Chapter 9 Trew
TREW
“The eastern boundary has deteriorated further,” Grayson said, his gnarled finger tracing a line on the map spread out on the table between us.
His left eye twitched, a tic that had become more pronounced lately.
“Another quarter clik lost to the wasteland since last month. They’re eating away at our borders on most of our sides, and if we don’t stop them, they’ll reach our heart and consume the rest.”
I leaned forward, studying the markings. The corruption was spreading in a distinctive pattern, following ley lines few remembered existed. “And the containment spells?”
“Holding, but weakening,” my Aunt Coralee said, straightening her already immaculate collar. The ermine draped across her shoulders mirrored her posture, its calculating eyes never blinking. My mother’s sister had inherited her penchant for precision but none of my mother, Sara’s warmth.
“Any new insight into the Skathes?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Coralee said. “We hope to have news from…” Her gaze met mine. Only she knew who might deliver such news. “We’re stretching our warriors too thin, trying to cover every border.”
“We need stronger bindings.” Kira’s voice cut through the room. Her death adder twisted on her wrist, the serpent’s blood-red scales catching torchlight. “The old methods aren’t sufficient.”
Sensing my tension, Gavelle’s talons tightened on my shoulder. The wasteland’s growth had accelerated over the past months, consuming fertile land and threatening our boundaries. If it reached the main water sources…
Well, others had thought this court was doomed before, but we’d managed to survive.
“Options?” I asked.
“Reinforce the bindings, of course. I’ll see to it right away,” Grayson said, his owl companion hooting from her perch on the back of Grayson’s chair.
“But we’re trying to hold back the sea with a broken wall.
Traditional methods are no longer working.
Perhaps it’s time to consider more experimental approaches. ”
“You mean blood magic,” Coralee said, her long, carefully painted fingernails tapping a rhythm on the wooden table. “King Valdris would never have—”
“My father is dead.” I kept my face smooth. She’d note my mood well enough by the look in my eyes. Those, I could only rarely mask. “And with him, many solutions that might’ve saved us.”
Silence fell. Gavelle’s wings rustled as he shifted position on my shoulder.
We’d all lost family fifteen years ago, but none of them had needed to bear the weight of the crown afterward. None had been forced to remake an entire kingdom from the ruins while barely more than a child.
“The recruits have arrived for tomorrow’s trials,” Coralee finally said, shifting topics with an ease I’d admired when I was twelve. “Perhaps one of them…”
“We’ll observe them closely,” I said. “Those with particular aptitudes for binding or restoration magic could prove valuable.”
“We’ve been watching them since they arrived, and I’ve reviewed their preliminary assessments.
” Kira’s gaze met mine with the characteristic directness that had first caught my attention during her own trial.
“It’s early yet, of course, but several show promise.
It’s difficult to gauge true potential before they’re bonded. ”
“And the children?” I asked, turning to Grayson. “They’ve arrived?”
He nodded. “All twenty-three, safely housed now. The transition has been challenging for some. Three attempted to run away last night.”
I kept my face impassive, though sadness twisted through my chest. Children torn from everything familiar would naturally resist, even if that familiarity had been built on lies. “Increase their support system. No restraints. They’ll adjust like all the others.”
“They call for their parents,” Kira said, her tone matter-of-fact rather than judgmental. “Some cry for the reformatory teachers, would you believe.”
“Give them time.”
Better temporary distress than a permanent magical lobotomy at their “teacher’s” hands.
“The trial preparations are complete.” Coralee gazed down at the crisp piece of paper lying on the table in front of her. “The usual parameters, with modifications to account for the increased number of recruits.”
“How many can we expect to survive?” Grayson asked, his right eye twitching as he looked at me.
“Enough.”
Who lived had never been our decision. The beast council had the final say.
The trial wasn’t designed for maximum casualties, only necessary ones.
Those who couldn’t follow simple instructions, who grabbed for power without understanding its cost, and who failed to demonstrate restraint would never survive the bonding.
Better a quick death in Fernwood than the slow agony of magical rejection.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” I studied each of my advisors.
All shook their heads, even my aunt who often kept us here past dawn.
“Good.” I rose, the others following suit. “Perhaps we’ll soon have answers.”
Grayson and Coralee bowed and departed, Grayson’s owl swooping from the room in a flash of pure white feathers, Coralee’s ermine looking back at me with its whiskers twitching.
Kira lingered by my side, waiting until the door had shut behind the others.
“Would you care to walk in the eastern gardens?” she asked. “The moonflowers have opened early this year.”
Her invitation carried no particular inflection, but I knew what she offered. Comfort. Distraction.
“Not tonight.” I kept my voice polite but firm. “The trials require preparation.” A sorry excuse, and I could tell she knew it.
An image of Isi flashed through my mind, her eyes fierce in combat, the graceful arc of her body as she fought. The raw, wounded way she’d looked at the mark on my neck. The expression in her eyes had nearly taken me to my knees.
She was jealous. This mysterious, deadly woman who claimed to want nothing from me had looked at the mark like it was a personal betrayal.
She wanted me. The thought was intoxicating. Completely mad.
Kira had not branded me, however. No one had.
I clenched my jaw, irritated by the intrusive thoughts of another woman.
My fascination with Isi could become a liability.
I had a kingdom to oversee, a legacy to restore.
I couldn’t afford to be distracted by a recruit who might not survive the trials, no matter how she ignited everything inside me.
I forced my thoughts back to the Skathes, to the children, to any of the hundreds of problems demanding my attention. Not to her. Never to her. Not when she could move through the halls, carving up assassins like she’d been born to it.
Disappointment flashed through Kira’s eyes. Or calculation. With her, the two were often indistinguishable. She nodded and left, her death adder’s tail flicking against her skin as she tugged the door closed behind her.
Gavelle nipped at my ear, sending a flash of impatience.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I know.”
My quarters reflected my life, simple and functional, with none of the opulence expected of royal chambers.
A bed, a desk, and bookshelves filled with tactical and magical texts.
The only luxury was the massive balcony overlooking the moonlit expanse of Syllavar Court, my kingdom hidden far from the Skathes and whoever commanded them.
I pushed open the glass doors, letting the night air wash over me. Gavelle launched from my shoulder, landing on the stone railing, looking up at me.
“Go,” I said. “You’ve been more than patient.”
The cinderhawk stretched his wings, his charcoal feathers gleaming in the moonlight. Our connection snapped into place, the familiar sensation of our minds linking. Not words, but impressions, emotions, sensory input shared between us.
He sprang from the balcony, and I closed my eyes as his sensations flooded mine. Wind beneath wings. The sharp clarity of night vision. The kingdom spread below like a tapestry of light and shadow.
Freedom.
Through his eyes, I saw Syllavar as it truly was.
Not a broken, struggling realm of uneasy council reports and looming death, but a living, breathing entity.
Gardens flourishing in hidden valleys. People moving through torchlit streets.
Children sleeping in beds that would never be raided by people seeking to extinguish their magical talent.
The burden of leadership lifted as I soared with my companion, his joy becoming mine. In our shared consciousness, I didn’t have to be King Trewyn, last scion of a dying bloodline.
I could simply exist.
Memories crowded in, trying to steal what little joy I could find in flight.
My father falling, blood spreading across his chest. My mother soon after, wasting away as a curse ate through her, her magic turning inward until nothing remained but hollowed skin and bones.
I pulled back from the memory, focusing on Gavelle as he flew and flew and flew, traveling farther than I could on foot in a day. And I coasted with him, absorbing the feel of the air, the scents, and the precious happiness I only found in these moments.
Finally, the cinderhawk banked, circling the southern quadrant where corruption had taken hold. Even from this height, I could feel the scars on the blackened land, the twisted, scorched trees with branches scraping upward.
The wasteland was being dragged across random parts of my kingdom by Skathes. This was the price of war and magical backlash, the physical manifestation of wounds that had never healed.
Gavelle started flying home, pausing when he was distracted by a thin heat trail below.
Catch the mouse if you want, I urged, and he dove down…
I broke the connection, returning to my own senses. Gavelle would feed and eventually return to me. By then, I would’ve completed a few more tasks.
I left my room, striding through the empty halls.
The armory smelled of leather and oil, stone and magic. Torches burned low, casting long shadows across workbenches where weapons and armor rested in various stages of completion.
Naveah looked up from her work as I entered, immediately setting aside the hood she was stitching. At sixty, she was the finest leatherworker in Syllavar, having crafted my father’s armor and now mine.
“Your Majesty.” She inclined her head. “An unexpected honor at this hour.”
“I require custom leathers.”
If she found the request unusual, her face betrayed nothing. “Specifications?”
“Female. About this tall.” I made a chopping motion a touch below my shoulders.
“Thin but a muscular build.” I handed her a slip of paper with the measurements I’d estimated from observation.
“Reinforced at the joints and vital areas. Full mobility is essential. I’ll eventually require five of your best sets but one from stock will do for now. ”
Naveah raised a brow. “This is the first time you’ve asked for clothing for anyone other than yourself. Who is she?”
I didn’t answer.
“Fighting leathers, then.” Her spine stiffening, she studied the paper. “These won’t fit Kira.”
“I imagine they won’t.” I drilled her with my gaze until she looked away.
I was crafting protection for a woman who didn’t trust me. She would laugh if she knew I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I was going to give them to her anyway.
“Only the highest quality materials,” I stated.
Naveah nodded, already moving toward the cabinets lining the back of the large room. “I have some in viscalar hide that would suit. Supple but nearly impenetrable.”
“Excellent. Bring them for my inspection.”
As she sorted through the shelves full of battle clothing, I ran my fingers over the engraving on a small dagger lying on the counter. Exceptional.
She returned and laid the full set of leathers beside the dagger.
I examined them. Soft enough to allow fluid movement, but reinforced enough to turn a blade if struck at anything but the perfect angle.
The image of another recruit touching her, of anyone threatening what was—
I stopped the thought cold. She was nothing to me but an anomaly, a potential asset or threat to be assessed like any other.
Yet the leather in my hands felt oddly personal, as if they would mark her.
“These will do,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Of course, Sire.”
“I’ll take this as well unless it was made for someone in particular.” I lifted the small dagger.
“It’s yours,” she said with a soft smile.
Taking the garments and blade, I left.