Chapter 8 Rhianelle
Istand in Aelfheim’s council chamber with my hands folded in front of me, trying to keep them from shaking.
Every eye in the room is on me. War commanders and Aldarelfs from all thirty-three regions fill the chamber, faces I have known for years alongside faces I barely recognize, all waiting for me to speak.
The task before me feels heavier than any crown. I must tell them about Sanguisyl, the Red Rain. I must look into the faces of those responsible for protecting our people and explain that Avalon possesses a weapon capable of erasing an entire city in five seconds.
At least Rainer is here. My uncle stands to my right, solid and reassuring. Shade lurks somewhere in the shadows near the back. I can’t see him but I know he is there. That helps.
What doesn’t help is the vampire.
Arescaine stands against the back wall, half-hidden in the dim light. He shouldn’t be here. A vampire at an elven war council meeting feels like inviting a wolf into the sheep pen. Several of the Aldarelfs keep glancing at him, their expressions ranging from suspicion to outright hostility.
I don’t blame them.
The Fae King’s wyvern riders had attacked the capital in the last major offensive, burning it to ruin and leaving it for dead.
The grand hall where we used to meet is gone.
Cobbled together from what remains, this room is half original stone and half hastily erected wooden scaffolding covered in canvas.
Through gaps in the walls I can see the ruined city beyond.
Blackened buildings, crumbled walls, streets still choked with debris.
My people are rebuilding.
Will it matter? Will any of it matter when Sanguisyl comes?
I clear my throat.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say. Though my stomach twists with nerves, my voice remains steady. “I know the journey was difficult for many of you. But I’ve called this council because I’ve learned something. Something that changes everything.”
The chamber falls utterly still.
“I have intelligence about the Fae King’s forces,” I continue, forcing myself not to look away from them. “About a weapon he possesses. One that we need to prepare for.”
“What kind of weapon?” Lord Nemarion, Aldarelf of the Eastern March, leans forward. His kind eyes are now sharp with concern.
I take a breath.
“Prince Finnbheara, the Fae King’s son, rides a wyvern unlike any other.” I pause, trying to find words for something impossible. “Sanguisyl carries a power capable of destroying everything in its path. I’ve been told it erased an entire city in seconds.”
A tense silence settles over the council.
Then everyone starts talking at once.
“That’s impossible—”
“A wyvern that can destroy a city?”
“Your Highness, surely this is an exaggeration—”
“Order!” Seneschal Kearne cuts through the chaos. “Let Her Highness speak.”
They quiet, but I can see the disbelief on their faces.
“I know it sounds impossible,” I say. “But my source witnessed a demonstration. Every building was destroyed. The walls, the streets, everything within the city was leveled. Even the ground was reduced to ash and glass.”
The silence that follows is heavier. Understanding begins to sink in.
“The Fae King will use this weapon against us?” Lady Tierra whispers, disbelief hollowing her voice.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” I push past the fear and continue. “Perhaps he will hold it in reserve until his forces begin to lose, or use it as a final measure to force our surrender.”
“We’re doomed.” This comes from a younger commander I don’t know well. His voice is flat, hopeless. “If what you’re saying is true, we can’t win. We can’t even fight.”
“We have to fight,” Rainer says sharply. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Fight with what?” The commander’s voice rises. “You just said it yourself. This thing can erase a city in five seconds! What defense do we have against that?”
“There has to be something—” someone starts.
“There’s nothing!” Lord Kharlis stands abruptly, his face red. He is the Aldarelf of the Northern Highlands. “Don’t you understand? Her Highness just told us we’re facing a weapon that can’t be stopped!”
“Sit down, Kharlis,” Rainer warns.
But Kharlis only grows louder, feeding on the fear filling the chamber. “No, I won’t sit down. This is exactly what I’ve been saying. We’re being led to slaughter by a queen who doesn’t know what she’s doing!”
My hands clench into fists.
“Your Highness, with all due respect, you lack the wisdom to know when a battle is lost before it’s fought!
” Kharlis’s voice echoes through the chamber.
“This is madness. We should be negotiating while we still can. We should be seeking peace, not preparing to sacrifice what remains of our kingdom.”
Yes, peace is what I want, what I have always wanted. If words could end this war, I would cross half the world to speak them.
“Peace?” Lord Wesley stands, his voice sharp. “The Fae King doesn’t want peace. He wants conquest and submission.”
“Then we submit!” Kharlis throws his hands up. “Better to live as subjects than die as ash!”
“You coward—” Lord Nemarion starts.
“I’m a realist!” Kharlis turns on them. “I’m the only one here willing to say what we’re all thinking. This weapon, Sanguisyl. It’s over. The war is over before it’s begun.”
Kharlis turns back toward me, his mouth twisting with contempt. “And this is the queen expected to save us?” He points at me, his finger shaking. “Our young, inexperienced queen doesn’t have what it takes to lead us through this.”
“Enough, Kharlis.” Lord Ctibor rises halfway from his chair, one hand braced against the table.
“While our kingdom burns and our people die, what does our queen do?” Kharlis is shouting now, his face purple with rage. “She harbors Fae deserters.”
“Those Fae warriors defected,” I say, my voice cold. “They were betrayed by their king—”
“So they claim!” Kharlis slams his fist on the table. “You believe them because you’re too soft.”
The room erupts. Some defend me, some agree with Kharlis, everyone shouting over each other.
“We should evacuate the cities—”
“And go where? If this weapon can destroy—”
“Order!” Seneschal Kearne roars.
The chaos continues. I stand there, frozen, watching my council tear itself apart. The fear and despair I’ve brought them fracture into anger and blame.
Kharlis continues over everyone, mocking my age, my judgment and every decision I have made since taking the throne. “Perhaps if Her Highness spent less time sheltering traitors and more time learning how to rule, we would not be...”
The words die in his throat. His mouth remains open, but no sound emerges.
The room goes silent again.
I follow Kharlis’s gaze to the back wall.
Arescaine hasn’t moved from his position in the shadows. He hasn’t made a sound or shifted his stance. The vampire is simply looking at Lord Kharlis.
Kharlis is sweating.
I’ve seen predators in Astefar. Creatures ancient and terrible that could kill with a thought. But I’ve never seen anything like the look in Arescaine’s eyes in this moment.
Looking into his eyes is like looking into a void with no bottom and no end. An endless dark that would swallow you whole and leave nothing behind.
Kharlis stumbles backward. His hand goes to his throat. He can’t seem to breathe properly. His eyes are locked on Arescaine with the glazed terror of a rabbit caught in a wolf’s jaws.
Arescaine’s gaze shifts to me. For a single heartbeat, something flickers in the endless darkness of his eyes. A silent question, perhaps, or an assurance that Kharlis will not speak against me again.
I should be angry. A vampire has interfered in my council and silenced one of my Aldarelfs. He has undermined my authority in front of everyone.
Instead, I feel safe. Protected.
I push the feeling away and turn back to the table. “Enough. We know what we’re facing. Now we need to discuss how to minimize casualties. Evacuation plans for the major cities.”
I look at the map spread before us. “We need to disperse our population so that if Sanguisyl is deployed, we don’t lose an entire city at once.
” I point to the largest settlements marked across the map.
“The weapon takes several days to recover, and using it drains Prince Finnbheara severely. He cannot strike everywhere at once.”
“Prince Finnbheara can destroy our cities one by one.” Lady Eidith’s voice is hollow. “He can take his time and make us watch.”
“We’re not giving up.” I cut her off. “Yes, we’re facing something unprecedented and terrifying. But we’re not surrendering without a fight.”
“We can’t win,” someone mutters from the far end of the table.
“Maybe not.” I meet their eyes one by one. “But we can survive. I hope we can protect as many people as possible.”
“Hope.” Kharlis laughs bitterly.
I straighten my shoulders. “I won’t give the Fae King the satisfaction of our surrender before he even arrives.”
Rainer nods approvingly. Around the table, some of the commanders sit up straighter. The despair in the room shifts into something more determined.
“We start with the most vulnerable cities,” Lord Wesley says firmly. “We spread them across multiple smaller regions.”
“We’ll need supplies,” Lady Tierra adds. “Food, water, medical provisions. If people are displaced for weeks or months, every region will need to contribute.”
“I can commit grain stores from the Southern Reach,” Lord Nemarion offers. “The Eastern March has healing supplies we can distribute.”
Panic drains out of the room and something steadier takes its place. Even Kharlis sits down and stops arguing long enough to listen.
They are talking over one another again, but this time it is productive.
Plans begin taking shape amid the fear. They discuss how many people each region can shelter, which roads remain passable and how quickly supplies can be moved.
They are searching for ways to save what they can, even in the face of impossible odds.