woman had told him, her dark eyes brimming with tears. “You must think of your training as a way of studying. Sometimes we must simply survive."

And survived he had…although not in a way anyone had anticipated.

Theoduin sighed, turning at the sound of Vega’s return. He smiled softly, although the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How Myrddin’s runaway prince is received remains to be seen,” he said. “It seems we’re each in good company.”

While it was true that he didn’t know what to expect at his High Court debut, he had even less an idea how Vega would be received—she was perhaps the only human in living memory who had set foot upon the palace stone and lived to tell the tale. A conflicting pang of emotion he couldn’t identify swelled in his chest. She had confessed the truth of her lineage just the previous evening...and while he had no right to be upset about her secret given his own complicated past, he couldn’t deny a subtle sense of discomfort at her name. That, he supposed, was a reaction engrained too deep to eliminate in a single night…and one he hoped the elves of the court could look past. It was not Vega, after all, who needed to be feared. All she must do is prove that to everyone else, he thought grimly. It was exactly that easy…and that difficult.

“Come,” he said. He led her to a small balcony overlooking one of several palace courtyards and gestured to a bench carved from the same stone that comprised the cliffs. “I have already told you the basics of the High Court. Your honesty will be held in high esteem, but, Vega…” He grimaced, unsure how to continue. “The fact that you are human is already a strike against you here. But you must be prepared for…an outcry…at your name.” He met her gaze. “Weapons are not allowed, as I have explained, but there is no law against magic. Do not let yourself be startled. No harm will come to you…I would never let that happen. And neither would my sister. Harm coming to a Sorde on Myrddian soil would not sit well with either kingdom, for reasons that are obvious.

“So stand your ground,” he concluded, nodding firmly. “We are here for a reason. I will not allow sensation or circumstance to leave our business unfinished. I have not forgotten the arrow that brought your roc from the sky”—another smile, this time warm, curved his lips behind his auburn facial hair—“and, of course, brought you to me.”

It had not escaped Vega’s suspicion that this particular audience with the esteemed Elven Queen might cause more of a scene than any other this Court might have witnessed. If ever a human had witnessed the inside of Myrddin’s walls, in all of history, then time has long since forgotten the impact. And for a Sorde to find themselves at the heart of the very place that their family had mercilessly threatened and laid siege upon in the not-so-distant past…

To expect resistance and outcry was perhaps the best possible case scenario. At worst, the Eyraillian princess might have good reason to fear for her life and her well-being, as well as Eyraille’s, for what would undoubtedly be perceived as a direct threat to the Elven kingdom. Even if Vega herself, clearly unarmed and unaware of the whereabouts of her weapon since the moment she arrived, was nowhere near a direct threat.

The only real advantage that the Skyknight commander had going for her was in that this was ironically not an unfamiliar situation. And it was this very familiarity that would give her the confidence to stand her ground, as Theoduin advised. She offered her Elven companion a sly smile, as she stepped up to the balcony that overlooked the exquisite courtyards. Myrddin seemed to have long since recovered well from the devastation of war, having restored it's majesty, even in light of retreating into the cliffside. The Elves were as good as the very definition of resilience; like flora devastated by a season of poor weather, they had adapted and sprung back, with little to show for the scars of war.

“Perhaps you are not fully versed in Eyraille’s history, of the past couple decades,” she began, tucking a loose tress of copper hair behind her ear, “but this would not be the first time that my name or mere presence has led to an outcry. Unlike you, I did not disappear from my kingdom after my abdication. There was outcry at my audacity to stay; and further outcry at my pursuit among the ranks of our Skyknights. Imagine what I endured when I earned my place as Commander. Attempts have already been made on my life, in my own kingdom.” Turning away from the breathtaking vista beyond the balcony, she met Theoduin’s green eyes, her own shining with confidence. “I have long since accepted that I personally embody controversy and death of conventions, Theoduin. And I’ve claimed that identity as my own. However your people might react to my presence and my name, I guarantee it will be nothing that I have not already faced before.” Well, aside from the threat of magic. But she did now allow herself to dwell on that possibility.

“Whatever you do, I do not want to see you endanger yourself on my behalf. Can you promise me this?” Vega placed a hand on his arm. “We can stand together, but I am nobody’s protégé. Let them see that I can stand on my own and speak on my own behalf. I am not their enemy; but neither can I wear my kingdom’s weaknesses on my sleeve.”

It was not long before a knock on the door alerted them to a pair of sentries wearing solemn expressions, both which soured all the more at the sight of Theoduin’s company. “Your Highness,” one addressed the Elven prince, without so much as acknowledging his human companion. “Her Majesty promptly requests your audience… and hers.” Still, no further acknowledgement was made with regard to Vega’s presence. Not even insomuch as a glance.

Shoulders squared and holding her head high, the Eyraillian princess exchanged a reassuring glance with Theoduin, before the two complied, following the sentries away from the residential quarters. The details of tunnel-long corridors of Myrddin’s cliffside safehold of a forretress had escaped Vega the night before, in her delirious state, but in her current hyperawareness to of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, it did not go unnoticed that morning. Everything appeared to be connected by tunnels, intricately carved to look less like stone, and more like glossy marble. Even the most utilitarian aspects of Myrddin were beautiful; much like Eyraille used to be, basking in luxury in every sense of the word, until the tyranny of the Sorde legacy had come to an abrupt end. For all it was a turn for the better, economics had plummeted, to the extent that some of the once more picturesque areas no longer saw maintenance, and that some luxuries had to be sold for survival. Those who could not adapt to the recession had abandoned the kingdom; now, only the poorer, and the afraid, remained.

Vega had lost count of the amount of twists and turns that had eventually led them to the innermost part of the palace, where the tunnels ended, and the splendour of Myrddin’s brilliance shone. The ceilings were high, and skylights allowed the golden morning to flood the expansive space. Wall sconces glowed with uncanny witchlight that did not provide illumination, so much as the light themselves played as part of the decor. But nothing compared to the room beyond the pair of tall, wooden doors, which either sentry moved to open, to allow them inside.

The windows of Myrddin’s royal throne room were as tall and regal as the rounded, ornate ceilings. Intricate, bronze patterns crafted directly upon the panes created ethereal swirls and symbols painted in sunlight upon the smooth flooring, but beyond the windows, decor had been kept to a minimum. The true focal point was the mahogany throne to the far north: tall, regal, with lesser seating to either side of it. It commanded just as much of a presence as the woman who sat upon it. Dark-haired and keen-eyed, adorned with a circlet that met at a point in the middle of her forehead, and emerald robes so long that the sleeves draped over each ornately-carved arm of the throne. Vega saw the resemblance immediately, in the set of the Elven Queen’s jaw, the fierce gleam of her eyes… Theoduin’s sister. The default Queen of Myrddin.

And whether it was for the sudden return of her deserter brother, or for the human company he kept, there was no welcome in those royal eyes.

They strode swiftly through the labyrinth of palace corridors, flanked on either side by silent escorts dressed for the High Court. The closer they came to the throne room, the more Theoduin realized it wasn’t dread that filled the pit in his stomach…it was determination. He drew strength from Vega’s confidence at his side. How much of it was a show—if any—he couldn’t say, but that was perhaps just as well. Despite the feud between their kind and their kingdoms, the fates had brought him the only living soul who could relate to his unique past. And that, if nothing else, was a reassurance that the twisting threads of destiny had not left him out of its vast tapestry.

The formidable and familiar court doors suddenly loomed before them. Theoduin steeled himself as their sentry heaved them open…and revealed the cavernous chamber beyond.

It was at once exactly the same and entirely different than he remembered. Faraine had restored the architecture to a quiet glory the stone hadn’t seen in generations, and the tall windows gleamed with flawless colored glass. The only piece that remained untouched was the mighty mahogany throne, which bore centuries of scuffs and cracks and imperfections like badges of honor—like scars on flesh, humble reminders of a painful past.

But what was most startling, predictably, was the person upon it.

Queen Faraine thiel Kyrenic did not simply sit, she did not perch—no, she belonged to the throne…or rather, the throne belonged to her. Swathed in a deep emerald gown, with waves of dense fabric pooling at each wrist and her ankles, her quiet intensity struck him like a palpable force in the cool air. She had always been the smallest of the Kyrenic siblings, lean and lithe of frame like their mother. But here, where anyone else would have been dwarfed, Faraine commanded.

She looked older, more mature than the last time he had seen her. The years had treated her well despite the stress of her unwanted reign. Her hair spilled past her shoulders in long red-brown waves, branding her an unmistakable Kyrenic of the north—and unmistakably Theoduin’s sister. He wondered if the matching green of their attire was a purposeful choice on the part of the palace staff.

The scholar prince squared his shoulders and strode forward with purpose, his green eyes locked with Faraine’s. This time, their escorts remained behind, leaving Theoduin and Vega to advance toward the Myrddin queen alone. A few hushed whispers rippled through the crowd, offering a brief reprieve from the unbearable silence. Their audience of Elven court members lined either side of the broad aisle, their gazes so hungry for a glimpse of the lost prince back from the dead that they barely paid Vega any heed.

Statuesque guards armed with broadswords stood on either side of the aisle several paces from the base of the throne, marking a line that was not to be crossed without direct invitation. It was customary for anyone seeking audience with the sitting king or queen to pause at this point, to express the typical courtesy of a bow, a kneel, or a curtsy before stating their title and their business. Theoduin halted, brushing Vega’s arm to indicate that she, too, should pause at his side.

He held his sister’s gaze for a moment longer than was proper, then dropped into a low bow. He didn’t see the briefest flicker of emotion flash in Faraine’s eyes at the gesture.

“State your name and your ti—” one of the guards began, but the queen interrupted.

Faraine spoke, her voice somehow musical and venomous at once as it filled the room. “His highness Prince Theoduin thiel Kyrenic of the North, second son of the late King Cyran and Queen Ilyana, elder brother to Queen Faraine thiel Kyrenic,” she announced. Slowly, gracefully, she rose to her feet.

Theoduin, still swept in a bow, tensed. When he drew himself back up to his full height, the queen stood an arm’s length away. His sister, close enough to touch. He stood a full head taller than Faraine, but it seemed as though she towered above. For the briefest of moments, they were children again—mischievous siblings sneaking into the court chamber, hiding from their caretakers between lessons. But the memory evaporated as quickly as it resurfaced. She may not have been born or groomed for this role, but she had made it her own in a way Theoduin never could have managed…that much was clear.

“Your Majesty.” He fought back the urge to reach out to her. Instead, he cleared his throat and raised his chin.

Faraine shifted her green gaze to Vega as though noticing her for the first time. “I understand we are in the presence of an ambassador.” She remained standing before them, all business, expression unreadable. Another wave of whispers spread through their audience as they strained to hear the royal's hushed tones. “I will remind you that you are in an unprecedented position in our Court on admittance only as a courtesy to his highness the Prince, and I will tolerate no malice or misbehavior,” murmured the queen, dropping her voice. A warning. She may not yet have known who Vega was, but it was clear that the queen did know what she was.

When Faraine spoke again, she projected, addressing Vega directly in Eyraillian. "Stand forward and state your name, your title, and your business for the Court."

It was her first time laying eyes upon Queen Farraine thiel Kyrenic, but the moment Vega beheld her regal face, with its sharp, elven features and her fierce eyes… she couldn’t help but feel the woman seemed familiar. And she knew exactly why. That tone of voice, steady and insinuating no room for nonsense, that fierce look that betrayed glimpses of hurt and bitterness… She knew that look, knew well the sentiments that belied them.

For it was precisely the same look that her brother wore on his face at Court. The same tone he used when he addressed her, before the kingdom. When he wanted the whole world to know his resentment.

Perhaps it was foolish, but that very recognition put Vega’s nerves at ease, even just a bit. Only insofar as she knew what she was dealing with--or so she thought. Just as she and Theoduin shared in similar circumstances, so, too, did Farraine and Caris. And while the two were still very different people, with varied emotions and far different triggers, they both had in common a sense of hurt and betrayal that could not be assuaged. And it was for that reason that the Eyraillian princess decided to adopt the same stance facing Farraine as she did for her own brother; one of compliance, and understanding.

As soon as the Elven queen addressed her, she stepped forward, and bowed deep. “Your Majesty.” She began, before straightening, and meet Farraine’s fierce eyes. “I am Vega Andromeda Sorde, elder sister of his Majesty, King Caris Thorwen Sorde, of the mountainous Kingdom of Eyraille, and Commander of the Skyknights.” She did not mention the father’s name; for like the tyranny that died along with him, he was just another shadow of her kingdom’s dark past.

Quiet outcry resounded; a Sorde, present in Myrddin? How could his Highness have allowed such a dangerous insult to a kingdom that had been forced into hiding, and to rebuild itself because of Eyraille’s aggressions, and the tyranny of the Sorde monarchy?

Vega waited for the whispers to die down before she went on. “I stand here today because his Highness, your brother, offered me the opportunity to explain where my kingdom now stands, since the passing of my father, almost two decades ago. I feel this to be necessary, for the fact that not a week ago, my roc was struck by arrows during a reconnaissance mission. It was then that I encountered Theoduin, who recognized these arrows as belonging to your people, your Majesty.”

The Skyknight dipped her head, then, to mitigate whatever accusation Farraine might have read into her words. “Please let me begin by saying that I recognize there aren’t enough apologies in the world, or in time, for Eyraille to be forgiven for the part it played in threatening your kingdom. And I certainly have not come to ask your forgiveness, knowing well my kingdom does not deserve it; perhaps it never will. But,” when she looked up again, it was with sincerity glinting in her azure eyes, “I feel it necessary to inform you that Eyraille has undergone--and is still undergoing--drastic changes, since my father’s reign of terror ended. As it stands, we harbour no ill will toward anyone or any nation or empire, and that most certainly includes Myrddin.”

Whether or not Farraine would buy into her words remained to be seen, and so she added, as a defensive measure, “If your people saw fit to strike my roc down because we were encroaching on your territory, then please accept my humble apologies. We were not aware of Myrddin’s boundaries, and we will most certainly respect them in the future. Your Majesty, I realize it is naive to hope for friendship, or even allyship between our people. But I have come here, today, to inform you that Eyraille is not looking for another war. Just like you have done, we aspire to rebuild and reform in peace.”

That is, if Ilandria saw fit to withdraw their threat… but that was most certainly no concern of Farraine’s.

Though Vega’s voice was strong and unwavering in her sudden spotlight, the High Court’s outcry at her name threatened to drown out the Skyknight’s words. Queen Faraine’s gaze never once strayed from Vega, but Theoduin turned sharply, glaring over the audience with a ferocity to rival his sister’s. A burst of wind tore down the aisle, but it was not immediately clear which of the Kyrenic siblings summoned the gale.

He turned back to his sister, watching for any detectable change in her expression. Apart from the smallest quirk of her brow at the announcement of Vega’s name and title, Faraine may as well have been carved from stone. She’d always been the fiery one growing up, balanced by Theoduin’s steady, logical temperament in their youthful escapades. For a child born of air, she had always possessed a remarkable blaze within. But masking a flame—one Theoduin knew was there—was very different from taming it, and he knew that however this performance ended, their personal and political battle with Myrddin’s queen was far from over.

At Vega’s mention of the arrow that drew her roc from the sky, the elf scholar raised his chin. “Your Majesty, I pulled the arrow from the creature myself,” he announced. The anxious room stilled at the sound of his voice.

Faraine barely afforded him a glance, her attention affixed on the Skyknight like a predator locked on her prey. She regarded the human before her for several long, silent moments.

“Members of the Court.” The queen’s voice, carried by a current of air, at last filled the chamber. “Ambassador Sorde’s…unexpected visit comes at a time in our history when we have, at long last, grown lush and tall from the ashes rendered us by her bloodline’s regime.” A pause. “I do not doubt the sentiment behind your words, Ambassador, but this is neither the time nor the method to apologize for centuries of blood spilled.” A murmur of furious agreement swept through the crowd. “I would request the private company of the Ambassador as well as His Highness Theoduin,” she concluded, nodding curtly at the guards that stood on either side of them. “Escort us, please, to the north room. The Court is hereby dismissed, to reconvene upon announcement.”

Theoduin stepped aside, allowing Faraine to lead the way down the center aisle. If any of the court members had objections, they wisely kept them to themselves…but he could feel their disapproval, their distrust, just as strongly as he could feel the angry heat emanating from the fire-wielders, the vibration of barely-handled wind around those with powers of air. Where many had come for the sole purpose of catching a glimpse of the lost prince, none had anticipated the presence of a Sorde in his company…just where, they wondered, had their almost-king been spending his absent time?

The closing door echoed like cannon fire in the tall stone chamber. Before the sound had fully dissipated, Faraine spun sharply to face her guests. There’s her fire, Theoduin thought, just as she began to speak.

Her voice was quiet, poisonous, and again, she addressed the Skyknight. “Innocuous though you claim your intentions, Lady Sorde, you have made a grave mistake in coming here with your pedigree…whether or not you were escorted by our long-lost prince.” She spoke the last words with such disdain that Theoduin bristled, but she continued as though he weren’t in the room.

“We won the right to defend our lands, paid to your father and his father before him in rivers of blood and ruin. My brother is aware of this even if you are not, or don’t want to be.” The queen drew herself taller. “If an arrow took your roc from the sky, then I would extend an apology to the beast. However, I suspect it was not the creature’s idea to venture so far from Eyraille’s heartland. Which begs the question…what business did you, a high-ranking knight with direct ties to a bloodthirsty throne, have so near our territory?”

Announcing her name, her lineage, Vega felt like fresh meat in a pit of wolves. Though the wolf that had attacked her just the other day could not hold a flame to the danger and fury that she saw in the elvin Queen’s eyes. It took every ounce of courage and resolve for the Skyknight not to flinch when a phantom blast of air pushed past her, all the way down the aisle. She’d know this would happen; it was inevitable, when you mention the name Sorde among the people who had almost fallen to that very name.

That Theoduin stood nearby was perhaps the only solace she could find in this wolves’ den. He needn’t speak for her, or on her behalf; that was not his responsibility, even if he had made it possible for her to speak before the Queen. Nonetheless, he vouched for her word, stating his presence and involvement in identifying the very arrow that had brought her to Myrddin. There was no way to convey her gratitude, other than to glance in his direction, and offer a silent thank you with her eyes.

The elvin Queen was not swayed, and Vega feared that she might dismiss her and throw her out of Myrrdin before she could get another word in; it would have been well within Farraine’s rights to do so. It didn’t come much as a relief when, instead, she decided she would like to speak with the Skyknight and the once-lose elvin Prince in private. Vega exchanged a quick look with Theoduin, before following the Queen down the center aisle.

Vega did jump as the heavy door slammed behind them, and the Queen turned on her with a ferocity that she had reserved for this moment: in private, beyond the eyes of her court. The worst part of her words were not her bite, but her validity; of course she was angry. And a hundred years later, when Vega was dead and gone, that anger would still be acceptable. That suspicion would still be acceptable. The Eyraillian princess had not come here to assuage that anger by toting apologies that meant nothing to this kingdom or its Queen.

Neither would her reason for encroaching on Myrddin territory with her roc; there were no words, no explanations that would suffice. Not even the truth, which was a dangerous thing to share in a nation that was by no means friendly toward Eyraille. But Vega rapidly found herself cornered from her own account, with no way out that wouldn’t result in a swift termination of this conversation. The Skyknight commander inhaled and exhaled slowly, and held Farraine’s gaze.

“When your arrow embedded in my roc, I was on a reconnaissance mission. One which, I assure you, had nothing to do with your kingdom; it’s far too veiled.” She said, squaring her shoulders. “Eyraille shares a mountain range with the kingdom of Ilandria. In the past, our relations have been relatively neutral. I imagine this to be due to Eyraille’s reputation in my late father’s name, and his father before him. But… with Eyraille’s change in status, so as Ilandria’s perception of us. They have incited aggressions that threaten war.”

Somehow, saying it out loud, acknowledging what she had been trying to deny to her brother to keep his head on his shoulders… It roused that fear that she had been carefully keeping under wraps began to stir in the pit of her stomach. Eyraille was at risk of going to war, and it was entirely unprepared. And the last thing they needed was the ire of another nation, looking for war… looking for revenge.

“I was endeavouring to fly as close to Ilandria as possible to assess if the threats should be taken seriously,” she went on, “but I didn’t get that far before I went down with my roc. I will not try to defend myself or my kingdom for the anger you feel for the scars that Eyraille has left in its blood-soaked wake. But you have my word that we have no interest in tearing open old wounds.” We haven’t the power to devastate; not anymore, were the unspoken words. And Vega had never been so frightened to speak, or to insinuate the words left unsaid.

It was all the queen could do to remain still and keep her temper in check. Faraine may not have been groomed from birth to sit on Myrddin’s throne, but she refused to flounder in a role forced upon her; after all, as a member of the royal family, she had always been primed to be a diplomat. Nevertheless, her internal struggle was just that…a struggle. A true queen would act civil before the first Eyraillian on Elven soil in a thousand years or more; she would demonstrate a calm, unwavering front, precisely the sort her guest’s people never seemed to have mustered across the ages. She would craft a careful image of power and control that would be passed on to their neighboring kingdom via this ambassador, and strengthen their reputation across volatile borders whether they were ready to mend history or not.

Then again, when faced with a high-ranking direct descendent of a regime responsible for hundreds of thousands of Elven deaths…a true queen might choose a more violent avenue.

“Our kingdom is veiled, as you say, out of necessity. For survival.” Faraine’s voice was steady, but her eyes weren’t so kind. “Myrddin’s true marked territory was irrelevant once. We co-existed peacefully with your kind and others across the continent. Borders were irrelevant…Myrddin existed as a nation not just in land, but in culture and species and government.” She leaned forward, bracing herself on the edge of the table without breaking eye contact. “I’m certain, given the blood in your veins, that you can appreciate our need to redraw our borders. I’m also certain, as a high-ranking soldier yourself, that you understand our need—and indeed, our right—to defend those lines.”

Faraine paused, at last settling her gaze on her brother. He stood, arms folded across his chest, wearing precisely the same guarded expression she remembered as his default. At that moment, she wanted to strike it from his face.

“Theoduin,” she addressed curtly, pointedly skipping his formal title despite the ambassador’s company. “I will not deign to know what you were doing so near our northeast border. But you claim to have assisted the wounded roc and its rider, and presumably examined the arrow that brought them down.”

Theoduin shifted, reaching into the deep pockets sewn inside his forest green cloak to withdraw the broken shaft of the offending arrow. He placed it gingerly on the table and pushed it toward the queen with his fingertips. “Its spellwork was complex and layered,” he began, “but flawed. Sloppy.” He watched Faraine carefully, but she was keenly aware of his scrutiny. “Who was it, Faraine? One of the Haithe clan?” His tone grew noticeably sharper as he continued. “Since you have clearly sanctioned these border precautions, I’m surprised you did not turn to an air-weaver with greater skill and greater control.”

“Yes, Theoduin, and where were you?” the queen fired back, the cracks in her precarious resolve broadening. As if on cue, a burst of wind stirred the thick curtains that flanked each window. She cleared her throat and reset herself, allowing several long seconds to pass before breaking the resulting stiff silence. Her attention settled on Vega.

“Is it typical for Eyraille to send its most valuable Skyknights on solo reconnaissance missions?” Faraine’s inquiry was barbed. “It seems a foolish strategy, risking your blood in particular, and your rank.” She paused, and the smallest of cruel smiles manifested on her lips. “But then, I suppose if you were content to sit on the throne, you would not have passed the honor to your brother. Is that not correct?”

Before anything else--her rank, her skills, or he desire to help shape Eyraille into something more honourable and worthy of allies--Vega was first and foremost a Sorde. It was not something that she could shed like dirty clothing, or scrape from her being with dry skin. It was, as Queen Farraine had eluded to, her blood; the very fabric of her being and her existence. And within that blood, that heritage was fire. One strong enough that even the elven queen’s wind would have difficulty extinguishing it.

And the trouble with Sorde blood, like it or not, was that it burned with that fire, until it found release. Caris was still learning to temper his own. And there were times, such as right now, when Vega herself struggled to maintain the poise and composure of the diplomat that she needed to be. Farraine had every right ot be angry. She had every right not to trust a Sorde, not to trust Eyraille, and to find it suspicious that one of their infamous Skyknights had encroached on their territory. What was unnecessary was her attempt to rub salt in raw wounds; to make it personal.

The Eyraillian princess took in a slow breath through her nose, and exhaled even slower. Willed the muscles in her shoulders and her neck to relax, even as her hands closed into fists upon the table. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before, and from her own people, at that. There was no way to hide in plain sight of the very kingdom whose throne you forsook. But this was neither the time nor the place to address it, for it was entirely irrelevant to the matter at hand; frankly, it sounded just like something her brother would say.

It was almost uncanny, how she had known Farraine for only a few moments, and could already draw parallels between the elven monarch and Caris.

“I am honoured to see that you have been keeping up with Eyraille’s politics,” she said, her tone flat, but not provoking. She knew better. “But to answer your question, it was not Eyraille that sent me on reconnaissance. As you already know, I command the Skyknights; I offered to go on my own for a period of a few short days, as the younger knights are not yet well-equipped to navigate the skies, and I preferred the more seasoned knights to stay behind and defend, if need be, so as not to leave the kingdom entirely undefended. That was my decision, and mine alone. After all,” she rolled her shoulders back and arched an eyebrow. “I abdicated--as you are also already well aware. That was also my decision. Do not think for a moment that my worth to my kingdom has held up, in light of that decision. I’m little more than another soldier.”

Having said her piece, Vega felt the fire in her veins die down to embers, no longer putting her in danger of saying something she might regret. Her shoulders relaxed, just a little. “Please allow me to make it clear that I bear no ill will against you or yours. Given the history of Myrddin and Eyraille’s relations, I can understand why you might have seen fit to shoot an arrow at an encroaching roc and an obvious Skyknight. We are fine, now; thanks to Theoduin’s help, both myself and my roc are no longer injured. I merely wish to clear the air of whatever you think my kingdom’s intentions might be.”

She glanced at Theoduin for a heartbeat, a look of gratitude in her eyes for the help he had provided, before returning her attention to the woman who demanded it. “So allow me to be clear: we wish no harm or ill will on Myrddin. It was never our intention to encroach on our property. Our time and energy is better spent on keeping an eye on those who do mean us harm. Not on opening old wounds in those who have suffered at our expense.” Vega closed her eyes a moment and exhaled. “That, your Majesty, is all that I ask you to understand. That whatever occurred was in itself a misunderstanding. And if it is your desire never to hear about or from Eyraille, again, then I shall take my leave, post-haste, and I will clarify to my King that you wish nothing to do with us.”

The moments of silence that followed the queen’s accusatory words stretched on like painful hours. The air stilled, too, mirroring the tension that suddenly paralyzed Theoduin’s muscles. Abdication was a sensitive subject for obvious reasons, for all parties present.

But he knew immediately that the fury behind his sister’s mention of Eyraille’s throne was not actually intended for Vega. In fact, her entire unorthodox interrogation seemed less aimed at the Skyknight than Theoduin himself. The queen was punishing him for his abdication, his disappearance. The elf scholar bristled at the realization, and reflexively he stepped closer to his companion. Faraine narrowed her eyes at the gesture, but said nothing as Vega responded to her calculated jab.

Theoduin prepared himself to intervene, but the need never arose—the Skyknight clearly did not require him to come to her defense. A kernel of pride swelled in his chest. Despite her blood, Vega had already proven herself to Theoduin; now, in steps however incrementally small, she was doing the same for Myrddin’s queen. It was unfortunate that Faraine was so blinded by the reappearance of her lost brother, and so burdened with the bloody history of their feuding nations. The two women were perhaps not so dissimilar…but their parallels would not be enough to quell the enmity that burned within the slighted queen.

“Your Majesty,” Theoduin said at last, “I do not give it easily, but Commander Sorde has my complete faith. I would not have brought her here had I any doubt that the words she speaks are genuine and true. I may have offered assistance in those Northern woods, but I, too, have her to thank for my life.”

Faraine’s gaze was ice when she turned to look at him. “And what a pity that is,” she murmured in Elvish, with such low ferocity that Theoduin believed her.

Startled, the hurt that crossed his features was too potent to be masked.

The queen, composing herself, drew her posture tall and regarded Vega with pursed lips—a predator deciding how best to incapacitate her prey. “Stay,” she said at last, with conviction sharp enough to indicate that acquiescence was not optional. “You shall be free to roam the palace grounds with an escort. But you will stay.” She moved abruptly to the doors, pausing with one palm against the carved handle. “We will be speaking again very soon, Lady Sorde.”

With that, the queen made her exit, the doors slamming closed once more in her wake.

Theoduin’s shoulders slumped forward, and he looked wearily to Vega. “She told me it was a pity that you saved my life,” he said in delayed translation, lowering his gaze. Despite himself, a bitter chuckle shook his shoulders. “I suppose it should be considered a victory that neither of us have been shown the dungeons.” Yet. Theoduin had a feeling that Vega’s fate, if not his, was still uncertain, pending all manner of furious and frantic meetings of the court.

The tension in the room could have been cut with a sharpened knife. At first, Vega had thought herself to be the source of it, the thorn in Faraine’s side that the Queen was not prepared to deal with. But the more she observed the bodily communication between the two elvin siblings, the more she realized it was not her that incited Faraine’s rage, at least not in its entirety. More than likely... it was Theoduin.

In some ways, Theoduin and his sister Queen were very similar to her and her brother. Similar circumstances, which carried similar feelings of resentment… But not animosity. Not between her and Caris. Certainly, they’d had their differences, and they still did, in many ways. There were things to which the Eyraillian princess was certain that they would never see eye to eye, and that was something that the two of them would have to come to terms, with. But none of their differences had stirred up anger that bordered on hatred. Not to the point where they forsook one another’s lives… which was precisely what Faraine seemed to be doing. She was not happy to find her estranged brother alive after so many years; on the contrary, she had grown used to his absence. And now, his return was little more than an annoyance, and an insult.

Her scholarly friend seemed to realize this, as well. The Skyknight witnessed that flicker in his expression, the raw pain that crossed Theoduin’s face, and she very nearly reached out to him, a hand on his arm for reassurance--but quickly thought better of it. It would not have been a safe gesture, in Faraine’s presence; not when the irate Queen was liable to misinterpret the gesture.

Just as quickly as Theoduin composed himself, Faraine returned her attention to Vega, and her eyes could have cut diamond. Stay, she said--no, commanded. Not the words that the Eyraillian princess was expecting to hear from her lips. “Your Majesty…?” The unspoken question hung in the air, but the elvin Queen did not see fit to clarify. Only to tell her that she was to stay there--in Myrddin. And it was not an offer; it was an order. An order from someone who, technically, wasn’t even her own monarch…

Vega could have put up an argument, but for all she was ashamed to admit it, the Queen’s flammable temper frightened her. It roused memories that had been tucked at the back of her mind, waiting to be forgotten entirely. Memories of her own father’s equally flammable temper, and how that temper had ended her own mother’s life… For a brief moment, it paralyzed her, mentally and physically. And by the time she found her tongue again, Faraine had stormed off, slamming the door behind her, her heavy footsteps receding in the distance…

Unsure what to make of this, Vega rubbed the back of her neck, and cast a sympathetic glance in Theoduin’s direction. He seemed to have diminished, with his shoulders slumped forward and his face drawn. Then he turned to her, and told her what the Queen had murmured to him, in elvish. Vega’s heart ached for him. “There is a saying: hurt people, hurt people.” She began, her voice gentle. “Those who are hurt, will hurt others, in turn. To make them feel the pain that they are feeling. Your sister is hurting, Theoduin, and so she wants you to know it by making you feel pain as well. Let her be angry. I do not believe that she truly intends to slight the fact you are alive.”

Frankly, though, she too was surprised that the Queen had not seen fit to throw a vile Eyraillian in her dungeons. Though that did little to assuage her concerns. “So I take it that I am not permitted to leave Myrddin?” She asked Theoduin, to clarify. “I am not sure if that makes me a prisoner or a guest… but she did say I am not to wander unaccompanied. I hope you do not might if I adhere to your side for a while, in that case.”  

“I would not recommend leaving. Not just yet, anyway.” Theoduin heaved a sigh and shook his head to himself. “I imagine my sister has plans for you, for better or for worse. Her advisors will not be pleased that there is an outsider on Myrddin’s soil, so she will do her best to use you to her advantage—and the kingdom’s.”

He pursed his lips. They would likely have questions for him, too, and he did not look forward to facing a council of high-house representatives to answer for his whereabouts. The elf scholar had spent the better part of two centuries away from his homeland, living under no one’s scrutiny but his own…a drastic shift from a childhood in Myrddin’s spotlight. At first it had been liberating; then, it had simply become normal.

To be thrown back into the blinding glare of hundreds of eyes was disorienting. But however much the world spun around him, he needed to remember that he, too, held power here, power that until their fateful arrival he had not been certain was still his to command. Abdication had not stripped him of his royal or familial title; in Myrddin’s social hierarchy, he still ranked second only to Queen Faraine, and it was clear that he still garnered deep reverence even from those who knew his story.

It was a useful status to possess, particularly now, in the company of a Sorde and everything that fateful arrow represented. Nevertheless, it was not a position he held with any semblance of comfort. It didn’t matter how easily he played the part, or how quickly his childhood etiquette lessons came rushing back to memory; it would have been far less painful to return with nothing more than his name, with a disgraced legacy fit for little else but ridicule. Perhaps then his sister would have been more accepting of his reappearance…

He sighed a second time. Had he not expected this? Or worse?

“I wounded Faraine deeply,” he admitted quietly, diverting his gaze upward to the narrow stained-glass windows. Beyond the saturated panes, a stern breeze tossed leaf-heavy boughs. “Her anger is justified. I’m certain you are right, Vega…” He pursed his lips. “She will heal with time. But I fear my arrival has ripped open the gash anew.” If only healers could mend broken hearts. If only he knew how to quell the emotional bleeding.

But raw pain and history aside, Faraine was smart as ever. It was clear to Theoduin that his sister’s intention was indeed to keep Vega prisoner, but in a way that kept up political appearances—the Skyknight was free, so long as she did not choose to leave. Myrddin would not intentionally risk angering Eyraille, but neither would they squander an opportunity to show their newfound strength.

“I have a feeling that the limits of my own freedom do not far exceed yours,” Theoduin said at last, turning to face Vega. He offered her the crook of his elbow and lifted his chin, a trace of a smile turning his lips. “I would be honored to be your escort. Perhaps we could start with the gardens. I admit I’m not quite used to so many walls.”

Perhaps she was wrong to approach Farraine in the fashion that she did; likening her to her overzealous younger brother, Eyraillie’s youngest (and most reluctant) king to date. They were not the same person, despite the uncanny similarities in how they had come into their power. Caris was, for all intents and purposes, still a child in so many ways. Idealistic and passionate, high on raw and untempered emotions that sometimes incited brash decisions that were fortunately tempered by the council, as well as her own word. His own anger was understandable and justifiable on so many levels, and often, it was predictable. But Farraine… she was altogether a different case, perhaps not by the nature of her leadership, but for the differences in her life and livelihood.

First and foremost, the Elven Queen had been shouldering the burden of her kingdom for far longer than Caris, and given the longevity of an Elven lifespan, she could expect to rule for much longer than the Eyraillian king. Not only was the burden of a lifetime of direct servitude to a kingdom a heavy reality to face, but as Theoduin had intuitively observed, she had spent her ruling years thus far harbouring the belief that her elder brother--Myrddin’s rightful king, were it not for his abdication--was dead. And now, the serrated scar of that ugly, aching wound had been torn open anew; and if Farraine had been an enigmatic, tenuously contained hurricane waiting to unleash itself before, then she was now a raging, hurting wildfire carried upon that untamed wind. And there really was no telling what she would do, what her next action would be. Not even Theoduin himself could intuit that, which, Vega guessed, what was putting him so terribly on edge.

But if anything was for certain, it was what the Skyknight commander could not leave Myrddin; and that she should make no attempts to try. Fortunately, she wasn’t so fool as to think she could get away with secret retreat.

“She may be in pain, Theoduin. There is no doubt that your arrival here hahas shattered her beliefs and shaken her world; and, for that, she will be angry. All I can say, as one person with an angry monarch of a sibling to another,” She tried to smile, but only a single corner of her mouth turned upright. “Let her be angry. Let her justify it, whatever that might mean to her. Because the only thing worse than a contained wildfire is one that forces its way out of confinement. We can be cooperative, and let her find her own bearings. She might yet be hurt… but that hurt will prove far less dangerous and erratic if we stand back and let her experience and express the emotions stuck inside of her.”

Farraine’s intentions were not lost on Vega. Walking into Myrddin and declaring herself not only Eyraillian, but an important component to Eyraille’s government, had immediately placed the Elven Queen in a position of power. As a diplomat from her own kingdom, the Skyknight commander was beholden to whatever rules Myrddin (and it’s Queen) imposed on her, including when and whether it was appropriate for her to leave. For all intents and purposes, she was a prisoner. But she realized she was not alone.

“Neither do I thrive, confined by walls for too long.” The red-haired Eyraillian princess rested a hand on the crook of his proffered arm, and this time, she managed a genuine smile. “The gardens sound lovely, right about now.”

And lovely they were. For a kingdom that had rebuilt itself into a cliffside, either by magic or pure luck, Myrddin’s soil was fertile enough to accommodate a courtyard that rivaled even that of Eyraille’s. The flora grew in lush, healthy clusters of vibrant colours and titillating fragrances, and seemed well-maintained by the tameness of its hedges and the positioning of the flowers. Maybe the place was bespelled, and she was merely affected by the influences of magic, but Vega found herself feeling instantly at ease, with the disappearance of the palace walls, and her emergence into the outside. Yet another commonality she and Theoduin shared; both were children of nature, and did not fare well when confined by stone. “Beautiful,” she heard herself speak the thought aloud. “There is an old saying in Eyraille that a thriving garden besets a thriving people. I must give your sister credit for that much.”

Vega was right; of course she was right. Theoduin may have been the master of his own choices, but had he not experienced his own course of grief in the immediate aftermath of his fateful departure? He, too, had suffered a loss, albeit a voluntary one—the loss of his identity, the loss of his home and kingdom, the loss of his remaining family—and all on his heels of his sister Queen Talaess’ death, which had come as a shock to all.

Emotions did not simply vanish with reason, no matter how sound the logic. Distraction generally served better to keep unwanted feelings at bay, and so he had thrown himself into a frenzy of studies and practice and preparing for the impending mountain winter. But the sleepless nights and fervid academic fixations had only prolonged the festering of his emotional wounds. He needed to feel them. And so, at long last, he had done just that, and given in to the desperate darkness that seemed to lurk permanently at the edges of his mind. It hadn’t cured him of his homesickness, but at least it had allowed him to know peace…for a time.

Growing up, he had admired Faraine’s wild nature; she seemed better suited to the violent world into which they had been born. She was fearless and bold where Theoduin was reserved and cautious. She was the sort he loved to read about in books, and a part of him, even in youth, had told him that someday he would do just that. No, Faraine did not simply forgive and forget.

His smile was gentle but weary as Vega took his arm. He paused for a moment before they departed, draping his other hand over her slender fingers. “You are right about my sister. I value your wisdom,” he said, then added, softly, “Princess.” He spoke the title without an ounce of mockery or judgment, but rather as a controversial prince himself, and with steadfast respect.

And as they made their way to the gardens, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders—a temporary sensation, undoubtedly, but the solace was real enough in the moment. With the palace walls melting from the periphery, he could breathe again; he could taste the air, perfumed with sweet grasses and bursting blooms. It was almost like being back in the mountains.

But just as reassured as he was by nature, his relief also stemmed from the presence of the Skyknight at his side. Her bravery, her calm demeanor…their fast friendship kept him grounded in the face of his own tattered past, so like her own.

“We will convince my sister,” he said suddenly, pausing to admire a patch of bright bearded iris. “She is many things, but she is not a fool. She will not risk what she has built, not for the sake of vengeance or vanity or pride. She will not risk these gardens, these walls, this city.” The elf shook his head to himself before casting his gaze to Vega, her hair a vermillion blaze against the greenery. “Tell me,” he sighed. “Tell me of your kingdom. Of your brother. You have come here with his blessing, but were the tables turned…would he respect a cruel foreign nation with a bloody past, for the sake of peace?”

Princess. It was a title; an observation, and nothing that should have made her cringe. But on the lips of anyone other than the friend at her side, it was a word she’d always heard spoken with contempt. Princess… and not Queen. And because it was not Queen, by her own personal decision not to shoulder the title, ‘Princess’ carried with it a connotation of responsibility shirked. Responsibility her brother now shouldered, because… he had not had a choice.

While she was loathe to admit it to even herself, such remained one of the driving forces of her military ambitions. Because by acquiring the title of Sir Vega Sorde, commander of Eyraille’s esteemed Skyknights, it permitted her another dimension to her identity. Something to be called, other than Princess: Sir, Commander. In a sense, it could even be considered by some a desperate attempt to atone for the throne she’d shirked. Another way to prove that she could still shoulder the responsibility of a kingdom’s safety; that she still held Eyraille in high regard, close to her heart. That she could serve it and be more useful atop a roc, as opposed to a throne.

The men and women who fought under her guidance bought into it, accepting her as a soldier first and a monarch, second. Unfortunately, that was largely where Eyraille’s respect for the princess who both forsook and protected it began and ended. To too many Eyraillians, she was still only Princess or Your Highness. And the term was never carried on a warm or favourable tone… “Vega. Just Vega… is fine.” She said after a beat. Of course, Theoduin meant no offense. But to her friends, she did not want to be anything but her given name, devoid of titles. “And I wholeheartedly agree. No fool of a Queen would sit upon the throne of a kingdom that is thriving such as yours. Whether or not she chooses to believe it, I hold the utmost respect for Myrddin’s ruler. Besides, I am Eyraillian; do you really think someone with pride of my caliber would have risked so much to make the journey to a place where I knew I would not be welcomed if I didn’t harbour respect? Who knows; if Her Majesty gives me a chance, she might come to realize that we are more alike than she’d care to admit--for better or for worse.”

She glanced sidelong at Theoduin and nudged him playfully in the ribs. If they were indeed friends, then the elfin Prince would soon learn that accepting friendship on her behalf meant accepting her as she was: shameless, Eyraillian pride, fiery ambition, and all. It had occurred to her that she might yet scare off the gentle, introverted scholar. But his question regarding Caris was just enough to dampen and extinguish whatever embers of playful lightheartedness had begun to stir in her spirit. Vega returned her gaze to the horizon ahead, most of which consisted of clusters of greens and pinks, yellows and vermillions. Nature that thrived in spite of its soil, which in the first place never should have been fertile enough to foster life. Given the bloodsoaked legacy she tread of her own kingdom… the Skyknight Commander could relate. “My brother is not my father,” was the first of her reply--and more for her own ears than for Theoduin’s. “He does not look upon other nations, struggling or otherwise, as an opportunity for conquest or domination. Caris is… he is young, yes, that I will admit. And reluctant for the seat that he holds. He does not always keep his pride in check, and were he not in a position of authority, I am sure his hot tongue would’ve landed him in hotter water long ago. But I would like to think…”

Vega paused in step, then, unintentionally drawing the both of them to a halt, with their arms linked as they were. “Eyraille faces a desperate situation, one that forces it to beg for allies and friends, whether or not it deserves them. But even if it did not… Even if it were thriving and stable and not divided by its own peoples’ lack of trust and confidence in its monarchy, even if it was not targeted by a nation that is known for its renowned development of weaponry, I know that Caris would lend an ear to another nation’s plea. Even if its history was soaked in blood. Because that is the Eyraille we are striving to establish--the antithesis of what my father and his forefathers molded it to be.

“Respect comes with time, and it is earned. That, I realize.” The fiery Eyraillian royal blew air from between her lips and rolled her shoulders back. “Which is why I intend to earn your sister’s, however difficult that might be. So to say my brother would respect another nation guilty of warmongering, as Eyraille once was… it goes without saying that that respect would in itself have to be earned. And I realize by saying this that I may well be setting myself up for more than I have bargained for. But,” she caught Theoduin’s kind gaze again, her own eyes sparkling with the smouldering embers of that fire that fueled her spirit. “I intend to try. If it is possible to write a different name for Eyraille in the eyes of your people--your sister’s people… then I will find it.”

For all he claimed to be a student of politics and history, Theoduin’s self-imposed exile had isolated him from more than just his own people. He was cut off from most of the current goings-on of the neighboring kingdoms; his only real source of news was the talk in the human villages he visited a handful of times a year for supplies, which ranged from simple facts to wild fantastical tales. He had not been willing to risk revealing his identity as an elf or a Kyrenic by asking too many questions; he absorbed what he could and mulled over the information later, doing his best to suss out the inaccuracies based on precedent alone.

It was why he knew so little about Vega’s brother. Caris’ bloodline before him had consisted of the very ones to destroy Theoduin’s people, and as far as the elf could determine, chances were slim that the violent pattern would break so abruptly.

“Your brother does not sound so different from my sister, hot tongue and all. Perhaps one day they will meet face-to-face,” the scholar mused. “And I suspect you are right…the two of you are more alike than you are not. I look forward to Faraine recognizing this as well.”

He had known Vega for only a handful of weeks, yet he felt he knew her at least as well as he knew Faraine…who, he realized, he barely knew at all anymore. But that particular river flowed two ways, for neither was Queen Faraine acquainted with who Theoduin had become—and cautious though he might have been throughout his life, he had long ago learned how not to back down from what he believed in. The two siblings may have navigated intrinsically different approaches, but achieving a common goal was no longer a question of which remaining Kyrenic could better wield a sword. Steel was no longer the only weapon in the arsenal.

“Perhaps you and I are both facing more than we bargained for.” His voice was thoughtful. “I’ve always thought Faraine would have been better suited to fire magic. All-consuming, ravenous, passionate. That is, until I remember that air is the fuel that gives life to flame, and it all makes sense once more.” The breeze ran its fingers through his hair as if on cue, and he almost laughed at the coincidence. “I would not imagine a Skyknight, particularly one with as faithful a roc companion as yours, could succeed if he or she did not also possess some connection to the air to feed a fire within. Even if only in spirit.”

The prince offered her a hollow smile. “Faraine will see reason even if she will not entertain forgiveness,” he went on, although whether he referred to their own strained relationship, making amends with Eyraille, or both, he couldn’t exactly say. “I have complete faith in your ability to find a foothold in Faraine’s resolve. You, Vega, may very well be the only one capable of it.”

“On one hand, Theoduin, I very much hope that my brother and your sister meet face to face. On peaceful terms… in fact, I would not be here if I did not believe such a possibility to be feasible.” The Eyraillian princess returned her friend’s smile, but the corners of her mouth struggled to keep it genuine. “And yet, on the other hand… I am positively terrified for that day to come. For the fiery, quick-tempered and impulsive new King of Eyraille to make the acquaintance of Myrddin’s elfin Queen, who has had years to stew in her rage and resentment for the aggressions that Eyraille’s forefathers have inflicted on her home. It will be far from a casual encounter, and that is precisely why I am here, and my brother is not. Because if your sister cannot find it in herself to look upon me as anything but enemy potential… then Caris hasn’t a chance on the wind.”

And therein lay the problem. The possibility that Faraine seeing a familiar temperament in Vega could either mean that she would stumble upon common grounds for which camaraderie (or alliance, at the very least) might be viable, or just the opposite: she would decide, instead, to see her as a threat that was better done away with than to be reasoned with.

The best the Skyknight commander could hope for was Theoduin’s faith in his sister; insofar as he had faith that she would remain logical. And Myrddin would find no benefit in seeking revenge on a kingdom that was no longer a threat. Not as much as it would benefit from an alliance, as ludicrous as it might have seemed, considering Eyraille’s past transgressions.

“Regardless: I will not be winning her over today, and probably not tomorrow, either. I can only hope that by the time I return to Eyraille, your sister’s resolve will have softened, if only slightly…” If she lets me return in one piece, the dark thought probed the back of her mind. It was impossible to ignore the ice in Faraine’s voice before promptly dismissing her brother and unexpected visitor: You will stay. Long enough for the Elvin Queen to decide her stance. And until she came to that decision, it would be nothing more than a waiting game.

“You know, I’m not sure what concerns me more: whatever your sister should decide to do with me and my unwanted presence in her kingdom, or returning to my own kingdom to face my brother when I’ve been away for far longer than I promised.” A wry smile tugged at her lips, again. “It won’t do either of our kingdoms any good if my brother grows suspicious to the possibility I’m being held hostage. I do hope your sister has the wisdom and insight to take that into consideration while we patiently await her verdict. But, in the meantime…”

The Skyknight pivoted on her heel and let go of Theoduin’s arm, positioning herself in front of him to halt his step. The bright copper of her hair, haloed by the white light of the morning sun, shone all the more brilliantly against the cool grey tone of the tunic she’d been provided. Even dressed as little more than a commoner, by Myrddin’s standards, Vega Sorde was helpless to completely shed that air of Eyraillian royalty. It clung to her appearance just as fervently as it saturated her Sorde spirit. “Your sister did permit me freedom to roam your kingdom, under the condition that I am escorted. So if that is the case… I would be honoured for you to be my guide.” One strong hand outstretched to rest upon his shoulder, and she met his perplexed gaze with a twinkle in her azure eyes. “It has been some time since you last set foot in the place you once called home, but surely you have some fond memories. Niches and nooks that you may still hold dear. If you care to revisit any of those places… I would be much obliged to take part in looking through that window of your past. But, of course… only if your are comfortable revisiting them, yourself.”

“I do not think it would be unreasonable to request a message be sent to your brother. The queen has asserted her power, but you are not a prisoner, not…officially.” Theoduin smiled weakly, but the humor didn’t touch his eyes. “It would not be in Faraine’s best interest to let your king believe something dire had happened to you on Myrddian soil.”

If the tomes and scrolls of history had taught him nothing else, it was that even simple miscommunication could spell the end of a nation as easily as the edge of a blade. This was certainly no exception; a centuries-old war was currently held frozen by a tenuous thread of peace suspended between two youthful monarchs. And as good as Vega and Theoduin’s intentions were, all it would take to ruin them was the hubris of a slighted queen…or the fury of a worried king. “If we have heard nothing from my sister by sundown, I will request a letter be sent to Eyraille myself,” he proposed with a weary sigh.

He slowed when Vega let go of his arm, coming to a stop between a yellow rosebush and a patch of speckled lilies. Even clad in the simple gray tunic the palace had supplied her, Vega Sorde looked radiant; her red hair shimmered in the golden sunlight, and her bright eyes spoke of a hope and confidence Theoduin himself could only pretend to feel. The elf scholar may have been dressed the part of a prince—he still sported his deep emerald cloak, intricately embroidered in scrolling silver and gold along the edges, clasped at his throat with a jeweled brooch—but it was his companion who shone with the resplendence befitting royalty.

When she placed a strong hand on his shoulder, he smiled, meeting her gaze. “I would be delighted to be your escort,” he replied. “We will have to see if any of my old haunts have survived the ages.”

The elf led Vega through a baffling maze of corridors until they broke free of the walls and stepped abruptly into the sunshine on the wide pedestrian avenue that led to the heart of the city. An emotion he couldn’t identify settled deep in his chest, his pulse beating steadily against the pressure at his breastbone. Beyond the confines of the palace masonry, a vibrant community bustled in the cliffside, carved from stone and built up from rubble. In his absence, his people—his sister’s people—had thrived. Myrddin had survived, had moved on, without their would-be king; and yet he felt not an ounce of remorse, not a twinge of regret.

He was genuinely thrilled, and indeed relieved, that his kingdom had fared so well for itself. But it was a distant sort of pride—a detached pang of happiness, the sort one might feel when cheering on the hero of a plotted fable. To experience it now felt like a dream. Surely, he would wake at any moment and be greeted by the chill of his empty mountain home…

The citizens of Myrddin had long since begun their mornings, but there was a strange hush that hung like an invisible haze in the atmosphere…and he suspected it had everything to do with the presence of the two of them. Nevertheless, he guided her down the path to the main road, marveling at the change that unfolded with every step further he took. “This is almost unrecognizable,” he commented. “These structures…these were all built after I left. These blocks were in ruins.” He paused. “But the place I want to show you, the place dearest to me, should be here…”

They rounded a corner, where a group of heavily-robed adolescents nearly collided with them. Stunned, the young elves—the students, he realized with a sudden thrill—leapt back, hastily bowing at the sight of their resurrected prince.

Theoduin waved them by, however, too distracted by the structure beyond them to return their terrified platitudes.

“The library,” he breathed.

What had once been a dilapidated, completely unremarkable building had been transformed into a structure nothing short of a temple. Limestone columns thick as tree trunks flanked a grand set of carved wooden doors, topped with an ornate pediment and mosaic frieze. He hastily grabbed Vega’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs, his heart threatening to leap from his chest.

“It was barely standing when I departed,” he whispered, dwarfed and humbled beneath the height of the columns. “The last of the great scholars had all but given up on their profession.” He placed a hand incredulously against the cool stone. “They told me to learn to fight, that I needed to be a soldier to survive. I refused as long as I could, until my father forced me to finish my training. But I visited the old archives almost every night…there was an alley, just there, built over now, that I used to sneak through, down the hillside.” He shook his head. “No one had time for books. Not when we weren’t sure any of us would live to see another sunrise.”

He drew in a deep breath, looked to Vega, and then pushed through the great wooden doors.

“That may well be all I can do,” Vega agreed, worry lines creasing her forehead despite the smile she plastered on her face. “Although, I cannot guarantee that a message regarding my safety will be enough to placate my brother. Regardless of my… status here, whether or not I am a prisoner in your sister's eyes, the only news that must be relayed to my brother is that I am I am safe and well. While he may not be so foolish as to antagonize a kingdom that our legacy has been terrorized in the past, it is best we keep him unawares that I have not exactly been received with open arms." Much though she wanted to have faith that her well-being brother would not make a rash decision as a result of his sister's (and Commander of one of the most crucial branches of their military, at that) prolonged absence, now, with Eyraille already threatened with war, was not the time to take chances with Chris's fiery Horde temperament.

"But, if we are to wait until tonight, I cannot think of a better way to pass the time than to see what you believe warrants seeing." Temporarily putting current anxieties and concerns aside, for there was nothing to be done about them until Faraine took her time to stew on her decision, the Eyraillian princess took her elfin company's arm again and flashed a more sincere grin. "I think I'd be disappointed with myself if I were to leave Myrddin without witnessing how it has achieved the impossible and blossomed anew."

When Vega had made mention of the less than warm welcome her royal Eyraillian presence had received among the Elves of Myrddin, although she was aware of the bloody shadows she must have cast in their eyes before the brilliant morning sun, she had not taken into account just how heavy that feeling of contempt would weigh on her shoulders. While they'd found a modicum of privacy within the confinement of the stone walls, after the Queen took leave of their company, it was as though time stopped the moment they set foot among the Myrddin's denizens in the open air. Word must have not only spread fast that their estranged Prince had returned, but that he was accompanied by a human--and one who shouldered the murderous blood of a Sore, at that. As the two passed by, others gave them a wide berth, though Theoduin appeared not to take much notice. Wherever he had in mind to show Vega, that destination was the sole thing on his mind.

"Well… while it can bruise our nostalgia when a place we once knew so well is suddenly unrecognizable," she began, giving Theoduin's arm a gentle squeeze, "sometimes what results from that change is better than what used to be. I can certainly tell you that stands for Eyraille. Structures have fallen--more figuratively than literally, but what is beginning to blossom from the destruction… one day, it will be beautiful." For a moment, her gaze appeared far away, as if she were not looking at anything in particular, but rather, she was looking for something. "One day. Where are we going, Your Highness? Is there somewhere in particular you're yearning to see?"

She had been expecting something of otherworldly natural beauty. Some small piece of Myrddin paradise that he remembered fondly from his childhood, a place where he would spend blessed, quiet moments and find a connection with his home. Not so unlike the crags at the bottom of Eyraille's mountains, where Vega had once sought refuge from her father, where she had found Aerial as an injured fledgling. Instead, he took her to a temple-like structure that stood as tall as some of Eyraille’s own places of worship. “What is this?” Vega asked him, and wouldn’t have guessed the answer in a hundred years.

While Eyraille’s royal library, located within the palace itself, was large enough to boast grandiosity, it could not hold a flame to the reverence for books and knowledge that Myrddin’s library did. And if the inside was a breath-taking as the outside… “This speaks wonders to the values of your kingdom,” she breathed, and pressed a hand against the sturdy wooden doors. “Eyraille’s library was entirely closed to the public until just a decade ago. The monarchy hoarded knowledge like it did money. But that such a beautiful fixture of scholarship is open and available to anyone… I daresay, even the palace’s archives in my home doesn’t hold up to this.” Of course, Eyraille’s former hatred and superstition towards any and all things related to magic largely contributed to that gap in their knowledge banks.

No sooner did he push open the grand doors that she stepped inside, and was not wrong in her assumptions: if anything, the outside did not do justice to the masonry and craftsmanship of the carpenters that had re-erected this building. From her vantage point, Vega could count at least five levels of wall-to-wall books. Long tables carved from rich mahogany lined the center, and the very roof was an ornate work of stained glass that allowed enough daylight for scholars to read until sundown. The Eyraillian princess hardly knew where to start exploring, and on impulse, reached for one of the books tucked into a shelf on her right. Immediately, she realized her folly. “I’m not sure how or why I thought I’d be able to read this.” Vega laughed, shaking her head at the Elvish script that was leagues beyond her ability to read or comprehend, and replaced the book with a nervous smile. “This is just… it’s exquisite, Theoduin. To see that this much knowledge is available to the entirety of this kingdom… it makes me realize where my own kingdom still falls short.”

It was incomprehensible. Where once stood his neglected haven, its weathered limestone painted brown with lichen and dust, now towered a monument to everything Myrddin had overcome—and everything he had longed for as a scholar in his youth. Shelves soared from marble tiles to gilded ceilings, floor after floor. The aisles were filled with more than just the ghosts Theoduin had known so long ago; real, breathing students prowled the stacks and perused worn volumes, their flowing black robes whispering behind eager footsteps.

Even in his wildest of dreams and most outlandish of hopes, he could never have imagined returning to his homeland to find this waiting for him. It was enough to render him speechless, overcome with an emotion he couldn’t name. The shelves may not have been bursting with inventory—so much material had been lost during the bloody feud with Eyraille that the thought caused a physical ache in the prince’s chest—but the promise of new books, new discoveries, and new stories shone like a bright sunrise…the warm, golden light of a new era dawning.

“The values of Myrddin have shifted in my absence,” he replied quietly. He wanted to laugh and to sob all at once. “Academia was not given priority in the face of war. Our efforts went to survival. We learned to be soldiers, not scholars. That was a large part of why I had to leave.”

He watched as she pulled a large tome from the nearest shelf. “I don’t believe our kingdoms are so different in that regard,” he admitted. “Perhaps we can build our realms’ next chapters together. Fill these empty shelves in times of peace.” Despite himself, he smiled—it seemed so natural to have the Skyknight at his side that he nearly forgot she could not read the script on the pages. “Graviel’s Registry of Aerial Flora, Volume Two,” he translated, twisting his lips in amusement. “I do not know how that managed to remain after all these centuries.” He paused. “I could teach you,” he said offhandedly. “The Myrddian language, I mean. I’m afraid my knowledge of aerial flora is limited…”

He trailed off, gazing past Vega’s shoulder to a bronze plaque embedded into the lobby stone that he had not noticed upon their entrance. He stepped past his companion wordlessly and stepped up to the dedication, his fingers reaching out to trace the surface of the raised letters.

“The Royal Kyrenic Library and Grand Archives of Myrddin,” he translated. “Erected Year 1229 in the Era of Solace, commissioned by Queen Faraine thiel Kyrenic of the Old North”—his breath caught in his throat—“in enduring memory of the Royal Fallen: her father Cyran, steadfast and true; her mother Ilyana, gentle and knowing; her sister Talaess, loyal and brave; and her brother, Theoduin, for whom this library stands.”

He stared blankly at the words, his fingertips hovering over the sloping script of his name. He lowered his arm, clenching his fist closed, and swallowed back a whole new wave of feeling. This time, it was sorrow…sorrow for his parents, for his eldest sister, and even for Faraine, whose grief for her family—for him—had manifested in books and stone. Pain flashed in his green eyes, and he turned away, back toward the shelves.

“There will be books here in Eyraillian.” He cleared his throat, continuing as though he had not seen the dedication at all. “But I am serious, Vega. Our words are a language and more. They are ancient, they are sacred, and they hold magic for some. You would be the first Eyraillian to speak Elvish in centuries. And I cannot think of a more fitting soul upon which to bestow that knowledge, if you will have it.”

“Of course… I can empathize. For all our differences, Eyraille can most certainly empathize.” Although she was not able to translate the ornate, gilded script scrawled across the top of the ancient tome, Vega couldn’t help but admire its aesthetic appeal. She could tell by merely running her fingertips over the embossed font that even a niche tome on the specifics of aerial flora had been crafted with the utmost care. A sign that, as Theoduin said, suggested a deep reverence for knowledge of any sort. “During my father’s rain, and his father before him… for as long as the nation has existed, unique knowledge was a privilege of the elite, and not readily available to the common folk. It is only within the past few decades that Eyraille’s own royal archives have become public domain, for those with curiosity in their hearts and thirst for knowledge--provided they possess the literacy require to interpret them, which…” She blew air from between her lips and her shoulders sagged. Acknowledge the shortcomings. It is only though those that the kingdom can grow… “to this day, is not entirely common. Like Myrddin, the occupational field of Eyraille was that of a farmer or a soldier, for the longest time. And few have chosen to bridge the gap in their knowledge by learning to read, even now that they have the opportunity. I’d like to think that that will change, but… it will take some time. Generations, before my home is anything like yours…”

Noting his faraway look, the Skyknight followed her elvin companion’s gaze to a plaque situated behind her, scrawled with the same intricate symbols that meant nothing to an illiterate eye beyond their beauty. But… it certainly meant something to Theoduin, who read them out loud for her benefit. So much loss, for what had been--or wanted to be--a peaceful kingdom… It is no wonder Faraine harbours such unyielding anger, she thought in hindsight, suddenly seeing the intimidating elvin Queen in a whole new light. She lost everyone… or thought she did. There is no way her brother’s reappearance after years of thinking him dead could heal wounds of that calibre…

With only a brief hesitation, Vega placed her hand on Theoduin’s arm to draw his attention away from the guilt etched into the bronze. “I can read Eyraillian books anytime. But… I cannot think of another opportunity where I might learn to read in your language.” The tug on her lips was a glimmer of a smile, at first, but blossomed full-fledged when she noted a spark of interest in her friend’s eyes. Of course the idea excited him; he was, himself, a scholar. The idea of taking on the role of a teacher, for once, was likely an opportunity that he himself had never experienced. “I must warn you, though, that I cannot guarantee that I will be a model student. At least… I wasn’t in the past. Can’t say what I might be like, now. But… if you are up to the challenge, then so am I. If…” The Eyraillian princess paused to survey the bodies that surrounded them. “If you don’t see that being a problem. Having an Eyraillian learn your script…”

The black-robed students, for the most part, had done a poor job suppressing their curiosity… and, for some, their disdain at the company their prince had chosen. For her part, she tried her best not to appear bothered, but in the end, she felt like a cat caught among a sea of highly-evolved mice that had been working and waiting years for their revenge. Feeling ‘welcome’ was most definitely a matter of atmosphere; and it was more than just the surrounding stone that had turned the atmosphere in the library cold. “You know, I am starting to get the impression they don’t like me very much… Is it the hair? Does that really give me away so easily?” Vega tried to shake off her discomfort in the guise of a joke, but when she tucked a stray russet lock behind her rounded ear, it was a self-conscious gesture. “The last thing I want is for your to stir up controversy, teaching your own sacred language to someone perceived to be an enemy. But, if you believe your sister intends to… extend my visit for some time, it could at the very least be an endeavour to occupy the both of us.”