Chapter 30 Regent
REGENT
Twilight settled over Astral City, painting the smoke-filled sky in somber shades of purple and deep crimson.
Lark unclipped the brismil scale from her harness and put the spent Yogo Sapphires she’d been using to heal herself on the nightstand.
She walked to the window looking out from the highest tower of Vermillion Keep and peered out to survey the aftermath of Flashover and the fighting that took place afterward.
Lanterns glowed throughout the lower districts as rescue teams searched for survivors among the ruins.
Healers moved between makeshift field hospitals, tending to the wounded without regard for which side they had fought on.
And somewhere beyond the city walls, the Nordraven army continued their long retreat north.
The copper crown of Skol rested on a stone parapet beside her, catching the last rays of the setting sun. Nix flitted around it, studying it as though it were a discovery to be admired. Lark knew well enough the weight it bore.
“Are you going to put it on?” Nix asked, tucking her hands behind her back, looking up with a slight pouty face, and twisting back and forth.
“No,” Lark said. “That decision will have to wait for calmer days.”
“The casualty reports are in,” Venrick said, stepping onto the tower balcony to join her.
His armor was gone, replaced by simple clothing.
Lark noted the marks the corruption left traced on his skin, dark lines flecked with silver starlight acting as a permanent reminder of what they had endured.
“Over eight hundred soldiers dead, twice that wounded. Civilian casualties are still being assessed, but lower than feared, thanks to Cheyanne’s evacuation efforts. ”
“How many were Cheyanne’s rebels and how many were defending the Keep?” Lark asked, though the question tasted bitter on her lips. Those who had fallen on both sides of this fight were still people, regardless of which banner they served.
“Nearly an even split,” Venrick replied. “It was difficult to tell in some cases if they were caused by the fighting or by the destruction from the Flashover.”
Lark nodded, accepting the ugly arithmetic of war. “And our friends?”
“Hardin and Sasja are resting, though I’m not sure how much sleep they’re actually getting.” A faint smile touched Venrick’s lips.
“That means Quin isn’t getting any rest either, unless she put quite a bit of practice into blocking out the human emotions you send down the bond,” Nix said.
Lark chuckled. “What are you talking about?”
“You know,” Nix said with a wink.
“As a bonded rider, you’re never truly alone,” Venrick said.
“Any update from Cheyanne?” Lark asked.
“They’re helping out as best they can, though tensions are still running hot in some districts. Many are still blaming her for bringing on the destruction in the city. Most can see it for what it was, though, what we did to save us all.”
“What about Ezra?” Nix asked, taking her attention away from the crown for a moment.
“Ezra is using his caravan to help move refugees back into the city to rebuild. And Yarla has been tasked to lead a group of elite elves to track down those among the Magi Order who escaped into the Everburning Forest.”
“Including Hierro?” she asked.
“Yes, I never saw him after your fight with Greggor. He must’ve seen how things were going and disappeared into the crowd.”
“He won’t remain hidden for long. He’ll find another King to manipulate or a way to bring Barrik back,” Lark said.
“That man is a cockroach,” Venrick said. “I wish we’d cornered him during the fight.”
“Something terrible will catch up with him if we don’t first,” Lark said.
“Cheyanne’s been coordinating with the city council, ensuring the displaced civilians are housed and fed,” Venrick continued. “And did you know White Eye is supervising the young dragonriders from a courtyard below?”
“Yes, it seems he’s taken on a mentoring role for those whose original trainers fell in battle,” she replied.
The thought of her dragon guiding younger riders brought a small smile to Lark’s face.
White Eye had always possessed wisdom beyond what most attributed to dragons, a connection to ancient knowledge that had only deepened since the binding ritual.
“King Agadorn is somewhat improved.” Venrick moved to stand beside her at the parapet, his shoulder brushing hers in silent support. “The healers say the Void Drinker’s possession shattered something in his mind, but fragments are beginning to reconnect. He recognized General Laurence today.”
“Who?” Lark asked.
“He was the General of the Legion the King recalled from the eastern front with Nordraven. Had you not stopped the battle from breaking out, his army would’ve arrived to an overrun and condemned city.”
Lark’s gaze returned to the devastated city below. “The King will need to make some critical decisions soon. About succession, about the reconstruction.”
“Actually,” Venrick said, “he already has.”
Lark turned to him, questioning, unable to keep her heart from fluttering at the sight of his smiling face.
“That’s partly why I came to find you. The King has issued a royal decree, his first coherent command since we completed the binding ritual.
” Venrick hesitated, combing his hand through his hair as if uncertain how Lark would receive his next words.
“He’s appointed you as Regent of Lamar until his recovery is complete.
Full authority to act in his name. Since General Ashbrook seems to have fled and not returned from his mission to Storm Keep.
He based his decision upon learning what you did to stop the Void Drinker.
You’ve now got the backing of the King, the Vermillion Keep’s Paragons, and General Laurence’s forces. ”
“Lark, you’re Queen of Skol and Queen Regent of Lamar,” Nix said flying around Lark’s head as though searching for a crown she thought might appear.
“I’m not Queen,” Lark denied. “I’m a dragonrider. I did what anyone else in my position would do. We just need to figure out who all is still in Astral City and reassign leadership while we rebuild.”
Queen of Skol and Regent of Lamar, she echoed the thought, then shook to clear her head.
“Skol and Lamar need new leaders,” Venrick pointed out. “Without them, there will be a power grab that could undo all our effort to root out corruption.”
“It shouldn’t all fall to me. With the bonds I already have and my commitment to the fae, I can’t be the ruler of two Kingdoms. Dragonriders shouldn’t have that much power.
It goes against the laws the original twelve set into place.
I don’t even know if I would maintain my powers.
There could be spells that erode my bond if I took up these thrones. ”
“She’s right,” a new voice chimed in, drawing their attention across the room. “You’ve all probably heard me sing about the dangers of consolidated power dozens of times. Do you need me to remind you?” Hardin said, sliding a lute into his hands from around his shoulder.
Hardin leaned against the wall with the familiar lute in his grip while he smiled at them.
“Where did you find your old lute? I thought it was lost in the North, with Tel’s Wagon?” Venrick said.
“Sasja located it for me,” he said with a quirky grin.
“Hardin, you should be resting, really resting and not…” Lark smiled.
“I’ve gotten plenty of rest between ballads,” Hardin said with a wink as he joined them at the parapet.
“Besides, there’s work to be done. The binding ritual may have contained the Void Drinker for now, but its goal to control the magic produced in the Everburning Forest has not gone away.
Corruption still grows like a weed in the Kingdoms of Sataran, even without the Void Drinker’s influence. ”
A companionable silence fell among the three of them as they watched darkness settle over Astral City.
Lanterns flickered to life throughout the districts, pinpricks of hope amid the devastation.
In the courtyard below, White Eye and Quinthara rested side by side, their massive forms visible only as deeper shadows against the gathering night.
“So, what happens now?” Hardin finally asked, voicing the question that hung unspoken between them.
Lark’s hand drifted to the copper crown of Skol. “Reconstruction. Healing. For the city, for the kingdoms.” She hesitated. “And decisions about the future.”
“Your future,” Venrick clarified. “Regent of Lamar, heir to Skol, both kingdoms will look to you for leadership.”
The weight of those expectations pressed down on Lark, who momentarily felt overwhelmed.
Not so long ago, she had been Marcel Heartfell, Nordraven’s most feared dragonrider.
Then an amnesiac wanderer, trying to piece together her fractured identity.
Now this, at the center of a storm that would reshape the political landscape of Sataran itself.
“I never wanted this much power,” she said softly. “I only wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.”
“And now you’re in a position to do exactly that,” Nix pointed out, flitting to her side.
“But you can share the burden with those you trust,” Hardin said. “While I wasn’t born in Lamar or Nordraven, my Doranian upbringing has given me outside insight into what can happen when powerful people are given too much control.”
Before she could respond, the tower door opened again. Sasja joined them outside, her movements as fluid and precise as ever despite the bandage visible beneath her sleeve. The spy bowed slightly, though whether to Lark as Regent or out of simple habit was unclear.
“Forgive the interruption,” she said, her voice carrying its usual calm despite the urgency in her eyes. “But there are developments you should know about immediately.”
“More attacks?” Lark asked, instantly alert.
“No, quite the opposite. Yarla has sent a letter. She and her elves have discovered something. Reports of strange magical activity all across the Everburning Forest.”
“Effects of the Flashover?” Venrick asked.
“Perhaps.”
“It could be Hierro,” Venrick suggested. “Is the Archmagus gathering forces?”
“Not exactly,” Sasja said. “Yarla hasn’t encountered the Archmagus. Hierro did leave something behind in his chambers in the Vermillion Keep, however. It’s a message, carved into the wall.” She hesitated, uncharacteristic uncertainty crossing her features. “It’s addressed to you, specifically.”
“What does it say?” Venrick asked, his hand moving instinctively to where his sword would normally hang.
“Just three words: ‘He is returning.’”
The implications hung heavy in the evening air. There was only one “he” that could warrant such a cryptic warning now that the Void Drinker had been contained.
“Barrik,” Lark said through gritted teeth.
“Do we know how long we have?” Venrick asked.
“Impossible to say,” Sasja replied. “From what I’ve heard, the tear in reality Barrik used to escape was unstable, unpredictable. He could return tomorrow, or years from now.”
“Or never,” Hardin added, though his tone lacked conviction.
“No,” Lark said, certainty hardening her voice. “He’ll return. Barrik never leaves a plan unfinished, a goal unreached. The power he sought by allying with the rimeshade, by manipulating the kings, by orchestrating this war, he still wants it. And he’ll come back to claim it.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. An attendant entered, bowing deeply. “Regent Lark,” he said, the new title still awkward on his tongue. “The King’s Council requests your presence. They’ll be expecting you in tomorrow’s meeting.”
Lark glanced at her companions, then nodded to the attendant. “Tell them I’ll be there.”
When the attendant had gone, Lark turned back to face the view of Astral City, taking a moment to center herself before facing whatever new challenge awaited. The copper crown of Skol caught the last ray of sunset, gleaming like a promise, or a warning.
Venrick’s hand found hers, a faint pulse of energy coming from him that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat. “Whatever happens, I’m here, Lark. Always.”
Hardin strummed the lute, standing straighter. “Bards will sing of this day for generations,” he said, with a smile. “Though I may have to compose the songs myself to ensure they get the details right.”
Despite everything, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the looming threat of Barrik’s return, Lark found herself smiling.
She picked up the copper crown, feeling its weight one more time before tucking it away into a pouch to be delt with another time.
For now, she joined Venrick and headed for their room.