Chapter 8 Rhianelle #2
I let them talk and work through the logistics.
The meeting stretches on for hours. We trace evacuation routes across the map, establish supply lines and identify defensive positions that might buy us time, if not victory.
Arguments break out over whether we should abandon the borders or continue holding them, and whether our forces will be safer concentrated around the capital or scattered across the kingdom.
Every strategy feels futile, as if we’re rearranging furniture in a burning house. But we keep planning anyway. It is late afternoon when we finally break. The commanders and Aldarelfs file out in small groups, their faces grim.
Arescaine remains against the wall, silent as a ghost.
Rainer approaches me as the room empties. “That went better than I expected.”
I look at my uncle incredulously. “Half the council thinks we’re doomed.”
“But they’re still fighting.” Rainer squeezes my shoulder. “That’s what matters. You gave them the worst news possible and they didn’t break.”
Something warm moves through my chest. Pride rises through the fear lodged inside me. My people are frightened, but they are still standing. They have endured invasion by wyverns and the destruction of their capital, yet their first response is still to find a way to protect one another.
“We can’t return to Volundr tonight,” Rainer says, glancing toward the gaps in the damaged wall.
I follow his gaze. The sun hangs low above the ruined capital, painting the broken stone in shades of orange and gold. Our noctral mounts cannot travel fast after sunset. Darkness will fall before we can prepare for the journey.
“We’ll have to remain in the capital tonight,” I say.
“Shade and I have some business to attend to this evening. We are meeting with the local lords about the rebuilding efforts. Will you be all right on your own?” He looks at me carefully, waiting.
Lady Deirdre hasn’t come. She stayed in Volundr with my handmaidens, Tallulla and Lenna.
Blaire is trying to contact her husband, the Orc Prince Vayne, hoping he can convince his brother, King Mavren, not to join the Fae King’s assault.
My knights were called back to Volundr by an unexpected security matter shortly before the council began.
Only Cedwyn Niemroht accompanied me, but as my scribe, he has spent most of the day carrying messages and recording reports for the regional lords.
I will be alone.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
Rainer doesn’t look convinced. “Shade will assign two Grimsbane to guard your chambers tonight.”
“Go. Do what you need to do. I only need some rest.” I give him a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Uncle.”
The smile is not entirely false, but I already know that two Grimsbane will not keep me confined to my room. I learned how to slip past far worse things in Astefar.
He nods reluctantly and leaves with Shade, who materializes from wherever he’s been lurking.
I stand alone in the council chamber, staring at the maps and markers from our plans.
Arescaine’s presence behind me feels like a weight. A shadow I can’t shake.
“You can go too,” I say without turning around.
His voice comes from the darkness, low and smooth. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
Footsteps cross the chamber behind me. The door opens and closes with a quiet click.
I am finally, blessedly alone.
I stay there for a long time, studying the map as if it might reveal some answer I’ve missed. But there is nothing. Perhaps a miracle might save us all.
Eventually, I force myself to leave.
I slip out of the palace as evening settles over the ruined capital. As promised, two Grimsbanes wait outside the chambers assigned to me. They are excellent guards, alert and positioned so that no ordinary person could leave without being seen.
But Astefar taught me not to move like an ordinary person.
I wait until a passing servant draws one guard’s attention, then move with the silence Astefar carved into me. My steps make no sound against the stone. I remain close to the walls, passing through the edges of their vision before slipping down a narrow servants’ staircase. Neither Grimsbane turns.
I reach the lower corridor and nearly collide with Cedwyn as he rounds the corner carrying a stack of sealed correspondence.
He stops abruptly. “Your Highness.”
“Cedwyn.” I glance at the letters in his hands. “Were you able to send our appeals to the dwarven lords and King Mavren?”
His expression tightens. “Yes. The replies arrived this afternoon.”
Something in his voice tells me the answer before he speaks it.
“The dwarven lords have all pledged themselves to the Fae King,” he says.
“They have not forgotten the centuries of war with Aelfheim, nor the famines that followed when elven rulers cut off supply through the mountain passes. Many still blame our kingdom for the near destruction of their people during the Age of Conquest. King Mavren of Myrkheim has not changed his position either.”
My heart sinks. “And the demon lords?”
“Kheirall, Balthazar and Ragnar have sided with Avalon as well.”
For a moment, I can only stare at him. Every name closes another door. Every alliance strengthens the army gathering against my people.
“I see.”
Cedwyn shifts the letters beneath one arm. “There is still hope, Your Highness.”
I look at him.
“Our Maiden of Arawynn may yet convince the third prince of Myrkheim to stand with you,” he says. “And I have sent your appeal to the independent Orkan tribes. They have not answered, but they have not refused us either.”
“Thank you, Cedwyn. You have done well.”
He bows his head. “I believe in you, Your Highness.”
The certainty in his voice surprises me.
I used to feel uneasy around him, though I could never explain why.
Lately, that unease has begun to fade. He has been diligent, respectful and tireless in his duties as my scribe.
Perhaps offering him a place outside the knighthood was the right choice after all.
Only when he steps closer to pass me one of the letters do I notice how poorly he looks. His skin is pale, with shadows beneath his eyes, and his uniform hangs more loosely from his frame than it did a few weeks ago.
“Are you unwell?” I ask.
“Only tired.” His smile is quick and unconvincing. “The war has not allowed any of us much rest.”
I understand that too well. “Then finish what must be done and sleep.”
“I will.”
We part at the end of the corridor. Cedwyn returns to his work, and I continue toward the palace doors.
The ruined capital looks different at dusk.
During the day, the destruction is stark and brutal.
Blackened stone, collapsed buildings and the ugly scars of war lie exposed beneath the sunlight.
At dusk, golden light settles over the broken walls and softens their harsh edges.
Orange and purple streak the sky while shadows gather in the empty streets.
Birds have begun returning, building nests inside the hollow shells of ruined homes.
Life persists among the ruins.
I walk without direction, my feet finding quiet paths through the debris. My bad leg aches, but I ignore it. The physical pain is easier to deal with than the weight in my chest.
Five seconds. That’s all it would take to erase Aelfheim and turn my home, my people, everything I love into dust and glass.
I have no way to stop it.
I turn down a narrow street where wildflowers have started pushing through cracks in the cobblestones. Spring has come despite the war and the death.
Something catches my eye, and I stop.
A single flower grows from a pile of rubble that was once someone’s home. The petals are delicate and white, tinged with pink at the edges. It sways slightly in the evening breeze.
I kneel beside it, careful not to disturb the surrounding debris.
It is just a flower. One small, stubborn bloom that has forced its way through ash and destruction to reach the light.
But looking at it, I feel something stirring in my chest.
I smile for the first time since learning about the Fae King’s weapon.
“We’ll survive,” I whisper to the flower, to myself and to the ruined city around me. “Somehow, we’ll survive.”
The flower sways in response, indifferent to my words.
I stay there for a long moment, kneeling in the rubble, feeling the evening breeze on my face.
A faint scrape of stone reaches me from somewhere behind the collapsed wall.
My head snaps up, my instincts moving faster than thought.
It is Arescaine.
The vampire walks through the ruins alone. He hasn’t seen me. I am hidden in the shadow of a collapsed wall, and my stillness makes me nearly invisible.
Where is he going?
I watch as he passes my hiding spot, heading deeper into the ruined district. He is moving away from anywhere people might be.
Suspicion flares in my chest.
What is a vampire doing wandering alone through a destroyed city at dusk? What business could he possibly have out here?
I should go back to the palace and mind my own business.
Instead, I stand and follow him.