Chapter 25 #2
Military meetings with Elitium weren't normal. His fists clenched as the thought that Kyller might be in danger seized his mind.
“Find out yourself, boy. I'm not your babysitter.”
Zion felt the presence recede and sighed with relief, sealing the window in his shield. Then he marched out of the bathroom, certain it was going to be a difficult night.
Δ
Exactly one hour later, he materialized at the entrance of the royal palace.
As custom dictated, Zion was expected to enter the king's tower on foot.
He tied his hair in a bun while the guards opened the palace's double doors with ceremony, as if the general visiting the king were a special occasion.
The moment she saw him, Sirena, the royal secretary, rose to guide him to the throne, but Zion simply pointed at her desk, signaling for her to stay seated.
“That's not necessary.”
The woman devoured him with her gaze, and the general felt the urge to tear out her disgusting eyes so she'd never dare look at anyone that way again. Shadow tendrils bristled on his shoulders like a startled cat, and if they could make a sound, they'd be hissing.
Sirena was a gorgon, but her race wasn't what bothered him—he'd always gotten along well with gorgons in the army.
The problem was that Sirena had no concept of boundaries, and the king simply found all the chaos she caused amusing.
He kept her here not just as an advisor, but also to contain threats.
“I must accompany you, dear. King's orders.”
She smiled, approaching like a snake about to strike.
Her skin was pale, and her blonde hair—like stalks of wheat—fell to her hips, marking her, by the matriarchs' hierarchy, as a powerful and untouched medusa.
Her locks were thick, shiny, and voluminous in a way that mesmerized.
But no one was fooled by the beauty. Like her teeth, the hair was dangerous.
When a gorgon lost control of her hunger, the strands transformed into serpents, and the longer they were, the greater their attack range—their bites released paralyzing venom.
This one wore a red dress that clung to her perfectly sculpted body, and her walk might have been considered attractive, if not for the hunger in her eyes.
Zion didn't like the woman, and his skin crawled involuntarily whenever he was near the leech.
Years ago, she'd done something that left them both paralyzed.
He pressed the elevator button and the doors opened.
“I’ll tell him it’s not your fault you couldn’t come with me.”
When Sirena kept coming toward him, Zion commanded the shadows to seize her ankles. She stumbled when her feet tried to move but couldn’t. It wouldn’t last long, but it was enough for him to get away—as long as she didn’t transform. If that happened, the shadows would be useless.
“Running from me? Still afraid, General?” she hissed at Zion as he stepped into the elevator and regarded her with indifference. Not disgust, not contempt—just indifference.
He stood motionless, watching Sirena struggle to keep her balance with her feet pinned to the floor. But gradually, as always, she managed to break free.
“I still smell your urine every time I step into this elevator, and I’m the one who’s afraid?” Zion retorted, his expression blank. The doors closed slowly, and she couldn’t reach him in time. As the elevator rose, he finally let his posture relax.
Sirena wasn’t just a receptionist—she was also the king’s mistress, which meant he always had to be careful around her. The shadows couldn’t stop her, and the only way to keep her at bay was to fight. Letting it come to that would be shooting himself in the foot.
On the way up, he organized his thoughts, burying anything that might cause problems with the king.
Then he projected an illusion of his psyche outside his mental shield.
If the king entered his mind, he’d find something close to reality—but stripped of secrets.
Maintaining that second consciousness was exhausting, but he was used to it by now.
Serguei wasn’t the best man in the world, but he was definitely the best psychic.
On the fiftieth floor, the doors opened and another escort of guards waited to take him to the antechamber outside the throne room.
The interim Interian general stood before the two enormous golden doors that led to the king.
He was still dirty from the journey, wearing the black and green military uniform, his posture so rigidly straight it looked uncomfortable.
Cauê had been the class trainer before they’d swapped positions for the duration of Zion’s leave.
Zion stopped beside him and adopted the same posture, since the king apparently liked his subjects uncomfortable in his presence. Power had always been his greatest obsession, which was why the general always made sure to appear submissive around him.
“My respects, General,” Cauê said beside him, offering a slight salute.
“You know you don’t need to do that. You’re the general here.”
“Only provisionally, gods willing.”
Zion glanced at the man: deep dark circles under his eyes, hair greasy and disheveled.
“It’ll get better. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”
The man stiffened, his face twisting into a grimace of distaste.
“No, Zion. I don’t want to get the hang of it. This is... madness. What you do is madness—commanding ten squadrons through territory crawling with lamias and Drutes is inconceivable, at the very least. I don’t know how you stand it.”
Though the man stood motionless, rigid as stone, his eyes and the way he gripped his hands to keep them still told a different story. The interim general was clearly rattled.
“The secret is delegating well among the squadron captains. Talk to my second-in-command—she can help you with that. Kaori knows who to trust, and she’s good at giving orders.” Zion knew how hard it was to manage ten squadrons at once. Without help, it was nearly impossible.
Cauê looked at him and sighed heavily.
“Your second-in-command hates me.” He looked defeated. “Since she laid eyes on me, she’s made my life a living hell. She’s great at giving orders, especially to me.”
Zion smiled at the thought. Kaori, besides being his second-in-command, was also a gorgon who led the gorgon soldiers in the army.
By rights, she should have been interim general, but the king refused—he didn’t like the idea of a woman, much less a gorgon, leading his armies.
To Zion’s displeasure, he’d put Cauê in the position instead.
Still, everyone knew Kaori was the one who really called the shots.
She’d always had a difficult temperament, didn’t get along with authority figures, and was prone to arguments—especially when she was hungry. The problem was, she was always hungry.
“Win her over and things will get better,” Zion said finally, and it was the honest truth. Kaori was extraordinary when properly motivated.
The generals heard a sound from the other side of the door and straightened even more.
Soon the door swung open, revealing a vast room awash in the richest shades of green and gold.
The only exception was the royal red carpet that stretched up to the throne.
The walls were made of golden, gleaming solar stone, and around the room, tall arched windows of magically reinforced glass let in an icy breeze.
During the day, those windows filled the space with light and air, as if the sun itself wanted in—but since it was nearly eleven at night, only darkness pressed against the glass.
The throne sat atop three steps, and there the king of Interion lounged upon it.
As a child, Zion had thought Elitium resembled a dragon perched in his castle of gold.
He still held the same opinion. The king’s hands rested casually on the cushioned armrests, his eyes radiating pride and power.
He wore no majestic robes, no tunics or jewels—he dressed exactly like any other soldier.
The only exception was the thin golden crown set with green sapphires resting on his short hair.
Four cushioned chairs surrounded the king.
In the two on the left sat his newest pillars: Koduz, a powerful electrokinetic with dark skin and Vinturian features, and Zafira, one of the few force field elementals in existence.
On the other side, one chair stood empty, as it had for the last two hundred years.
Beside it sat Serguei in his usual gray suit, looking bored.
Zion approached the throne and gave the king a slight bow. Cauê followed suit, though his bow was deeper and lingered longer.
“It's always a pleasure to speak with Your Grace,” Cauê said warmly. The king looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Stop with the formalities, skip the ceremony, and get straight to the reports. Isn't that what we're here for?”
Elitium, unlike other kings, didn't like being fawned over. Zion had understood this early on, keeping all their meetings quick and to the point.
Intimidated, Cauê cleared his throat and began to speak:
“No battles or Drutes squads have been spotted in recent months, and we found only one breeding camp.” Cauê opened the bag at his side and pulled out the reports, handing them to the king's servant standing near the throne.
“Our only trouble was a lamia nest—two low-ranking soldiers were killed in that incident. We also lost one soldier to a wild animal attack.”
Elitium had become a paranoid king after Red Day, when his brother Elaizer was assassinated. He maintained a safe distance of ten meters from anyone who entered, except for his four pillars—or rather, his three pillars, since he had killed Lea.
His gift was among the rarest, which was why the crown still belonged to his family. He descended from the mimetic bloodlines—fae whose gift allowed them to borrow the abilities of anyone within a ten-meter radius.