15. Judgement
Chapter 15
Judgement
6 th Day of the Blood Moon
The Eyrie, Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Aeson had not visited Aravell often over the centuries since The Fall, but he had never before seen the Eyrie empty. Valerys, Sardakes, and Varthear were still making their way back from the Eleswea un'il Valana with Calen and the others, but they were all that was left. The last remnants of the world he remembered.
Ithrax, Thurial, Onymia, and Aradanil had all perished in the battle for the city. In a sense, he was happy they would finally be with their soulkin again, that they would finally be allowed the rest they so readily deserved. But that didn’t stop the pain in his chest.
He walked through the Eyrie and towards the passage in the western rock face that led to the cells and the old courtyard. The opening rose over a hundred feet into the rock, spreading one and a half times that left and right.
Two guards stood at the entrance, the symbol of a white dragon adorning their steel breastplates. They placed their hands on the pommels of their swords and dipped their heads.
Aeson inclined his head and passed through the entrance into a long corridor of hewn rock large enough for a dragon to pass. It felt strange to think of this place as a prison. At one point, it had housed over forty Rakina who had wished to stay closer to the dragons, but it had been empty for almost three hundred years. It seemed as good a place as any to hold Farda and the others, but it still felt strange.
A low rumble echoed down the corridor, reverberating against the stone.
Aeson pushed onwards. He didn’t have long; the others would be there shortly. His steps grew slower as he approached the archway at the end of the corridor. He knew what he would find, but even still, when he finally reached the arch and looked out into the courtyard, his heart cracked.
Avandeer lay curled on the paved stone, enormous rune-marked shackles around her ankles and a collar about her neck, chains tethering her to the ground. Scars of fused scales raked her body, and her breathing clearly laboured with each rise and fall of her chest. After seeing Avandeer and Tivar defend the city, the elves had taken enough pity on them to heal the major wounds, but healing dragons took time and energy.
Even before The Fall, Avandeer had been amongst the most breathtakingly beautiful creatures in the world. The purple and white pattern of her scales had captured the hearts of many artists across the continent. To see her trapped, to see her light diminished, her spirit shattered, sliced into Aeson’s already tattered soul. In the back of his mind, he thought he could feel Lyara, like the fragment of a shadow lingering in the light, begging him to comfort Avandeer.
As he stepped through the arch, the dragon stirred, chains clinking, talons clicking against stone. She lifted her head, turning to face Aeson, her lids peeling back to reveal eyes the colour of marigold.
He moved closer, Avandeer staring at him. The dragon’s jaws were unchained. She could have bathed him in fire if she so wished, but she held no fury or wrath in her eyes, only apathy and loss. After all these years, Avandeer and Tivar had turned and fought against those who had betrayed The Order, and as soon as they did, they were wounded, separated, and shackled. Aeson had never had the displeasure of wearing rune-marked shackles while Lyara still drew breath, but from what he’d heard, it was as close to being Rakina as the soul could come.
The dragon shifted once more as Aeson came within arm’s reach, a low rumble emanating from her throat. Avandeer’s upper lip pulled back into a snarl, the smell of embers and ash floating from her half-open jaws.
“La?l sanyin,” Aeson whispered as he lifted his palm, ignoring the dragon’s snarl.
I am sorry.
His breaths shallow, he rested his hand on the dragon’s warm scales. Two parts of his mind warred as his finger traced over the edge of a jagged groove just below Avandeer’s eye. Sorrow consumed half of him, rage the other. The Dragonguard had taken everything from him. They were meant to be his brothers, his sisters, his kin. But they had betrayed their oaths and destroyed all that he had held dear. And yet, now that he looked upon Avandeer, he found no joy in the dragon’s darkness, no solace in her pain.
Aeson wanted to speak, to say something – anything – but the words were as elusive as the wind. What could he say? Judgement would be passed soon – life or death – and that was when his words would matter.
He allowed himself a few moments before pulling his hand away. There was a question he needed to ask before the others arrived, and now he had given himself little time to do so.
Avandeer stared at him for a moment longer, then rested her enormous head on the stone once more, the rumble fading from her throat as though Aeson no longer existed.
“This is not how it should be,” Aeson whispered to himself before turning and walking back through the archway.
Aeson made his way along the candlelit corridor until he came to a stop outside an iron-banded wooden door with old Jotnar runes carved into the wood. Dumar, son of Rahlin, had once called this room home. Aeson remembered the day he’d found the letter, the day Dumar had joined his soulkin. Dumar had been the first among the surviving Rakina in Aravell to make that choice, though not the last.
Drawing a slow breath, Aeson opened himself to the Spark. He could see the elemental strands pulsating in the dark of his mind, their light flickering, fading.
Not now.
He closed his eyes, reaching for the translucent strand of Air. He clamped his teeth down, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to pull a thin thread from the strand.
It had taken Aeson many years to find the symbolism in what Lyara had taken from him when she died. He could go weeks without difficulty when drawing from the Spark, only for it to abandon him for moments, or hours, or days at a time without warning. It held no rhythm nor rhyme, no beat nor cadence.
It mirrored his grief. Months could pass without Lyara touching his mind, without thoughts of Naia crushing his half-soul, without the memories of those he had loved rending his heart. But then, once he had allowed himself to breathe, to sleep, to rest, it would come rushing back to remind him he was no longer whole. For grief is not a constant thing. It is a monster that does not kill its prey but plays with it, torments it. Grief is not an obstacle to be overcome. It is an injury that must be accommodated. It never leaves, only waits.
Aeson let out a gasp as the Spark flooded into him, the thread of Air whirling around his body. With a sigh of relief, he pushed the thread into the door before him, where the outside lock had been fused shut.
A click sounded, and the door creaked open.
Aeson pushed the door open slowly, the candlelight behind him carving a path through the darkness of the room within. His footsteps echoed in the sparse room of hewn rock, each clip of his boot like a hammer drop.
“I was wondering when you’d come.”
Aeson looked down on the man who sat with his back against the far wall, steel manacles clamped around his wrists. Chains connected the manacles to a bolt in the floor, the blue light of the runes illuminating the scars on the man’s face.
“Farda.”
“It’s my time then?” Farda Kyrana lifted his gaze to meet Aeson’s. Four claw marks ran along his left cheek where Ella Bryer had raked her nails across his face. The Healers hadn’t given Farda the same attention they had Avandeer. The wounds were scabbed and red, dried blood mingling with crusted dirt.
“Not yet.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” Aeson sucked in his cheeks, biting down. He walked to the left side of the room and lowered himself into the seat against the wall.
“Four hundred years.” Chains clinked as Farda shifted himself, pushing his back further up the wall. “This is the longest we’ve spent in the same room without trying to kill each other.”
Aeson leaned forwards and rested his elbows on his knees. “Not for lack of desire.”
“No…” A silence passed for a moment. “You took Shinyara from me.” Farda pulled in a long, hard breath. “I can never forgive you for that.”
“Forgive me?” Aeson glared at Farda, meeting the man’s cold gaze. “I would sooner open my veins than ask your forgiveness for anything. You deserved to feel the pain, the loss. What you did… You were not worthy of the bond.”
“What I did?” Farda scoffed. “You’re all the same. I know what I did. I know the darkness in my choices. But it appears, after all these years, arrogance and ignorance are still your closest friends. Why are you here, Aeson? I’m tired.”
“I want to know why.”
“Is it not a little late for that?”
“No, I want to know why you came here. Why you turned your back on the empire after all this time.”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters.”
“Ella…”
“Calen’s sister?”
“Mmm.” Farda nodded, his fingers clenching and unclenching.
“What of her?”
“Just go, Aeson. We’re past this. Soon my head will be on a spike and I’ll be done with this world, and we’ll all be the better for it.”
Aeson leaned forwards a little further. “Answer the question, Farda. What of Ella Bryer? After everything you’ve done, what in the gods turned your mind?”
Once more, silence filled the dark room, the light of the candles in the corridor and the runes on Farda’s shackles casting shadows across the walls. Farda let out an exhausted sigh. “Something changed in me when I met her, something that reminded me of why…” Farda looked up towards the ceiling and shook his head. “Why I fought in the first place.”
Aeson pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then looked to Farda. To his surprise, the man’s eyes glistened from welling tears. He’d needed to know. Before the judgement was passed, he’d needed to know why Farda had turned on the Lorians.
“Aeson, I want you to know I think about that night every time I close my eyes. I…”
Farda’s voice trailed off as Aeson lifted himself from the chair and turned towards the door.
“I trusted you.” Aeson rested his hand on the open door, the iron band cold against his skin. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. So many years had passed that he’d wished he could have had this conversation, and now that it was here, he had no time for it. “You were my brother and I trusted you. Alvira trusted you.”
“She let them die, Aeson. I could have saved them. She let them die.”
Without looking back, Aeson stepped from the room and closed the door behind him, the lock clicking back into place.
Calen stood with his hand on Valerys’s flank, staring out over the edge of the plateau, the sound of crashing water drifting up from below.
Valerys rumbled in the back of his mind, and through the dragon’s eyes Calen saw Tarmon, Erik, Lyrei, and Vaeril emerging from the passageway in the rock on the western edge of the Eyrie. Ten warriors bearing the mark of the white dragon on their breastplates followed, flanking four figures who marched between them, chains clinking.
Aeson, Chora, Thacia, Atara, and Harken all stood waiting at the edge of the Eyrie’s main plateau, the other Rakina spread about, stares fixed on the procession. The two dragons, Varthear and Sardakes, were curled up near the Eyrie’s entrance, their backs pushing against the lowest branches of a nearby tree.
Calen drew the cold air into his lungs and turned, observing the scene with his own eyes. His pulse picked up as he caught sight of Farda walking at the head of the prisoners. Four angry gashes ran across the left side of his face. Beside Calen, Valerys pushed himself upright with his forelimbs, a growl reverberating in his chest. Calen had to physically slow his breathing, trying to calm the rage that burned in Valerys at the sight of the man, a rage that shifted between them.
A hand rested on Calen’s shoulder, pulling him from his mind.
“Are you all right?” Dann asked, his gaze not leaving Calen’s.
Calen shook his head, clamping his jaw down. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want to cut his heart out, Dann.”
“I don’t think you’re the only one.” Dann tilted his head, gesturing at those gathered. All twenty-six of the Rakina who resided in Aravell, along with Therin and Dann, stood about the plateau. All twenty-six stared unblinking at Farda and the others.
“He killed her,” Calen whispered, to himself as much as to Dann. “He set her on fire… he…”
Calen’s hands shook, the memory replaying in his mind. The look on Farda’s face, the flames, his mother’s screams.
By force of habit, Calen reached down to rub his thumb and forefinger between the silk of the scarf that had long been tied to his belt loops. All his fingers found was the rough touch of leather. He had given the scarf to Haem. He could see it in his mind’s eye, the autumn red, the vines of cream and gold, but it wasn’t the same as feeling its calming touch against his fingertips. The scarf’s absence only served to amplify that of Haem’s. Moments like this were when he needed his brother, his sister.
Dann’s hand squeezed tighter on Calen’s shoulder.
The clink of chains echoed through the passage, accompanied by the sound of talons on stone and the drum of footfalls.
Valerys moved forwards, the force of his anxiety causing Calen to stagger with him.
Eight elven mages, each bearing the white dragon, marched through the enlarged passageway, trepidation on their faces as they wove threads of Spirit, Air, and Fire about themselves. Behind them walked eight more elves, fists gripped around long chains connected to the neck and legs of a dragon twice Valerys’s size, purple scales tipped with white, eyes of brilliant yellow.
“Avandeer…”
Calen’s gaze fell on the blue light that shimmered from the runes marked into shackles on Avandeer’s legs and the collar around her neck. His heart stopped, his breath catching. Calen had not seen Tivar and Avandeer since the fighting, but he knew those bindings, knew the pain and emptiness they caused. He looked to Tivar at the end of the four prisoners. She had stopped and now stared back at Avandeer, pulling at her chains. He knew that agony, that hopelessness, felt it still in his bones.
His jaw twitched, memories flitting through his mind of the cell in Drifaien, of Artim Valdock, of the apathy, the loss… An insuppressible fury ignited within Valerys, pouring into Calen, flooding his veins and burning his mind; he tried to push it back, to soothe it as he had been learning, but it was too raw. The sight of Tivar and Avandeer suffering as Calen and Valerys had suffered was too much.
“Get those manacles off them.” Calen strode across the plateau, ignoring the staring Rakina, his arm shaking as he pointed from Tivar to Avandeer.
The rage that flowed over him burned cold, ice in his veins, frost on his skin.
“Calen, take a moment. Breathe.” Aeson moved to stand in Calen’s way, his arms open.
“Take the manacles off, Aeson.” Calen clenched his jaw, trembling. The purple light of his eyes reflected in Aeson’s as he once more pointed at Avandeer. He tried to hold back the rage within, tried to calm himself, tried to calm Valerys. The dragon had no heart for calm. Calen steadied his voice as best he could. “Take them off.”
“Calen, I?—”
“Take them off!” Calen’s roar scratched at his throat, and he could feel the veins in his neck bulging. A surge of power swept through him as he and Valerys’s minds collided.
Aeson stepped back, his expression shifting. He raised his open palms, his gaze lifting upwards.
Calen didn’t have to look to know Valerys loomed over him, purple light misting from the dragon’s eyes, teeth bared, a vicious rumble in his throat. They had moved as one, completely and entirely. Calen could feel each pump of their heart, blood coursing through their veins.
As though in response to Calen and Valerys, Varthear and Sardakes rose in the southern section of the Eyrie, their eyes fixed on Aeson, their frills raised, lips pulled back.
The entire eyrie stood on a knife edge. The elves who held Avandeer’s chains looked from Calen to the other Rakina, dumbfounded expressions on their faces.
Calen stared into Aeson’s unwavering gaze. Once more, he lowered his voice and attempted to calm himself, though the rage he and Valerys felt would not be quelled. “Do you know what those bindings do, Aeson?”
“Calen, if you could just?—”
“Do. You. Know?” Calen spoke each word slow and steady, staring into Aeson’s ice-blue eyes. “It is a simple question.”
“Yes.”
Calen took a step closer. “And yet you still put them on?”
Chora wheeled towards Aeson and Calen, looking up at Calen. “It’s the only way to hold them safely.”
“Is it? Or is it simply the easiest?” Calen turned, looking for Thacia. He found the blood-haired Jotnar standing to his right. “Do you have the key?”
The Jotnar stared back at him, curiosity in her eyes, but she didn’t speak.
“You?” Calen asked, looking to Aelmar, one of the other Jotnar Rakina.
Aelmar returned Calen’s gaze, but he, too, remained silent.
Calen looked from Thacia, to Aelmar, to Moras, his fury rising with each breath. “Who has the key?”
“I do.” Harken Holdark stepped forwards, his long hair falling over his shoulders, the dense muscle on his arms tensing as he folded them.
“Give it to me, Harken.”
Harken glanced to Aeson, who, to Calen’s surprise, gave a short nod. The man reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a thin metal cylinder with glowing runes carved along its length.
Calen snatched the key from Harken’s hands, then marched towards the elven mages. They straightened, each of them pulling a fist to their chest as he approached and uttering a stifled, “Draleid.”
“Can you contain her? Contain her fire?” There were eight of them. That should be enough.
“Yes, Draleid… but…” the elf closest to Calen stuttered, but she quickly regained her composure. “But if she?—”
“Do it.” Calen looked to Therin. “Can you ward Tivar?”
A look of understanding flashed across Therin’s face, and he gave a sharp nod. “With aid, yes.”
As the air ignited with the thrum of the Spark, and Therin and the mages warded Tivar and Avandeer, Calen moved to the dragon’s side and tapped the key against the shackles around her legs. Both shackles gave a click , then clanged to the stone.
He moved to Avandeer’s head, then rested one hand on her snout and looked into her eye. “I’m sorry. La?l sanyin.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer, the warmth of Avandeer’s scales brushing against his skin. “When I take this off, I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?”
The dragon let out a puff of warm air from her nostrils, her scales vibrating as a rumble of acknowledgement escaped her throat. She leaned her head into Calen, bone-white horns pressing against his leg and shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” Calen whispered, touching the key against the collar around Avandeer’s neck. “Go to her.”
A click sounded.
Avandeer shook her head, the collar crashing to the ground, and she unleashed an almighty roar. The plateau shook as the enormous dragon sprang forward, leveraging her forelimbs and spreading her wings to clear the distance between her and Tivar in a heartbeat.
The warriors who had been holding Tivar and the others’ chains backed away and scrambled for their swords. But Avandeer stood over her soulkin, her frills standing on end. She threw her head back, then leaned forwards and roared once more, spittle flying, the warriors stumbling backwards.
Calen followed Avandeer, Valerys behind him. The other Rakina stared at him as he walked, but none moved to stop him. Even Aeson and Chora remained silent.
Avandeer lowered her head as Calen approached, a rumble in her throat. The dragon stretched out her forelimbs and dipped her back, as though bowing.
Tivar lifted her gaze. Her face was dark and bruised, and marks streaked the dirt on her cheeks where tears had flowed. She leaned heavily on her left leg, and scabbed cuts ringed her wrists where the shackles bound her. Her breaths trembled as Calen approached.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Calen said, his chest tightening. “You stood by me. When you had no cause to, you stood by me, and I owe you my life… sister.”
“We were meant to be guardians,” Tivar whispered, her dark eyes locking with Calen’s. Calen saw his own agony reflected in her gaze, the memories of his time in the cell overwhelming him.
Calen reached forwards and took Tivar’s trembling hands into his own, then touched the runekey against her shackles.
As the shackles fell, the elf dropped to her knees, shivering, her eyes closing and lips spreading in relief. Avandeer craned her neck forwards and nuzzled her snout into Valerys’s jaw.
Calen drew a deep breath, his gaze meeting Farda’s for a brief moment. Just a flick of Calen’s wrist, just one thread of the Spark, and the deed would be done. Calen’s fingers tapped on the coin pommel of his sword. He glared at the man for a moment longer, then turned back to face the other Rakina.
Chora, Aeson, Harken, Atara, and Thacia all stood before him, the others in a tight semi-circle.
“You know what it feels like to be broken,” Calen said, staring at the five in front of him. “And yet you would inflict that pain on another? Did that make you feel strong? Did it make you feel powerful? Do you know how twisted that is?”
“She deserved to feel it.” One of the other Rakina, a woman with short black hair, stepped forwards. Calen had not spoken to her, but he knew her as Imala. The rage in her eyes was something he knew well. “She deserved to know. Her pain is nothing next to the breaking of the bond. She made her choices a long time ago.”
“Pellenor Dambren is the reason I escaped Berona. When I asked him why he helped me, he answered that ‘time doesn’t move backwards’, that he couldn’t change the things he’d done, but that it would never be too late to recognize the mistakes he’d made.” Calen moved closer to Imala. “When the empire captured me in Drifaien, they clamped those manacles around my wrists. They locked me in a cell, beat me, tortured me. But above all else, not being able to feel Valerys all but tore me in half. When Artim Valdock wrapped his fingers around my throat, I leaned in. I wanted to die.” Calen shook his head and scoffed, staring at Aeson. “You dragged me across the continent. You convinced me of this war, convinced me that this was worth fighting for. Yet here you are, doing the exact same thing the empire did to me – the same thing they did to every one of you. Explain that, Aeson. Explain how we are any better than they are. Explain to me why we’re even fighting this war in the first place. Explain how we can do this to one of our own.”
“She is not one of our own,” Imala snarled, her body stiffening, her tone flashing cold. “And you speak of things of which you do not know, things you could not possibly comprehend. I’ve been bound by those shackles before. It was horrible. I couldn’t feel Amaros’s mind, his soul. I couldn’t feel his heart.”
“Then why?—”
“But it was nothing —” Imala cut Calen short “—compared to the agony that ripped through my soul when one of these traitors dragged me into the dirt and drove a spear through his head while he looked into my eyes.”
A shiver swept through Calen at Imala’s words.
“Until you watch your soulkin die, until you feel, and I mean feel, your soul shatter, you have no place speaking of what it is to be Rakina.”
Calen’s heart broke as he watched the tears roll down Imala’s cheeks, Valerys pulling their minds together.
“Calen is right.” Aeson stepped forwards and moved to Imala, who looked at him, her anger turning to dejection. He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze. “We were betrayed by those we held close, and that betrayal cost us things that cannot be communicated in words. Things that… can never be recovered. But sometimes our pain blinds us. What happened to Amaros, there is no justice for that. But Tivar’s pain will not ease yours, sister. The only justice we will find is in the righting of wrongs, not in the doing of more. In the years since losing Lyara, I have learned that a thousand times over. What’s left of my soul is tarnished. We cannot simply claim to be better than Eltoar and the others, we must be better.”
Imala nodded slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes, her shoulders drooped and trembling, her fury consumed by sorrow.
Aeson inclined his head to Calen.
Calen returned the gesture, the rage in his and Valerys’s shared soul ebbing.
“With that,” Aeson continued, “the continent is changing before our eyes, and decisions must still be made. Before we continue, I must ask that all those who are not Draleid or Rakina leave the Eyrie. We have already denied Queen Uthrían, King Galdra, and Queen Tessara’s presence here. This is for our kind and our kind alone.” Aeson looked to Therin and the elven mages. “You may stay and maintain the wards, but your voices will not be heard.”
Therin responded with a soft nod, while each of the elven mages pressed a fist to their chest and bowed.
Dann, Tarmon, Erik, Lyrei, and Vaeril all looked to Calen. He gave them a reluctant nod. He would rather have them by his side, but he knew this was something the others would not be swayed on.
Once they had taken their leave, each of the Rakina drew closer, circling around Tivar, Farda, and the two other prisoners – the dark-skinned elf and the white-haired woman whose hand was curled into a twisted fist.
Without chains binding Avandeer, the dragon could easily have torn through many of those gathered, but Calen knew she would not put Tivar in that danger. What he did fear, however, was what Avandeer might do if the others decided death was Tivar’s sentence.
With silence again settling in the Eyrie, Aeson stepped into the centre of the circle, his gaze passing along the prisoners. “Farda Kyrana, Ilyain Altair, Hala N?ri, and Tivar Savinír. You are all here today to be judged for what you have done. It would take a hundred lifetimes to list your crimes, so I will state but a few. You betrayed your brothers and sisters. You butchered your own kind. You plunged all Epheria into war. You were instrumental in the near-eradication of the entire Jotnar race.”
“Quite the list,” the white-haired woman, who Calen assumed was Hala, muttered.
One of the Rakina, Willam, spat on the stone, his eyes burning holes into Hala.
“Do you have anything to say for yourselves before judgement is passed?”
To Calen’s surprise, Tivar lifted herself from her knees and stepped forwards. She held her chin high. Slowly, she passed her gaze around the circle, her stare hard and unyielding. “I deny nothing. I did what I did because I believed it to be right. I loved The Order, and I will always love my brothers and sisters. But what we had become was not what we were meant to be. I will not make excuses for my actions, and not a day has passed that I don’t wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. I betrayed you all.” She lifted her gaze to Avandeer, who stood over her. “ We betrayed you all. I swear, we believed we were doing what was right, but by the time we saw the truth, it was too late. I ask of you only two things.”
“You have arrogance to ask for anything,” Chora spat.
Tivar gave Chora a brittle smile, tears once more welling in her eyes. “And yet, these are two things I must ask. The first is that you do not make the same mistakes The Order did. Do not allow our people to become instruments of war sent at the behest of kings and queens who care little for the blood-cost of their greed.”
“And the second?” Aeson asked.
Tivar drew a long breath in through her nose, rolling her shoulders and straightening her back. “It is a simple thing. Take Avandeer’s life first, quickly and as painlessly as you can. I would not have her live a single moment where she does not know the touch of my mind. That pain is mine to hold, no matter how brief. I would save her from it if I could.”
Tivar’s words carved a hollow in Calen’s chest. Valerys’s mind pulled his closer, wrapping around him. He could see by the dumbfounded expression on Aeson’s face that he, too, had not expected that request.
“Tivar… I…”
Tivar jerked forwards, her chains pulling at her. “Aeson, I need you to promise me on your honour. If I could go back, I would, but I can’t . Please, let me take her pain. Do me that kindness. I know I don’t deserve it, but she does.”
“This is madness.” Calen looked around at those gathered, incredulous. “How many of us are left in the world? How many dragons?”
“There have to be consequences, Calen,” Chora said.
“This continent has been at war for four hundred years.” Calen opened his arms wide, pleading. “All our legends, all our histories are of death and blood and darkness. After The Fall, the empire almost wiped us from existence. You all know that better than I, and yet here we are talking of taking one more dragon from the world.” He slowed his voice. “We are doing their work for them. We are murdering each other. Tivar and Avandeer saved us. They risked their lives to protect ours. What good to the world is one more dead dragon, one more dead Draleid? One more of our kind in the ground?”
“What would you have us do, Calen?” Aeson turned to face Calen. There was no anger or fury or hatred in his eyes, only agony. For the first time, Calen saw the true struggle in Aeson, the conflict. “What is your solution?”
Calen looked to Tivar, his decision made. “Would you fight by my side?”
“What?” Disbelief painted Harken’s voice. “You cannot be serious.”
“Would you fight by my side?” Calen repeated to Tivar, ignoring the others’ stares.
“I…”
“It was you who told me we should be guardians. You who made me understand why I am here, made me understand what I am. You do not deserve forgiveness for what you did, but that does not unburden you of your obligation to your brothers and your sisters and to every soul you shattered and every life you destroyed.” As Calen spoke, he looked around at the others. “Death is the easy way out. Death is not a consequence. It is an escape.” Calen looked back to Tivar. “I would not have you die, Tivar Savinír. I would have you wake every day and look your brothers and sisters in the eyes, knowing what you did, bearing that weight. I would have you face the results of your treachery with every sunrise. And I would have you give every drop of blood in your veins to bring the empire to its knees. So I ask you, will you fight by my side? Will you swear to protect your brothers and sisters, by the light of Varyn? Will you stand against the darkness you helped forge? On your honour, on your very soul, do you swear it?”
A moment passed where Calen thought he might hear objections from those around him, but none came.
Tivar dropped to one knee with a thump and brought a hand to her chest. Above her, Avandeer dropped low, bowing her head.
“I swear by The Father to give my life protecting the kin I betrayed. I swear by The Mother that I will walk openly into her embrace to save the lives of others. I swear by The Warrior to stand by your side no matter the odds. I swear by The Maiden to be both your shield and your sword. I swear by The Sailor to be your anchor in the darkest seas. And I swear by The Smith to forge you into the greatest Draleid that ever walked this earth.” Tivar held Calen’s gaze for a moment, then looked around at the others. Tears rolled from dark and bloodshot eyes. “I swear these things so long as your heart remains true. If you want me dead, I will stretch my neck out for you. But if you allow me to fight, I will bring fire and fury on Fane Mortem the likes of which he has never known. Please, let me give you my dying breath. It is the only thing I have left worth giving.”
For a moment, nobody spoke, until one of the Rakina, an elf by the name of Danveer shook his head. “She deserves a noose. I say no.”
“As do I.” Chora rested her hands on her lap, using threads of Air to move the wheels of her chair until she was next to Calen, eyes level with Tivar’s. “I cannot forgive what you did. I wish I was better, but I’m not. My vote is death.”
“I say life.” The sound of Aeson’s voice speaking those words took Calen by surprise. The man dropped to one knee before Tivar, drawing more than a few looks from the others.
Aeson cupped Tivar’s cheeks in his hands and stared into her eyes. “You turned your back on us when we needed you most, and it cost us everything.” A tremble set into his voice. “I can never forgive you. I need you to know that. But I can allow you to spend the rest of your days trying to earn a semblance of your honour back and to die knowing that in the end you did something worthwhile.”
Tivar nodded softly, the muscles in her jaw clenching.
“If you even think of betraying us a second time, I will drive the blade into your heart myself.” Aeson rose and moved to stand beside Calen.
“Thank you,” Calen whispered.
“I did it because you were right, we can’t keep killing each other. A line must be drawn, and we must be the ones to draw it.”
One by one, the other Rakina stepped forwards until all had cast their vote. Of the twenty-six who resided in Aravell, fourteen had chosen death, twelve life. With Aeson and Calen’s votes, that left fourteen a piece.
Atara and Thacia were amongst those who had chosen life, while Harken stood to Chora’s left, guilt etched into his face.
“There are two more,” Harken said, folding his arms. “Coren Valmar and Farwen Ethylion.”
“So there are.” Aeson let out a long sigh, staring down at Tivar, who still knelt before him. “What say you, Chora?”
The woman stayed silent for a few moments, her stare unblinking. “This is the first major decision our people have made together in a very long time. We should send for Coren and Farwen. Their roles in our survival have been as vital as yours, young Virandr.”
“I agree.”
“It is settled then. We will send for Coren and Farwen. They will be needed either way. If we are to stand together as one, a new Archon should be raised, and that cannot be done without all our say. The journey should only take them a few weeks. Until then,” Chora continued, “the final decision will be suspended and the prisoners will remain here under guard. They will not be permitted to leave this eyrie under any circumstances. If they do so, they will be killed on sight.”
“Prisoners?” Calen rounded on Chora. “What about Farda?”
“What about him?” Chora raised an eyebrow, the touch of amusement in her voice only irritating Calen further.
“He murdered my mother. He has?—”
“He has done no more than Tivar.” The woman looked at Calen as though he were an idiot. “If you wish to pardon her, that same grace extends to him and the others. You cannot pick and choose who lives or dies based on your own grievances. All four of them betrayed The Order. All four of them have slaughtered and burned and destroyed.” Chora wheeled herself closer to Calen, looking into his eyes. “I don’t have enough fingers to count the number of people I loved that were killed at Tivar and Avandeer’s hands. What makes your loss greater than mine?”
“I…”
“You have much to learn about the world, Calen Bryer. So much to learn.”
Hours after the altercation at the Eyrie, Aeson stood on the ledge of one of the many cliffs in one of the many valleys that snaked through the Aravell. The rain had started only moments after Farda and the others had been escorted back to their quarters, and it fell like the skies themselves had opened. It was poetry, in a sense.
His clothes clung to his skin, and his hair matted his face. He had stood on that ledge for what must have been an hour. The rain calmed him. It stilled his mind, and he had much to think on.
Aeson lifted an eyebrow, turning his head at the sound of rocks crunching beneath wheels.
“You were hard on him,” he whispered, just loud enough for his voice to rise above the rain.
“The world is hard.” Chora stopped her chair beside Aeson, her blonde hair tacked to her face. “There will be much more difficult choices ahead. He needs to learn, and we don’t have the time for him to learn slowly. You and I both know I would have been happier to take Farda’s head, but he is more useful this way.” Chora stared out into the valleys. “Seeing the others, seeing them so close I could touch them… so close I could break their necks. It was… It unsettled me.”
“As it did us all.” Aeson wiped the water from his eyes and folded his arms. “Tivar can never be forgiven, but she and Avandeer could be the difference in this war. She truly has regret in her heart. She could be what keeps Calen alive. She could be what he needs.”
“If Coren and Farwen vote to spare her, I will honour that decision.”
Aeson let the rain fall for a moment. “You didn’t allow them to roam free in the Eyrie out of kindness.”
Chora choked back a harsh, dark laugh. “No. Let young Bryer see his mother’s killer wander around the Eyrie. Let him see the pain he puts us through by forcing us to keep Tivar’s head on her shoulders... The arrogance of youth.”
Aeson let out an exasperated sigh. “The longer you and the others spend in Aravell, the more like the elves you become. Games and tricks and schemes.”
“It was always that way, Aeson. You just never saw it. You were never willing to look.”
The drumming of the rain against the stone grew louder as the pair stood in silence.
“We are to meet the Triarchy in Mythníril tomorrow,” Chora said. “The steps forward must be decided. With the Blood Moon in the sky and the empire distracted in the North, now is the time to solidify our allegiances in the South. We must move swiftly and crush every foothold they have here. With Jormun and Ilkya gone, Calen can fly more freely. The Warden of Varyn. That is a title we can use. I suggest we secure Illyanara then push for Valtara and Drifaien. Our support in those regions seems strong by your reports.”
“It’s good to see a fire in you once more.”
Chora stared out at the open valley. “It is good to feel somewhat warm again. If I can do one thing before I see Daiseer, it will be to rip Eltoar Daethana’s beating heart from his chest.”
“Agreed. We will talk on it tomorrow.” With that, Aeson turned and began to walk away but stopped after only a few feet. “They believe in him, Chora.”
The woman scoffed as she pushed one wheel and turned her chair. “Who believes in whom? And why must you always be so vague and dramatic?”
“My son, the elven rangers, the rebels from the North. They followed Calen across the Burnt Lands because they believed in him. Not because of who he is as a Draleid, but because of who he is as a man. Even Atara and Thacia and Harken – I see it in their eyes. He has given them hope.” Aeson paused a moment. “He will do what must be done, I am certain of it. He was right about Tivar, and he had the strength to stand for it. He has been bound for barely a breath, and he held no fear in his heart at standing for what he believed in. We should never have put her in those shackles. We knew the pain it caused. We didn’t do it to stop her from touching the Spark. We did it to make her know the agony of not feeling Avandeer’s soul. We are broken, you and I, and we will never be whole. But he is different. I have watched him grow, watched him turn from a na?ve boy into a warrior who refuses to lie down. He is becoming what we have let slip away. Give him time.”
As Aeson stood there, the rain pelting down around him, he remembered Calen’s words when the Aravell burned. “There’s no point in living if we don’t fight for what we love. We’re meant to be Draleid. We’re meant to be guardians, not survivors.”
“It sounds like you’re starting to believe in him too, young Virandr.”
“Hmm.” Aeson let out a half-laugh and turned back towards the trail that led to the city.
Calen sat by Ella’s bed with a towel around his neck, his hair dripping onto Faenir, who lay curled up between the chair and the bed. He’d come to Ella first thing from the Eyrie, but Elia had practically marched Calen to his room to change the moment she’d found him sitting beside Ella’s bed, his clothes saturated from boots to shirt.
“You’ll catch your death sitting in wet clothes,” Elia had said as she’d grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him from the room. “Your mother will torment my dreams for allowing it. Go change. I’ll fetch you some more of that lamb. Men – less sense than a pig’s arse.”
Calen laughed, running his hand through his soaked hair. Aneera still sat in the corner of the room, legs folded, arms resting on her knees. From what Tanner had told him, she’d barely eaten all day. He’d found the other Fenryr Angan who’d arrived in the city not long before the attack – Diango – prowling around the plateau as he’d arrived. The Angan had greeted him with a bow and a short ‘Son of the Chainbreaker’ before continuing on like a sworn guard.
A knock sounded at the door, and Calen knew it was Elia by the way she didn’t wait for him to answer before coming in.
“Here.” She handed him a bowl and a knife, the smell of rosemary and slow-cooked lamb mingling with the lavender that already tinged the air. The woman’s head twitched left, and her eyes glazed over for a moment. “If you’re still hungry, there’s more downstairs. You have a visitor.”
As Elia left, Therin moved to stand beside Calen.
The warmth of the braised lamb spread from the bowl and into Calen’s hands as the silence settled.
“A fork would have been more useful.” Therin’s expression didn’t change as he spoke, staring down at Ella.
Calen lifted the knife from the bowl, looking down at the lamb, roasted potatoes, carrots, and some green root he’d never seen before. “She’s only given me knives ever since she’s come back to herself. I don’t ask why. Easier just to eat.” Calen swallowed, his mouth growing dry. The pair had not truly spoken since Therin had lied to him about Ella’s survival. “I trusted you, Therin.”
“I know.”
“If anything had happened to Ella…”
“ I know .”
“You took my choice from me.”
“I know, Calen,” Therin whispered.
Therin walked to the other side of the room and dragged a chair across, setting it beside Calen and dropping into it. “I’ve watched you grow since the day you were born. You, Ella, Haem. I’ve loved you like you were my own, but I’ve never been able to say it. That was your father’s choice, and I respected it.” Therin shook his head. “He was one of my closest friends, and yet I had to watch from a distance as an Inquisitor who wasn’t fit to lick his boots held him with threads of Air and ran a sword through his chest.”
Therin reached out and brushed a strand of Ella’s hair from her face.
“I made a promise to him that day that I would protect you with my life, you and Ella both. I’m not proud of keeping Ella’s survival from you, but if I hadn’t, you would have flown north to find her. Of that I have no doubt, because it’s exactly what your father would have done, and you two are cut from the same cloth in almost every way. And it’s likely you and your sister would both be dead, and with that, every soul in Aravell would have burned alive without you.”
Therin shifted in his seat, hands resting on his knees. He tilted his head to look into Calen’s eyes. “I swear to you that I will never keep a secret from your ears so long as you swear to me that you will heed my counsel in return. I don’t ask that you do everything I advise, only that you listen. If you give me your word, I will give you mine.”
Calen gritted his teeth and reached down to scratch Faenir’s back, once again looking to Ella, who lay motionless in the bed, her chest rising and falling steadily. He nodded. “You have my word.”
“And you have mine.”
“What happened in the Eyrie…” Therin leaned back in the chair.
“Hmmm.” Calen kept his gaze on Ella, watching as her lungs filled and she let out a slow breath.
“Chora is testing you.”
“Let her test me. I don’t care.”
“Calen, it’s not that simple. What happens when you see Farda sitting on the grass in the Eyrie? What will you do then?”
“I’ll open his throat.”
“And all Aravell will turn against you for breaking your word. And even if they don’t, Chora will use it as an excuse to kill Tivar and Avandeer.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Calen, you?—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Calen snapped his head around, his anger creeping up on him. “Please. I’m sorry. I just need a break. Can we talk about something else? Tell me about him. My dad. Not the stories, but about what he was like.”
“You know what he was like, Calen.”
“Do I? Do I really? I feel like I didn’t know him at all.”
“That’s as idiotic a thing as you’ve ever said. Your father hid things from you for a reason, but he was always the same man who raised you. He was stubborn, pig-headed, and always seemed to do things the hard way. He held grudges and spent more time worrying about the people he cared for than could possibly be healthy. Sound familiar?”
Calen let out a laugh, sitting back in his chair.
“He was also kind,” Therin continued. “And loyal to a fault, and passionate, and honourable. Everything he did, he did for others. Your father was not a perfect man, not by a distance. He was flawed, and he made mistakes – many of them – but he was the best man I ever knew, and I see him in you every day. Please, forgive him for the things he never said. All he ever wanted was to keep you, your brother, and your sister safe. He and your mother would have given everything for that.”
“If we’d known…”
“Nothing would have changed. Be wary of that path, Calen. The past is set in stone. It is immutable. Look forwards.”
Another knock sounded at the door, and the wood creaked as Elia Havel pushed her way inside once more, handing both Calen and Therin mugs of piping hot Arlen Root tea.
Before Calen could open his mouth, Elia raised one finger in the air. “Ah.” She nodded towards the mug in Calen’s hand. “Drink.”
Elia’s expression softened, and she gently pinched Calen’s cheek before making her way from the room.
Both Therin and Calen sat in silence for a while before Therin let out a short laugh. “This tea always reminds me of your mother. I don’t think there was ever a time I saw her and she wasn’t brewing a new batch.”
Calen pulled a long breath through his nostrils, the deep, loamy smell of the tea filling him. He lifted the mug and took a sip, trying his best not to grimace. “At least she didn’t force it down your throat.”
“There is that.” Therin lifted the mug, staring into the depths of the dark liquid. “I’m going to have to drink it now, aren’t I?”
Calen nodded, giving Therin an expectant smile.
The elf sniffed, recoiling and puffing out his cheeks. “Are you sure we can’t honour your mother a different way?”
“Drink,” Calen said, mimicking Elia.
To the elf’s credit, he took a deep draught of the tea, then produced a gurgling sound as he choked it down. “Gods.”
“Even they can’t save you from the tea.” Calen took another sip, enjoying the contortions of Therin’s face as the elf experienced the tea’s aftertaste. “Thank you.”
“Hmm?”
“For talking. There’s so much I don’t know about him…”
“Sometimes you can know a person without knowing their past, Calen. Your father wasn’t a Draleid. He wasn’t a mage or a king or a lord. But he was someone who always tried to do what he knew to be right. He cared deeply about the ones he loved, and he fought fiercely to protect them. In all honesty, after everything I’d seen, he showed me there was still good left in the world.” Therin shook his head, brushing the back of his hand against his eye and sitting up. “Despite all the death I’ve seen, I still can’t believe he’s truly gone. There are some people, Calen, who just leave an indelible mark on the lives they touch. In that, you are most definitely your father’s son.”
A third knock rapped on the door.
“Elia, please.” Calen twisted in his seat. “We don’t… Haem.”
Calen’s brother stood in the open doorway, steam wafting from a mug in his hand. He held himself like a man who hadn’t slept in days, shoulders drooped, eyes sunken. “Little brother.”
Haem nodded at Therin, moving across the room and squeezing Calen’s shoulder. He leaned over and scratched the top of Faenir’s head, the wolfpine nuzzling into Haem’s palm.
Haem pulled himself back to his full height, letting out a soft sigh as he looked down at Ella, who lay still in the bed. “How is she?”