16. Alar
ALAR
"A prince may run from his duties, but duty always knows where to find him."
—King Aldric III of Catonia, Letters to My Queen
"It was a good flight," Veynathei said as I dismounted. "You were more relaxed today."
"Maybe there is something magical about Tuesdays." I patted her flank. "See you tomorrow, Veynathei."
"Same to you, Prince Alar."
I watched her take off before turning around.
Things had gotten progressively better since I had told Veynathei about Kailin's dream, and my confidence was cautiously returning.
The day was cold and clear, the auroras were shimmering with their usual array of colors, and we hadn't encountered any ominous weather or any other portentous signs heralding life-altering moments.
More importantly, it had been a while since Kailin had dreamt anything about me, and instead of contemplating my imminent death, I was thinking about dinner and whether we were going to join the other cadets today in the mess hall or eat in the officers' wing.
The truth was that the food served in the mess hall was better, so perhaps I could manage to convince the others to dine there tonight.
"Cadet Tekum." Captain Odinah intercepted me midway down the stairwell. "General Lesten Zorian wants to see you in his office."
"Why?" I asked, but my gut was twisting into knots because I had a feeling what this was about.
She shrugged. "I don't know. I was only told to find you and give you the message."
"Thank you," I said and changed course, climbing back to the twelfth floor, where all the top brass offices were located.
The corridors here were wider than in the cadet and officer quarters, the stone walls depicting famous battles and historical moments of the Dragon Force. Oil lamps supplemented the electrical lighting, casting warm pools of amber between the cooler patches of overhead lamps.
I was shown in by an aide who didn't make eye contact, which I didn't know how to interpret.
General Lesten Zorian's office was exactly what I expected from the man.
Spartan, organized, and devoid of any personal touches except for a single framed photograph on the desk that I couldn't see from the doorway.
The furniture was functional, and the shelves were lined with tactical manuals and campaign histories, whose function was obviously not decorative.
The shelves looked like they were going to collapse under the weight of too many books that were not arranged according to any pleasing aesthetics.
A large map of Elucia dominated the wall behind his desk, covered in pins and notations that I itched to study.
The General stood behind his desk instead of sitting, which registered immediately because a seated commander invited conversation, while a standing one delivered verdicts.
"Prince Alaranthus," he said. Not cadet. Not Tekum. My full title. "Close the door, please."
I closed it and stood at attention.
Lesten regarded me with an irritated expression. He picked up a document from his desk. Elegant heavy paper, with multiple seals pressed into wax along the bottom edge.
I didn't need to get closer to know who it was from.
"This arrived earlier today through diplomatic channels," Lesten said.
"It was submitted to President Noveron's office by the Elurian Federation's ambassador on behalf of the royal court of Catonia.
" He tapped the document with the tips of his fingers.
"It is a formal request for the immediate release and repatriation of Prince Alaranthus Tekumuton the Fifth, fifth son of King Alaranthus Tekumuton the Fourth, ruler of Catonia and head of the Elurian Federation Council. "
Each word was like a punch to my sternum, driving more air from my lungs until I couldn't breathe at all.
They'd done it. They'd actually done it. My family had gone through official channels, invoking diplomatic protocols that Elucia couldn't refuse without jeopardizing the alliance that kept their nation supplied with weapons, technology, and trade goods.
"You don't look surprised," Lesten said.
"My family has been pressuring me to return for some time," I said. "I received several personal letters, which I've chosen to disregard."
"I'm aware of the letters." Lesten put the document down and sat in his chair.
That didn't surprise me. We had been told that all incoming and outgoing mail would be scrutinized for security reasons, and we'd been told not to disclose any Dragon Force secrets or our letters would be destroyed.
We wouldn't even have the courtesy of having them returned to redact what we should have omitted.
The General motioned for me to sit down.
"Shaman Fatewever assured me that your presence here served a greater purpose," Lesten continued.
"He invoked the prophecy, asked me to be patient, and said your role would reveal itself in time.
" Lesten's jaw tightened. "I went along with it not only because the shaman's counsel has guided this nation for over a millennium, and I was not arrogant enough to dismiss it, but I also thought that your reasons for being here were valid. "
"Sir, I—"
"I'm not finished." He cast me a glare that would have petrified anyone who wasn't used to dealing with people like him their whole lives.
"I allowed an Elurian prince to train alongside our cadets, attend classified briefings, learn our tactical formations, and bond with one of our dragons.
I did this on Saphir's word that it would be good for Elucia.
And now I am holding a diplomatic demand that forces me to send you home, along with everything you've learned about our operations. "
There was nothing I could say in my defense. The reason I had come here was to learn all those secrets he was talking about. My goals had changed since, but he wouldn't believe me if I told him that.
The door opened behind me, and Saphir entered with his usual disregard for protocol.
"Good evening, General," he said, settling into the other chair across from Lesten's desk. "Alar." He cast me a warm smile as if this was an afternoon tea between friends and not the end of my life as I knew it.
"Your timing is impeccable, Shaman." Lesten's tone could have curdled milk. "I was just explaining to the prince how your assurances about the prophecy have culminated in a diplomatic incident."
"It's not an incident. It's a request. A perfectly civil one, at that."
"Civil," Lesten spat the word. "There is nothing civil about requesting the release of a bonded rider less than two weeks after the bonding.
He knows too much to be let out of Elucia, but I cannot refuse without endangering the alliance that keeps this nation afloat.
" Lesten leaned forward, placing both hands flat on his desk.
"You told me to trust the process, Saphir.
You said that the Catonian prince was one of the seven.
How do you reconcile that with the demand to send him back? "
"We have no choice but to let him go," Saphir said with infuriating calm. "But that doesn't mean the prophecy was wrong."
"How?"
"This chain of events might serve a purpose we haven't yet recognized." Saphir steepled his fingers. "A prophecy is not a blueprint, General. It's a current. It carries things where they need to go, often through convoluted routes that look like detours."
"That's philosophy, Saphir. It's not strategy."
"The two are not as different as military men like to believe."
I sat very still, grateful that this argument between the two most powerful men in Elucia meant neither expected me to contribute.
Being caught between a furious general and an unrepentant shaman was like standing between two dragons mid-disagreement.
The safest strategy was to remain motionless and hope they forgot I was there.
"I went out on a limb for you, Saphir," Lesten said, and for the first time I heard something beneath the anger. Disappointment. "I trusted your judgment. And now I have to explain to the president why we harbored a foreign prince under a false identity for months."
"The president was also informed," Saphir said mildly.
Lesten blinked. "Noveron knows?"
"He's known for some time. He agreed with me that the potential benefits outweighed the risks." Saphir spread his hands. "I may be old, General, but I am not reckless. The fact that a formal demand is now forcing our hand doesn't invalidate the decision to let Alar stay as long as we could."
Some of the fury drained from Lesten's expression, replaced by resignation.
"Be that as it may," he said stiffly, "the boy goes home."
I resented being called a boy, but that was the least of my problems right now. My life was unraveling, and I didn't know how to stop it.
"Alar goes home," Saphir agreed. "But I would ask that the terms of his release include the possibility of return after the situation with his father resolves itself one way or another.
" He cast me a sympathetic glance before returning his gaze to Lesten.
"Alar is not the heir, so even if his father dies, there is no reason for him to remain in Catonia beyond the mourning period. "
Should I tell them that I suspected my father wasn't dying?
I couldn't do that. These Elucians valued truth above all, and to accuse my mother of lying would put both her and me in a very bad light.
"You'll need to take it up with the diplomats," Lesten said.
"I intend to." Saphir turned to me with that infuriating twinkle. "Your part in this is not over, Alar. It is simply changing venue."
Lesten ignored Saphir and turned back to me, his expression hardening.
"Prince Alaranthus. You will be met by Elucian ground forces in Skywatcher's Point and escorted to the port of entry.
A platoon of Elurian Federation soldiers will be waiting on the other side with an armored transport vehicle for you.
The transfer will take place tomorrow evening.
You will leave the Citadel after breakfast."
That was less than eighteen hours away.