Chapter 53
Torin
The sound of squeaking carts bumping over the cobblestone road and the braying of donkeys mixed with the delighted squeals of children and the soft murmur of conversation as hundreds of refugees swarmed the outer edges of Vespera.
I stuck out immediately—my clean, sharply tailored jacket and pants a stark contrast to the worn and ill-fitting garments, boots with holes in the soles, and threadbare winter cloaks of the refugees.
Thank the gods I didn’t try to disguise myself as one of them. That never would have worked. My lips quirked slightly at Ellowyn’s aghast look when I told her that portion of my plan.
No, it was much better to enter as myself.
The crowd slowly maneuvered into five separate lines, each feeding to a pair of Mages that checked bags and papers.
Surprisingly, the line moved quickly, the Mages directing refugees to different places in the lower sector that had available housing and work.
I was unsurprised to hear that many of the refugees wanted to join Lord d’Refan’s army.
I stuck my hands in the pockets of my pants as I neared the front of the line.
“Name and location of origin,” a guard barked not unkindly.
“Torin d’Eshu, Lord of Iluul.” I spoke loudly enough for all ten of the guards stationed to hear me. As expected, their work halted at my declaration.
“What are you here for, Torin d’Eshu?” the guard with soft brown eyes asked, skepticism lacing every word. I gave his broad shoulder a friendly pat.
“I’m here to join the Academy. I hear you need every soldier you can get.”
The man grimaced as my grip tightened before he shrugged my hand off. He exchanged a quick look with a female Mage—her ebony-skinned, hulking Vessel glowered at me with mistrust—before she jerkily nodded her head.
“Follow me,” the guard sighed, gesturing for me to follow him further into the city.
We walked briskly through the stone-paved streets, bypassing the lower and middle districts, the scents of washing, sizzling meat, and tobacco thick in the air.
The cacophony of city life surrounded us, and I lost myself to the immersive music of merchants calling out their wares, children laughing as they played games in the streets, even the lust-filled voices of pleasure women as they called out to passing travelers.
I involuntarily relaxed—I was at home in the city.
Iluul, while a smaller southern port city, was still a city with the same sounds, the same smells, the same activities, just on a smaller scale.
As a boy, I played in the streets with kids my own age, even though we weren’t the same station in life.
My father always practiced what he preached, and we lived and worked with members of all walks of life.
As a result, I never had the same reaction to the lower sectors as my generally insufferable lordling peers.
It was one of the reasons why I was able to draw people to the rebellion so easily.
Distracted by the sights and scents of the city, I missed looking for possible additional entry points.
Fuck me. The whole point of this ruse was to gather intel and create a plan of attack, one that would not only allow us to rescue Ellowyn but eventually put a sizable dent in the crown’s military.
I glowered internally as the stone streets became wider and busier, full of carriages and horses. My guide seamlessly transferred from the street to a slightly elevated paved walkway that, like the street, was chock-full of people.
“Huh,” I huffed to myself, begrudgingly impressed at the engineering.
I caught the edge of the Mage’s thin mouth as it turned up into a half-smile.
“Pretty incredible, isn’t it,” he asked with no derision to be heard. I was slightly shocked that he held no animosity for an upstart southern lord. I swept my narrowed gaze over him again, trying to discern his angle.
He was shorter than me by a full hand and his hair was more grey than brown at this point in his life. Lines creased his face, both from laughter and worry; the sharpness of his intelligence was countered by an inherent softness, and the coupling was disarming.
I squinted hard at the shoulder of his black tunic, I could see the black stitching of a Pleasure Rune and a Mage Rune.
Pleasure Mage, then.
I tried to see if he was channeling now, forcing his Pleasure Magic on me in a bid to make me more affable and relaxed, but I couldn’t see or feel anything.
He reminded me in a roundabout way of our head butler back in Iluul; he was practically my second father and, if rumor was to be believed, was my father’s consort for many years until my father’s death a few years ago.
Immediately, and against my better judgement, I liked the Mage.
“It is,” I admitted as I shoved my hands in my pockets.
“I’ve been to your Iluul,” he said, slowing his stride so we could walk together. “It was beautiful in its own way with the sandstone structures and mosaic tiling. I’ve never seen such artistry.” The awe in his voice was unmistakable.
“It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. And not just because it’s my home.”
The Mage nodded knowingly.
“Something tells me you’ll like it here, though.
There’s something . . . magnetic about this city, about its people.
You can’t walk five feet without meeting someone from a completely different part of Elyria.
Each street is lined with vendors selling all sorts of food and wares.
It’s like getting to visit all of Elyria at once.
” A smile pulled at his lips, and I couldn’t help but copy his action.
“Sounds like my kind of place,” I admitted.
“The technology here is second to none as well.” He gestured to the metal posts in the ground, each holding a Mage Orb at the top. “At night, these light automatically so people can see and walk without falling.”
I raised my eyebrows, impressed again.
We crossed a street and I stopped in my tracks, my jaw gaping at the landscape before me.
A sea of grey stone as far as the eye could see was set in the shape of a large square. At its center was a large stone obelisk covered in runes.
The Bondsmith would have a field day here.
“Pretty spectacular, yeah?” The Mage said, content to stop and look with me.
The square was lined with vendors, and I spotted more than one refugee as they set up booths of their own, already assimilating into the motley culture.
Some were even smiling, already making friends with their new neighbors.
For the first time ever, I second-guessed my mission.
Maybe, just maybe, the Matriarch was wrong about the Warlord and Vespera.
This didn’t seem like a place of evil, wrongdoing and hate woven into its fabric of existence. On the contrary, it felt like a place where the weary could rest their feet; a place where any and all could gather, share stories, and ease the burdens of life.
Why would I want to destroy a place like this?
Unnerved, I continued walking with the Mage to the Academy.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said quietly, and the man smiled. His face was so open and kind, so unlike the picture of Academy heathens I’d painted in my mind, that I jolted slightly.
“Felix,” the Mage stuck out his hand for me to shake. I grasped his calloused palm with my own and gave it a firm squeeze.
“Pleasure to meet you, Felix,” I said honestly, and I was rewarded with another blinding smile.
“There might still be hope for you yet, southern lord,” he teased. “Come, Torin d’Eshu. Let me introduce you to General d’Alvey, the de facto leader of Vespera while Lord d’Refan is away and the commander of the Academy and Vesperan Army.”
My gut tightened into a knot and my palms instantly became clammy.
I’d met the General twice before; once as myself and once in Isrun as Cael, the Commander of the Last Keeper’s army. I shakily climbed the stairs of the Academy, desperately trying to conceal my nerves.
Maybe he won’t recognize me from before.
The only reason General d’Alvey didn’t recognize me in Isrun was a powerful Illusion Rune the Matriarch, under the guidance of Solace, had engraved on a necklace I wore that night.
Now, I was afforded no such protections.
I barely noticed the menacing all-black stone or the sharp angles of the Academy spires as we climbed the steps, so lost in my thoughts and worries.
What will he do? Will I be banished? Will he kill me outright with that Destruction Magic of his?
I breathed steadily through my nose as Felix rattled off short facts about the Academy and Vespera. I desperately wanted to listen to him—to glean any valuable information—but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the thumping of my own heart.
“Ah! Here he is!” Felix announced as he rubbed his hands together, the sound like grating sandpaper to my heightened senses.
We approached a tall man with hair so dark brown it was nearly black. He wore the same Mage blacks as everyone else in the Academy and army but was slightly distinguishable by the two gold bars on his shoulders.
The General.
His prowess and abilities were legendary; a god amongst men.
I almost laughed at the obscure and incorrect thought.
There are gods amongst men, but it is not Rohak d’Alvey.
The General halted his conversation with another man—this one had large glasses that magnified his eyes to an alarming degree—who walked away muttering something about a “Charise.”
“General, this is . . .” Felix started, gesturing to me.
“Torin d’Eshu,” I interrupted quickly, trying to infuse as much confidence in my tone as I could before sticking my hand out to the General.
The General slowly turned his gem-green eyes from my proffered hand up, up, up until they landed on my face. His sharp brows were drawn in a deep frown, and he blinked twice before a look of surprise flashed across his face.
“Torin . . .” He dragged out my name as if tasting it before narrowing his eyes once more. “Or should I say, Cael?”
Well, shit.