Episode 153
The Perfect Trap
Father’s laugh reaches Cerian’s ears before the knock sounds on the door, and Cerian helps Arisanna climb off his lap.
They finished eating a while ago and have just been talking ever since.
Well, it’s been mostly talking.
“Come in,” Cerian calls as they move to the front room, and Father steps inside.
“Planning to stay for a while?” Father asks as he takes in the small room.
Cerian shrugs. “Rafelis thought it was a good idea.”
Father runs his hand along the decorative touches on the table and shakes his head. “You and your mother both. You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
“How is she?” Cerian asks.
“Better after sleeping. Thank you for that, Cer. She needed it.”
Cerian nods as he looks down at his feet. Arisanna rests a hand on his back, and the touch steadies him, as always.
“Speaking of your mother, that’s why I’m here. She’s discussing the rebel situation with Corivos and Rafelis, and she wants you there.”
“What?”
“You wanted her to take you seriously, Cerian. This is what that looks like.”
“Can I take back everything I said earlier?”
Father chuckles. “I’m afraid not.”
With a sigh, Cerian nods.
Arisanna slips her hand into his, and they follow Father back to the stone shelter. Lanterns and orb lights dot the exterior as twilight settles around them. Father must have created the lights. Few fire wielders can manage it. None outside their family that Cerian has ever met.
They slip inside the stone shelter, where even more lights illuminate the edges of the room in addition to the central hearth.
“We combed this entire area.” Rafelis circles his finger over a map on a small table. “We saw no evidence of any rebel activity. But if Werithen and Fenoral stumbled on Tharios by accident, it’s possible their plan was to lie low for now.”
“Attacking the Crown Prince of Lostariel is hardly lying low,” Mother says.
“No, but I doubt that was their plan,” Rafelis continues.
“He’s right, Nestraya,” Corivos says. “If they mean to form a rebellion, they need resources. Time. This is the first hint we’ve had in decades that something is happening. Only a fool would go up against you and Lorial with a handful of companions and no plan.”
“Only a fool would go up against you at all,” Rafelis mutters.
Mother looks up. “Cerian. Come closer so you can be part of this.”
“I really don’t—”
Father gently shoves him forward, and he swallows his protests.
“You know the woods better than anyone,” Mother says. “Is there anywhere Fenoral might be hiding that we haven’t thought of?”
Everyone looks at him, and his tongue grows thick in his mouth.
It’s just his family. And Corivos and Rafelis.
He doesn’t need to be nervous.
If only it were that easy.
He looks at the map on the table and forces the words out. “Where did they encounter Tharios?”
“Here.” Mother points. “Perhaps an hour outside Feressa.”
“So, where did they come from?” Cerian asks. “And in which direction were they heading?”
“That is a good question,” Father says. “One Tharios might have some insight on. Viala didn’t mention which way they came from nor which direction they ran when they left.”
“Didn’t you comb the area?” Rafelis asks.
“We did,” Mother says. “Other than their deceased companion and the upheaval in the clearing, we found no evidence they were even there.”
“They covered their tracks,” Cerian whispers. “Is Fenoral a plant wielder?”
“No,” Mother says. “A water wielder, in addition to his destruction magic.”
“So it wasn’t him.”
“He’s likely traveling with a plant wielder, though,” Rafelis says. “That’s helpful information.”
“Viala mentioned a soil wielder,” Father says, “which Werithen was. But it’s possible Fenoral’s other companion is a soil and plant wielder. The perfect combination to move undetected through the woods.”
“Tharios likely knows, but that narrows things down if true,” Mother says before looking at Corivos. “Does that combination of affinities bring anyone in particular to mind?”
“It’s not a rare combination, but if this is one of the rebels that remained unaccounted for after the war, that leaves only one possibility. Sarizon.”
“If it is Sarizon, it’s safe to say Fenoral is the leader here,” Mother says. “Sarizon never had a thought of his own that I witnessed in the warrior bands.”
“Agreed,” Father says. “But he comes from a powerful family.”
Cerian listens quietly. Perhaps Mother forgot she asked him a question. He sure isn’t planning to remind her.
“I want to hear your thoughts, Cerian,” Rafelis says. “You asked where they came from. What are you thinking?”
So much for being forgotten. He clears his throat. “I was wondering if they’ve been living in Lostariel or Nunia. There are places near the attack site on this side of the border that might shelter someone in an emergency or during a hunting expedition, but not for decades undetected.”
“Another good question,” Father says. “The barrier may have isolated them outside Lostariel. In which case, they likely have no army of rebels awaiting their call to action.”
“Why not go around it?” Mother asks. “Lostariel wasn’t cut off from the rest of the world. Just the border with Nunia.”
“It’s a long border,” Rafelis says.
“Elves are patient,” Arisanna says.
Cerian turns to her, along with everyone else.
“From my human perspective, I mean,” she adds. “Thirty years is half a lifetime for us. But for you...” She shrugs.
“What if it had nothing to do with the barrier?” Corivos says.
“Perhaps they merely bided their time until so many years had passed that we let our guard down. If they hadn’t encountered Tharios by random chance, they might not have revealed themselves at all.
They could have quietly seeded another rebellion without our knowledge. ”
“So why did they attack Tharios instead of continuing on their way?” Father asks.
“If I had to venture a guess?” Rafelis says. “Put yourselves in their places. Werithen was a master tracker. He would have sensed Tharios’s air magic easily. It’s almost as strong as yours, Lorial.”
Mother turns to Father. “If he thought Tharios was you—”
“They would have approached to investigate,” Rafelis says. “I would have. But it should have quickly become clear that Tharios is your son and not you.”
“Because of his other affinities?” Father asks.
Rafelis tilts his head from side to side.
“How do I put this? Take your strongest magic that drowns out everything else. Your air magic, Lorial, and Nestraya, your life magic. And mash it together. It’s unmistakable.
Your magic combined is a beacon to every strong life wielder you encounter.
I can almost taste it just being in the same room as you.
That salty sweetness weaving together wherever you go.
That’s how Tharios feels to a powerful enough life wielder all the time.
He feels like both of you together. And to an elf like Werithen? ”
“Tharios would be an abomination,” Mother whispers. “Half high born. Half low born. Our magic, twining together in him forever.”
“Exactly,” Rafelis says. “And they probably thought he was trysting with a human, which would just make it worse in their eyes. They view low-born elves as expendable. Imagine how they feel about humans—about bloodlines mixing. And I can’t tell the difference between Viala and Arisanna with my life magic. ”
“Neither can I.” Mother sighs.
Cerian tightens his hold on Arisanna’s hand.
“An emotional response,” Corivos says. “It often trumps everything else.”
“Indeed,” Father says. “A Westarian prince, part me, part Nestraya, wrapped up with what they thought was a human. It’s as if we laid the perfect trap to draw out their anger and make them show themselves.”
That’s terrifying.
Cerian looks between his parents. “I’m yours, too. And Arisanna really is human.”
“So is Rominy,” Arisanna whispers.
“Yes,” Father says. “But we’re aware of them now, and they know it. I don’t want you to live in fear because of this. Stay close and stay safe, but don’t let them make you feel like you need to hide, or they’ve already won half the battle.”
Cerian nods.
His parents have been telling him that his entire life.
“Most likely, we won’t hear from Fenoral again until he’s had time to regroup,” Corivos says. “It could be tomorrow or a decade from now.”
“And if he’s looking for support, it won’t be in Darlei,” Mother says.
“No.” Father slips his arm around Mother’s shoulders as Cerian’s eyes drift northwest on the map to the very heart of the Wildthorne Woods.
Celesta.
The ancestral home of every high-born family in Lostariel.
Every family, save one.
“Is Rominy safe?” Arisanna whispers, and Cerian pulls her closer.
“If he stays at Windhaven, he should be,” Rafelis says. “He was there when I left Tharios and Viala.”
Arisanna nods.
No one says what they’re all thinking.
It isn’t Rominy they need to worry about leaving Windhaven.
It’s Elowyn.