6. Zai
Zai
Istepped into the cage and reached for the solar raspkin, keeping my protective bolster humming through my veins.
The feisty little creature snarled, lips curled back over needle-sharp teeth.
His thin body stretched no longer than my forearm, but he tried his best to appear larger, flaring the rough tufts of fur along his spine like embers catching flame.
“I know, Jom-Jom,” I murmured. “I’m here to help.”
The answering hiss was sharp and aggressive, followed by rapid chattering. But the moment my hand closed around his warm body, the glowing fur dimmed. Tiny paws gripped my fingers as I lifted him, his heart pattering beneath the copper-and-russet fur.
I carried him across the stone pathway to Daro, who waited with a bowl of meat chunks mixed with medicine for the creature’s ear infection. The old man’s weathered hands moved with practiced care as he fed the raspkin, cooing and murmuring.
Lanterns hung from curved posts, casting warm pools of light between the cages.
Not a single noble in sight.
The royal menagerie offered the only peace I could find these days. Only the soft sound of animals filled the cool evening air.
Rustling of wings came from the cliff drake’s enclosure as the reptilian beast flexed its wing-membranes in tense ripples. It clung to the rock wall, its granite-like scales blending with the stone.
A shadow prowler let out a rumbling growl as it clamped its split jaws around a bone. The interlocking bite sealed with a wet click. Shadows seeped from its ebony fur, coiling around its legs like smoke.
Inside another cage, a brumel shifted on massive paws tipped with hooked claws. Bone plates armored its skull and ran in ridges down its back, half-buried beneath thick fur that made the hulking creature look almost soft enough to touch.
While Daro tended to the raspkin, I tugged on thick leather gloves and stepped into its cage. Straw crunched beneath my boots as I scooped out soiled bedding and droppings.
Four days had passed since Celebration Week had started, and this was the first time I’d managed to sneak away from the endless parade of nobles crowding the palace.
During the day, they swarmed the menagerie, exclaiming over exotic creatures.
Evening had bled into night before I could finally slip in unnoticed, relieved to find Daro still tending the animals.
I’d never forget when Mother brought me here as a child to witness a canopy drake giving birth. The awe on her face and her hushed whisper about the miracle of life was etched into my mind. That’s who she was, full of joy and wonder in a court obsessed with power and prestige.
After her death, I used to come here to hide. Daro took notice, of course. One evening he’d asked me to fetch him a tool, and ever since, I’d helped out whenever I could.
Sometimes he’d talk about the animals—where to find them in the wild, how to capture them without harm, the best ways to earn their trust. Other times we simply existed in comfortable silence.
I’d never earn forgiveness for what I’d done to Mother, but here, among swishing tails and padded feet, I could at least continue her legacy of nurturing life.
A messenger boy appeared at the entrance, breathless and flushed. “Prince Zaivareth!”
Straightening, I stepped out of the cage. “Yes?”
“Emergency council meeting, Your Highness. Your presence is required immediately.”
As I followed the boy across the courtyard, my gaze drifted to the city below. Tier upon tier of torch-lit buildings sprawled down the mountainside.
Beyond the palace fence, reinforced with unmeltable drake-scales, a small group of shady figures lurked in the shadows. A common sight, but still unsettling. To my relief, a pair of patrolling guards moved in and sent them scattering.
The palace might be suffocating, but the world beyond its fences unnerved me even more.
The council chamber smelled of old parchment and polished wood. Father and his council members occupied their usual seats around the heavy oak table—everyone except the General.
Val and Iz had joined them by the table, but I stood by the wall, spine rigid, watching the Spymaster shuffle his reports.
Ever since we came of age, Father insisted my siblings and I attend these meetings, claiming we had to learn the harsh reality of the world. I’d learned plenty—mostly that the smartest thing was to stay quiet while others spoke.
The Spymaster cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, I’ve received intelligence from the Moon Queendom about a new wielder with unprecedented abilities. They’re calling him the Dual Wielder. Apparently, he commands both sun and moon powers.”
Val barked a laugh. “Sounds like silly rumors. Next, they’ll claim he breathes stone and pisses steel.”
Father’s knuckles whitened against the armrest. “This isn’t a joke, Valaric. If the Moon Queendom has developed a way to combine their magic with ours, they’ll have leverage we can’t match.”
Val’s demeanor went from mocking to deadly serious in an instant.
Iz shot me a quick glance before returning her gaze to her lap. I know what she was thinking. Whenever Father used our full names, he was more than annoyed.
Not that I could blame him. If the Spymaster’s report was true, this new development could be devastating.
With resources growing thinner each year, our two domains balanced on the edge of war.
The fragile peace established after the rift’s appearance a century ago frayed with each passing season.
One push from either side would shatter it completely.
The High Lady leaned forward, one brow raised. “How would they use a single wielder against our entire Kingdom?”
“If they can produce one man with both powers,” Father said, each word deliberate, “who knows how many more they can create.”
The door burst open and the General stormed in, face flushed, his cravik horn thudding against his drake-scale armor.
“My apologies for being late, Your Majesty. I’ve just received word from Blackridge border camp.
A cluster of monsters is tearing through the western borders and pushing into sun domain. ”
Val straightened. “Could this be the Dual Wielder’s doing? Maybe he’s directing the monsters.”
Unease coiled in my stomach. I’d only seen dead monsters, brought to the palace as trophies, each one more grotesque than the last. The thought of those twisted creatures obeying commands sent ice down my spine.
“Dual Wielder?” The General’s brow furrowed.
The Spymaster filled him in, voice flat and efficient.
The High Lady ignored them, glancing at Val. “How, exactly, would both powers grant him control over monsters?”
“Actually…” The Grand Sun Master ran a hand through his wispy beard. “It’s not a bad theory. My scholars have long speculated about the Moon Queendom’s original intent in opening the rift. One theory is that they were planning to control the monsters and use them against us.”
“And now they’ve finally found a way!” Val’s voice rang with triumph, like he’d solved some grand puzzle.
I swallowed against the unease rising in my throat.
The Moon Queendom had always denied responsibility for the rift, but we all knew they’d opened it.
I’d always believed they’d been trying to gain more magical power, but controlling the monsters wasn’t the craziest theory I’d heard.
In fact, it sounded disturbingly plausible.
The General tapped the map dominating the center of the table, its small metal pieces marking military units across the Sun Kingdom’s territory. “We still need to decide what to do about this breach.”
Val stood, placing both hands on the table. “We have a non-wielding unit stationed there, right? I suggest we use them as bait to draw the monsters in, then send in wielders from the flank while they’re occupied.”
My lip curled, the word bait twisting like acid in my gut.
As approving murmurs filled the chamber, Val puffed himself up. “In fact, I shall go to Blackridge myself and lead them to victory.”
My mouth opened before I could stop it. “You’ll sacrifice an entire unit of defenseless non-wielders?”
Val’s head snapped toward me. “You see an issue with that?”
Blazing void, I shouldn’t have spoken. But I’d already stepped into the fire—I might as well burn. “Wouldn’t sending them to their deaths be considered dishonorable?”
He stepped closer, eyes blazing. “It’s not dishonorable. It’s strategy.”
I pushed off the wall, irritation flaring hotter than reason. “Those are soldiers, not pawns.”
He drew himself up, but still had to tilt his chin to glare up at me. “Watch your mouth, little brother, or I might think you’re trying to undermine me.”
Fury surged through me. I should bow to his wisdom before he decided to seek revenge the way he always did—in some quiet hallway.
Val had always excelled at sun wielding, a constant taunt to my own meager skills. He’d earned the title of master at twenty-two, the youngest ever to achieve it. If he wanted to, he could crush me in a heartbeat.
Yet some stubborn part of me refused to back down.
This was Val in his truest form. He provoked and pushed until people broke and was always applauded for it. His temper, his fists, his cruelty—everything was excused because he was the heir. No one ever stood up to him.
Someone should.
Heat crackled between us as we glared at each other, both of us driving up the temperature.
Council members shuffled in their seats, avoiding each other’s gazes. Iz stared at the table, expression closed off as always.
“Val has a point.” Father’s voice cut through the tension.
My gaze snapped to him, pulse hammering. “But—”
“What Val proposed is common defense strategy.” Father’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t be too soft in these matters. The Kingdom needs ruthlessness to survive.”
Val’s lips curled into a smug smile.
I wanted to punch that scorching arrogance off his face.
A memory surfaced of Mother in this very chamber, her voice calm but firm, speaking against Father’s war plans when he’d suggested a tactic she found too brutal.
Back then, he’d listened and bowed to her wisdom.
But after her death, he’d changed. Grown colder.
Or maybe he’d always been this cold, and her warmth had simply kept it at bay.
I held Father’s gaze as I drew a shuddering breath. “If Mother were here—”
His voice sliced through my words like cold steel. “Don’t talk to me about your mother, boy.”
My hands clenched into fists. He hadn’t called me boy in years. I opened my mouth to remind him I was twenty-four, not a child, but he cut me off.
“Arylin died because she was too soft, and you have that same weakness.”
My teeth ground together as he uttered the all-too-familiar accusation.
I wanted to scream, to protest that I killed her.
Me. Not her softness. But my chest constricted, refusing to let me speak—because in a way, he was right.
Mother died because she wanted to help me overcome my poor control of my abilities.
Her weakness—as Father loved to point out—was that she cared too much.
I clamped my jaw shut and lowered my head in submission.
“Trust me, son.” Father’s voice dipped, quieter now. “You need to adopt a ruthless mindset, or you won’t survive.”
Surprised by the shift in his tone, I met his gaze. Something rare flickered behind the steely darkness. Concern?
All frustration drained from me. Father was harsh, yes, but he meant well. He cared. And maybe he had a point.
To survive in this world, I had to embrace my ruthlessness.