Chapter 16 Wen
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Wen
An hour after sending the message through that unstable portal, I stood in the ritual room trying to remember how to breathe.
My palms were damp. My heart was doing its best impression of a trapped bird.
This was either going to work or spectacularly backfire, and the not knowing was the worst part.
Mal was beside me, hand resting on his sword hilt, ready for anything. Tyreen and Casimya flanked us on either side. Guards positioned around the room at strategic intervals, all of them tense and alert.
“Ready?” Tyreen asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I focused on the same energy signature from before. That dark thread leading back to Igryside. Prince. Prince. Prince. Royalty. Power.
The portal flickered to life, the edges wavering like heat shimmer on a summer road. But it was there. It was actually working.
We held our breath. The seconds stretched out like candy. Nothing happened. Nothing after a few minutes. My hands started to shake. What if he hadn’t gotten the message? What if he’d decided it was too dangerous? What if this was all for nothing?
Then a piece of paper slipped through the opening.
Mal moved faster than I’d ever seen him, catching it before it hit the ground. He unfolded it, scanned the contents, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.
“What does it say?” I demanded.
“I agree with the alliance,” Mal read aloud.
The room exhaled collectively. Thank the gods.
But the relief lasted about three seconds before my brain caught up. This could still be a trap. An elaborate ruse to get us to lower our guard.
“Make it bigger,” Mal instructed. “If he wants to meet, let him come through. If it’s a trap, then we’ll deal with it right now.”
Right. Because opening portals to enemy kingdoms and inviting their princes through was just my life now. Totally normal. Nothing weird about this at all.
I focused on the portal, pouring energy into expanding it. It fought me, resisting like something alive. I gritted my teeth and pushed harder. Two feet. Three feet. Four. The strain was incredible. Six feet. Large enough for a person to walk through.
Then, again, we waited.
And waited.
The portal shimmered, empty. No movement on the other side. This was bright light, like the one that connected Earth with Lytopia. I wasn’t sure why, but I really could’ve appreciated being able to see to the other side right now.
“Maybe he changed his mind,” I muttered.
“Or it is, indeed, a trap,” Mal said. But as he spoke, a figure stepped through the portal like conjured by his words. Every guard in the room drew their weapon. The sound of metal scraping leather filled the silence, followed by the distinctive ring of blades being pulled free.
The man was huge. Easily Mal’s height, maybe taller, with shoulders that looked like they could carry an ox.
Or two oxen. Or a small house. Blonde hair was cropped military-short, no-nonsense and practical.
Harsh features that looked carved from stone by an angry sculptor with something to prove looked back at us.
He had a jagged scar running from his left temple all the way down to his jaw, pale against tanned skin, making him look even more dangerous.
Good gods. He definitely was like I would picture Thor. Or a very handsome Viking warrior.
Of course, he was handsome in a brutal, dangerous way. The kind of handsome that came with a body count, the literal kind, and no apologies for it.
He raised his hands slowly, showing he was unarmed. His movements were deliberate, controlled. “I come in peace.” Even his voice was a dark, low rumble.
“Prince Gregyor,” Tyreen said, stepping forward slightly. Recognition clear in her voice. “The reluctant prince of Igryside. There were always whispers you disagreed with your father’s policies. That you wanted to end the witch hunts but had no power to do so.”
Gregyor’s stern expression softened when he saw Tyreen, something that might have been respect flickering in his eyes.
“I heard rumors you were alive. The legendary Tyreen, second of the great Marya. I thought you were a myth. I certainly saw my father lost his mind more than once for not being able to locate you.”
“I am hard to find, and harder to kill,” Tyreen responded dryly.
A ghost of a smile touched his scarred face. “Apparently so.”
Introductions were made with the stiffness of potential enemies sizing each other up.
Names and titles exchanged like weapons, each side calculating the other’s worth.
Gregyor’s eyes lingered on me, studying me with an intensity that made me want to squirm.
I forced myself to stand still, to meet his gaze without flinching.
I was a queen. I’d faced worse than intimidating blonde giants with impressive scars.
Okay, maybe I hadn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.
“The portal caster,” he said finally. “You are younger than I expected.”
I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated by someone who looked like he could snap me in half. “You’re blonder than I expected.”
Mal’s hand found my waist immediately, his fingers pressing possessively into my side. A clear signal: mine. Back off.
Gregyor’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile but not quite. “Fair,” he acknowledged.
He got straight to business. “My people are suffering under my father’s rule. The witch hunts. The obsession with portal magic, immortality and power. The resources poured into his mad quest while citizens starve. It has to end.”
Mal was blunt as always. “So you want us to kill your father.”
“I want my father removed from power,” Gregyor corrected. His expression turned to ice. “How that happens is up to you. I will not stand in your way. I will not mourn him.”
There was a weighted pause. A son condemning his father to death.
“He is moving now,” Gregyor continued, pulling a map from inside his jacket. “Tonight he will make camp near the Noctherion border. I can tell you exactly where.” He spread the map on a nearby table.
One of the guards spoke up. “How do we know this is not a trap?”
Gregyor looked at him directly. “You don’t.
All I can help you with, besides giving you his location, is telling you my father has a secret weapon.
I don’t know what it is. He stopped trusting me with details years ago when he realized I didn’t share his vision.
What I know, I know because of my spy network. ”
“A secret weapon,” I repeated. “That’s vague and terrifying.”
“It is all I have,” Gregyor said, and I believed him. There was no deception in his face. Just hard determination.
So we spent the next hour planning. Gregyor spread his map fully, weighing down the corners with whatever was handy. He pointed out his father’s route with precision that spoke of careful intelligence gathering.
“Forty-three guards total,” Gregyor said. “Split into three units. Patrol patterns rotate every two hours, switching at midnight and again at dawn. The army won’t be far behind. He would probably mobilize the entirety of it. Ten thousand soldiers.”
Mal leaned over the map, his eyes scanning the terrain. “Weaknesses?”
“The northeast quadrant. The trees provide cover there, and the scouts assigned to that section are lazy. They’ve been known to fall asleep on duty.”
“How fortunate for us,” Mal said dryly. “Incompetent enemies.”
“My father inspires many things in his men. Loyalty is not one of them.”
“Mal and his best fighters will portal in,” I said, tracing the path on the map with my finger. “Stealth mission. In and out before they know what hit them.”
Casimya frowned, her ancient face troubled. “What about this secret weapon?”
“We plan around it,” Mal said. “Assume the worst. Prepare for anything. Overwhelming force if needed.”
“I love how casually you say ‘overwhelming force’ like it’s a shopping list item,” I muttered.
“Would you prefer ‘moderate force with strongly worded suggestions’?”
“At this point I’d prefer ‘no force required because everyone decided to be reasonable.’”
“That seems unlikely.”
“A girl can dream.”
We discussed exit strategies if things went wrong, rally points if they got separated, signals to indicate danger or success. By the time we finished, my head was spinning with information and my hand hurt from taking notes.
Gregyor prepared to leave, stepping toward the portal that I’d kept open this whole time. The drain was constant but manageable.
“When you know when you’re attacking,” he said, his expression serious. “Do please open a portal for me to come here so I can support you if anything goes wrong. But for now, I will begin preparations to take control. My supporters are ready.”
“Got it. But if we fail?” I asked, voicing what no one else wanted to say.
His smile was grim and cold. “Then we all prepare for war. And may the gods have mercy on us all.”
He stepped through and disappeared. I closed the portal, the drain on my energy easing like a weight lifted from my shoulders.
Then Tyreen grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come. If you are going to portal Mal and his team into enemy territory, you need to be precise. We train. Now.”
***
“Feel the location,” Tyreen coached for what felt like the hundredth time. “Not just the general area. The EXACT spot. Every tree. Every stone. Your magic will feel it.”
I tried. I really did. I closed my eyes, focused on the clearing Gregyor had described, pictured it in my mind.
I opened a portal. It showed someone’s barn. A confused cow stared at us through the opening, chewing cud placidly. It mooed.
“That’s not it,” I said unnecessarily.
“Again,” Tyreen said, her patience apparently infinite.
I closed it and tried again. This time I got what looked like a merchant’s stall in some town square. Fabric everywhere, bright colors hanging from racks. A woman shrieked and dropped a bolt of silk.
I slammed it closed, face burning. That poor woman was going to have nightmares about portals appearing in her shop.
“Again.”