Chapter 33 #4
“High Sorcerer Alwyn Alara,” he said. “You embarked on a dangerous journey to enact a plan that had no guarantee of success. While the events that transpired did not turn out exactly as we had hoped, it is undeniable that your actions quelled the orcish rebellion threatening the peace we have so briefly enjoyed. You displayed remarkable bravery and tenacity, continuing to pursue your goal even when it came down to you alone. For this, I am pleased to present you with the Mark of Greatest Courage, in thanks for your service to Aefraya. Please, join me.”
Alwyn stood to his feet and stepped toward the king, bowing again.
From a small table just behind him, King Ruven opened a delicate, glass-topped display case and pulled a glimmering golden brooch from within.
It was in the shape of an eagle feather, representing courage and perseverance in the face of hardship, just as the king had described—one of the highest honors Aefraya offered.
It didn’t feel as though he had been brave, Alwyn thought, as King Ruven pinned the brooch to his tunic, just above his heart.
His actions had all felt like desperation, resigning himself to death with only the hope that his partner might survive.
The thought made his throat feel tight; but he kept his face still and stoic as he turned toward the small audience and bowed his head deeply to polite applause.
He stood there with his eyes trained on his own empty chair as King Ruven made similar short speeches commending Fionia and Galred, presenting them with minor awards for their roles.
Mostly, he worried about how the next hour would go, and tried not to look at Tessarion.
Distantly he felt a brief tinge of annoyance that Galred was getting the same award as Fionia, considering she had made sure several Aefrayan citizens returned safely to their homes, while he had done nothing of the sort.
“And, finally, I would be remiss not to note that it is Mage Princeps Tessarion’s diligent work and commitment to his students that allows this all to be possible,” King Ruven concluded, snapping Alwyn back to attention.
His tone was as warm as ever, betraying none of the obvious displeasure he expressed toward Tessarion during their last meeting.
“As always, Mage Princeps, your service to the crown is deeply appreciated.”
Tessarion stood up from where he was sitting. “You honor me, King Ruven. To see my students awarded for their bravery is commendation enough for me.”
Alwyn had to force himself not to scowl at his words.
It was all fake—both the king and Tessarion were just posturing at this point.
Maybe it was necessary, but the politics, the scheming—it all felt like bile rising in his throat.
The lingering taste of honey-wine in his mouth turned to vinegar, and all he could think about was leaving it all behind.
King Ruven concluded his speech. He, Fionia, and Galred bowed to the small crowd once more to polite applause. They started to step down, but Tessarion quickly joined them, a small smile on his face.
“I am very proud of each of you,” he said in a low voice, his eyes landing first on Alwyn, then the other two. “These awards are very much deserved. All of Aefraya is in your debt now.”
“Indeed,” King Ruven agreed, nodding. “Nowhere to go but up from here, hm? What do you plan to do next?”
There was an uncertain silence for a moment, then Galred was the first to speak.
“I will go wherever the Mage Princeps directs me, of course,” he said. “I hope to continue to serve the Order and Aefraya in this way for a long time yet.”
“Yes, of course,” Fionia agreed, nodding once. “I am happy to serve the Order however the Mage Princeps deems fit.”
Tessarion looked entirely too self-satisfied, the corners of his mouth upturned in a small smile, perhaps the most expression Alwyn had ever seen on his face.
“And you, Alwyn?” King Ruven prompted, eyes landing on him. Alwyn had to stop himself from biting his lip nervously. This was it.
“To be honest, your majesty,” he said, willing his voice not to shake. “With my injury, I fear my best may be behind me now. I have been... considering stepping away from the Order, so as not to hinder its progress.”
King Ruven raised an eyebrow. Tessarion’s tiny smile fell away instantly, and he could feel the other two staring at him in silent surprise.
“I see,” the king finally broke the silence. “That is unfortunate, though understandable.”
“High Sorcerer Alwyn will always have a place in the Order, of course, your majesty,” Tessarion said quickly.
Though his face was perfectly neutral now, Alwyn had heard his voice in frustration often enough to know he was barely containing his annoyance.
“I have every confidence that he will recover fully with time, and we will be happy to accommodate him however he needs. He is such a great asset to the crown. I can assure you he will remain in service for as long as possible.”
“I—of course,” Alwyn grimaced, relenting. He pressed a hand to his side—he could feel his heart punching against his ribs. “I apologize. Please, excuse me for just a moment.”
“Are you well, High Sorcerer?” King Ruven asked, raising an eyebrow at him again.
“My injury,” he stammered, stepping back. “I—I need to sit down for just a moment. Forgive me.”
He hurried away toward the plain door on the other side of the room. From the corner of his eye he saw Tessarion start to follow him, but he could hear King Ruven speaking to him again in a low voice— “Mage Princeps, had he spoken to you of this at all?”
The rest of their conversation was lost as he pushed the door open and stumbled into the next room.
It was larger than he expected, he realized with a blink.
It opened into a parlor similar in layout to the previous room, except that there was a fireplace on the far wall, beside a glass-paned door that led to a courtyard beyond.
The ceiling was also higher in this room, and he realized there was a small library on the second floor above, which was open to the room below, though he did not see the stairs leading up to it.
There was a lounge chair facing the fireplace with a figure sitting on it.
He had known there would be someone here, but he nearly jumped out of his skin seeing it was an exact mirror of himself.
The other elf gave him a quick glance up and down; Alwyn did the same, noting how every detail of his dress and appearance had been replicated, almost. Then, without so much as a shimmer, the golden feather brooch appeared upon the illusory form, and the other Alwyn gave him a silent nod.
He did not know who this mage was, but their control over glamours was commendable. It was unsettling, as though he was looking in a mirror that did not mimic his own actions.
The elf gestured toward the wall behind him.
Alwyn blinked, turning to follow his gaze, to find a very narrow door between two bookshelves swinging open.
The servant’s entrance was so small that Krujha could not fit through it—it was only his arm pushing it open, and his head ducking down to peer through.
Krujha gestured quickly for Alwyn to join him; he hurried to the wall and slipped in through the door, which closed silently behind them.
“All the servant walkways are muffled, to keep sound from escaping,” Krujha whispered. “And to keep servants from eavesdropping too much. Follow me.”
Alwyn nodded, and Krujha led him up a cramped staircase, his head ducked low. They passed an open door, which Krujha ignored, heading further up instead. When they arrived at a second, closed door, Krujha pushed it open a tiny amount, leaving just a crack—but enough to let sound in.
They were now in the second-story library.
It was a tight squeeze for both of them to be near enough to peek through the crack in the door.
Krujha wrapped one arm around him, winking as he squeezed Alwyn tightly.
He couldn’t bring himself to scowl, though he wondered how Krujha managed to be so playful at a time like this.
Distantly, Alwyn thought he heard footsteps from somewhere else in the servant passageways, but the sound of the door opening below pulled his attention.
He ducked his head down to peer into the room below.
Tessarion appeared in the doorway and paused.
Alwyn could faintly sense his magic reaching out, but he was clearly in a hurry, as the detection didn’t stretch upward enough to reach them—though they were within the walls of the castle, so the warding in these passageways might have been enough to obscure them anyway.
Seemingly satisfied, Tessarion swished a hand behind him, and Alwyn could hear the lock click into place as he stepped toward the figure sitting before the fireplace.
“Alwyn, we discussed this,” Tessarion said, more displeasure in his voice now than Alwyn had ever heard before. “How dare you say such a thing in front of the king.”
“I’m sorry,” he heard his own voice reply from the figure on the couch. How had this person managed such a perfect copy? “I just... didn’t want to lie to him.”
“I will hear no more of this,” Tessarion continued, as if the imposter hadn’t even spoken. “You are not permitted to leave the Order. Alwyn, you succeeded in your mission and assassinated two of the most powerful orcs in the world—think of how much further you could go from here.”
“On your orders,” the other Alwyn hissed, turning to look at Tessarion. Alwyn’s heart leapt up into his throat. “I was following your command, and I nearly died for it.”
“To die in service of the crown would be an honor,” Tessarion replied coldly. “You know that. Every member of the Order knows it.”
The relief flooding Alwyn’s body was so intense that he didn’t hear whatever the imposter said in response. Tessarion had not denied it. The other Alwyn had said out loud that Tessarion ordered him to kill Zesh, and he had not denied it.