Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Council Tower feels even larger today. Only five of us currently inhabit the room, including Leesa. She sits quietly in the corner, thumbing through a leather-bound tome.
Our circular table dominates the center of the space, the polished wood reflecting the morning light that streams through the eastern windows. Fires crackle in the twin hearths, warding off the chill. Scattered papers and maps serve as reminders of yesterday’s meetings and today’s agenda.
Sterling lounges in a chair on the other side of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads a letter. His long, elegant fingers tap a silent rhythm against the paper. Normally, Rivlan would have whisked him away by now for more training, but today the god is absent.
A rare gift I intend to savor.
A week has passed since Rivlan began Sterling’s training, and my fiancé has changed. That subtly healthy glow he attained after his first session became permanent, and a preternatural steadiness now guides his motions. Strength radiates from him like heat from a sun-warmed stone.
I love him this way, confident and whole, even while loathing the reason behind the alterations.
Rafe has positioned himself near the windows, his tall figure silhouetted in the sunlight. Agnar slouches in a chair to my right, his boots propped on the table. I shoot him a dark look, gesturing at the stacks of papers he’s mangling together.
He grins, unrepentant, but drops his feet to the floor. “These stone-dry reports suck every drop of moisture from my body.” Agnar grabs his flask, but when he tries to lift it, nothing happens. “What the…?”
Slowly, water rises from the container without splashing or spilling, instead forming a perfect shimmering sphere that hovers just beyond Agnar’s grasp.
I sneak a peek at Sterling, whose eyes remain fixed on his papers. The corner of his mouth twitches.
Agnar heaves a loud sigh and reaches for the floating orb. “Really? Is this necessary?”
The sphere drifts higher, away from his fingertips. Cursing, Agnar leaps and misses. A snicker escapes me.
There’s something endlessly entertaining about two grown men, one a fierce soldier, the other the soon-to-be king, behaving like boys at the breakfast table.
“Very mature.” Agnar crosses his arms. “What are you, twelve?”
Sterling maintains his facade of studious indifference.
The ball of liquid bursts into tiny droplets, each one catching the sunlight. The golden sparks rearrange themselves, spelling out a single word in mid-air.
Y-E-S
I laugh outright. Even Rafe’s perpetual scowl cracks, and a reluctant smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
Agnar thrusts his hands up in defeat. “Fine. Enjoy your immature parlor tricks. Just remember this when we practice earth barriers later.” His volume lowers to a threatening whisper. “I make no promises about how soft the landing will be.”
The droplets swirl together, creating a tiny detailed figure who bows apologetically before dissolving and splashing back into Agnar’s flask.
Not a drop hits the table.
Agnar rolls his eyes. “Show off.” He shoots the flask a suspicious glance before taking a long drink, but his expression holds more affection than annoyance.
Sterling winks at me, causing my heart to perform that same stupid flippy thing he always evokes. My cheeks warm.
Queens shouldn’t blush over winks, but here we are.
The door opens. Glancing up from her book, Leesa slides into a seat closer to me while the remaining council members file inside. Bron and Dalya are deep in conversation, blond head pressed close to magenta. Fenton Wick follows, Nina trailing behind him and laughing over something he’s said.
Duchess Breann is the last one to arrive. She ushers in two servants with trays full of tea and wine.
Rafe clears his throat. “Your Majesty, Your Highness, members of the council. I have something unusual to report.” He pauses for effect. “Nothing. Nothing at all has happened.”
A confused silence settles over the room.
My ears thrum in the sudden quiet. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, no disasters. No emergencies. No weird magical occurrences.” Rafe ticks items off on his fingers.
“No shifting geography. No temple attacks. No harpies luring sailors to their doom. No animated statues rampaging through villages. No hungry trees.” His expression appears bewildered.
“Nothing. It’s been completely, utterly peaceful. ”
The statement’s significance begins to sink in.
For months, we’ve catapulted from one catastrophe to another, the magical disturbances growing more frequent and dangerous. Lately, I’ve been double-checking with all the couriers, worrying we’ve missed reports of some awful new horror.
Nira toys with the silky sleeve of her stylish teal gown. “I have to admit that this sudden calm almost feels suspicious.”
“I know. I felt the same way. But it’s real. Nothing has happened.” Rafe’s shoulders drop about an inch. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. A corner of his mouth lifts.
Agnar gasps dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest. “Did you…just smile? During a meeting, no less? Clearly the apocalypse is nigh.”
The creases around Rafe’s eyes deepen. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
Sterling leans forward, resting his forearms on the table.
“This is exactly what Rivlan promised. According to the covenant, once a champion is named, all parties are bound to settle their dispute through the Champions Match. The fighting stops. That’s why there’s no more,” he waves a hand, “weird stuff happening.”
“Well, that’s great.” Agnar’s voice drips with fake enthusiasm. “So the future of the entire world rests on how well you fight your opponent in a magical death match. Gee, I feel so much better now.”
My stomach clenches at the words “death match.” I’ve tried not to obsess over what the Champions Match will entail, but the reality of the looming event sits like a stone in my gut.
Sterling might die.
The thought sours the few sips of wine in my stomach.
Dalya drums her fingers on the table. “Any word on who you’ll be fighting?”
I set my cup down. “We’ve been compiling information on the most powerful warriors across the kingdoms.”
Breann tops off her cup of tea and holds up the pot to ask if anyone needs a refill with a grandmotherly smile on her face.
“The logical opponent would be a strong magic user. Though with magic still mostly stripped away from all but us here in Tirene, the opponent’s patron god would probably need to restore their power. ”
Fenton studies the map. “Tír Ríoga has some formidable warriors.”
“The Devoted have been gathering powerful individuals too.” Rafe’s customary scowl returns with a vengeance. “They could have recruited someone we don’t know about.”
Agnar shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “What about the Guardian?”
The festive mood evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun. Sterling’s expression remains unchanged, but tension creeps into the set of his shoulders.
My heart stutters over the memory of that towering figure.
“He’s a guardian, too, right? I mean, he calls himself the Guardian.
” Agnar glowers at the table. “Half-god, half-mortal, utterly loyal to Zeru. Deadly with every weapon known to mankind. Been training for centuries. Blah blah blah. It would make sense for him to serve as Zeru’s champion.
Rivlan even told you he’d be the logical choice. ”
Dalya releases a low whistle. “If that’s the case, then you need to train harder.”
“She’s right.” I wring my hands together while addressing Sterling. “I know you train every day with a god, but…”
Sterling reaches across the table, unlocking my hands so he can link his fingers with mine. “You offering to train with me?”
Before I can answer, a courier enters with a sealed message. “From Tír Ríoga, Your Majesty. Their response to your diplomatic inquiry. You asked for it to be sent to you immediately.”
I break the seal and scan the contents. My heart sinks with each line. “Tír Ríoga is forming an alliance with Kamor. They say Tirene is not invited to join.” I pass the missive to Sterling, who reads the correspondence with a deepening frown.
Dalya remains stone-faced but shoots a glance at Fenton, who simply closes his eyes and shakes his head.
Agnar attempts to read over Sterling’s shoulder. “Have they been infiltrated by the Devoted?”
Sterling holds the letter up to give Agnar easier access. “They’ve somehow come to the conclusion that we destroyed magic deliberately to make them dependent on Tirene for resources. They’re pulling away from us politically and economically.”
Rafe gasps as if suffering an apoplexy before scribbling furious notes. This is not good news for the guilds he heads.
“Why don’t we just tell them the truth?” Agnar thumps Sterling on the shoulder. “Let them know that you plan on returning magic to the world after the Champions Match. That should shut them up.”
Bron leans forward, his eyes bright and eager. “Yes! And then—”
Sterling shakes his head. “Rivlan wants to keep the match private. At least for now.”
“Why?” I still don’t understand the need for secrecy. “Shouldn’t people have hope?”
“He says he doesn’t want me distracted, especially with the fame it would bring.” Sterling throws the letter on the table, resentment thick in his every action.
Leesa snatches up the message and glares. “When will be the right time?”
Sterling shrugs. “I assume once the other champion is named.”
Agnar rubs his jaw. “In the meantime, the other kingdoms continue to believe Tirene stole their magic on purpose.”
The council room fills with overlapping voices. Suggestions and counter-suggestions fly across the table.
Sterling remains quiet, studying the others with a thoughtful expression until they run out of steam. “Then let’s prove them wrong.”
The room falls silent, and all eyes turn to him.
Bron sighs. The young duke appears weary and much older than his twentysomething years. “How?”
Silent communication passes between Sterling and me before Sterling replies. “By saving them anyway.”
The simplicity of his statement strikes me like a punch in the gut. Of course. We don’t need their trust or their alliance. We just need to do what’s right.
Pride swells in my chest. This is why I love him. Not merely for his admittedly impressive physique, or his quiet confidence, or the way his eyes soften when they meet mine, but for moments like these, when his moral compass points true north despite aggravating and potentially dire circumstances.
“Knox is right.” I sit up straighter, the phantom weight of the crown heavy on my head. “If Tír Ríoga and Kamor don’t want to be our allies, fine. But our actions still affect them, so we’ll help them whether they like it or not.”
Agnar grins. “I do enjoy a plan that involves being aggressively helpful.”
“And if they still hate us after we save them?” Rafe asks.
I shrug with more lightness than I’ve experienced in days. “Then at least our consciences will be clear.”
Sterling catches my eye again and winks. Not a flirtatious gesture for once, but a conspiratorial one, signaling that, whatever comes next, we’re in this together.