Chapter 69
The Return
By morning, they have returned. The courtyard fills around him, the movement carrying a different weight than it had before, quieter, more considered, the kind that follows something endured, not won.
Men pass through the gates in uneven lines, their armor marked, their steps measured in a way that speaks more of survival than strength.
My eyes move through them until they find him. Colsar stands near the front beside Arabar, speaking in low tones. He turns before I reach him, as though he had been aware of me the moment I stepped into the courtyard, and he simply looks at me, taking in what is there.
Then he steps forward.
"They made it," I say.
"Some of them," he replies.
The words sit between us without resistance. "They held longer than they should have had to," he adds, his voice low. "They were cut off from everything that would have made it survivable."
His jaw clenches just slightly, though the rest of him remains controlled.
"They are here now," I say.
His hand finds mine briefly, the contact grounding, before he releases it again. "Yes."
Movement shifts behind him and I follow his line of sight.
General Rorin approaches. He looks thinner than I remember, worn down in ways that have nothing to do with time, the edges of him marked by something harsher than battle alone.
He sees me immediately and something in his expression eases, just slightly, as though a tension he had been carrying has finally found somewhere to go.
"Your Majesty," he says, lowering himself to one knee.
"You do not kneel to me for surviving," I reply, stepping forward.
He lifts his head, something warmer moving through his expression. "Then I will kneel to you for what you gave us reason to survive for."
I hold his eyes. "You brought them back," I say. "That is enough."
His attention moves past me without meaning to. "They told us," he says quietly. "That you escaped. That somehow Prince Colsar made it through Alarna's wards to find you." Something moves through his expression. "We did not know if we believed it. But we held on to it anyway."
"It is true," I reply.
His eyes find the children then, and whatever he had been about to say next does not come. He simply looks at them.
“Bring them closer," I say.
Saurin steps forward carefully, and I take Kiss from her arms as Colsar takes Ari.
Both children are alert in the way of those who have not yet learned to be wary of the world they have entered.
Kiss shifts slightly in my arms, her small hand curling against my skin.
Ari makes a soft sound against Colsar's chest, content and entirely unaware of what his presence is doing to the room.
The courtyard goes still.
It happens without command. The movement slows, conversations fall away, and attention gathers in a way that feels more instinctive than directed.
Rorin looks at them the way men look at things they were not sure they would live to see.
The soldiers behind him do the same, expressions opening, the wariness of the road dropping away as understanding moves through them one by one.
Someone exhales. It is almost a laugh.
"They are—" Rorin begins, then stops, the words leaving him.
I feel the question before it is asked. So I answer it.
“They are twins, Fiorakis and Arakis. Fiorakis is our firstborn. She is the rightful heir to the Rathmor throne,” I say, my voice carrying just enough to reach those nearest. “And she is a feeder.”
The understanding comes not all at once but in pieces, each man arriving at it in his own time.
Rorin's expression changes first, something shifting in him that goes deeper than recognition.
The men behind him follow, some slower than others, and what moves through the courtyard is the particular hush of people who have just understood that what they fought toward was real, and here, and breathing.
Colsar lifts his head. "Soon," he says, his voice carrying across the courtyard, "they will not be hidden. We will ride home to Veynar with them.”
Rorin lowers his head, not quite a bow but something close. Something that means more than a bow would.
The courtyard begins to move again, lighter than before, with something underneath it that had not been there when I arrived.
Colsar turns back to me. My attention moves past him, over the men still entering through the gate. It is clearer up close. The way they move. The way some of them hold themselves carefully, managing what they will not show.
They will not survive the road like this.
"They are in no condition to travel," I say.
He looks at them, then back at me. "No." A brief pause. "There is a window. Solaryn. The light holds through the night cycle. Three days without full dark. It is the safest passage we will have."
"Then we go during Solaryn," I say.
He nods once.
I meet his eyes. “You need to learn what you can do. Now, and not when it matters and there is no time left.”
Something shifts in his expression. “I will.” He pauses. “And you?"
"I have not used mine in too long," I reply. "That changes." A glance toward Enovar, who stands at the far edge of the courtyard. "He is here."
Colsar follows my line of sight, then looks back. "Arabar will train with me."
"Yes. And I will work with the Avanki."
"Good," he says.
We turn at the same time. There is still work to be done.
"Your Majesties."
Both of us stop. Rorin glances once at the men nearest to us, then takes a step closer, lowering his voice. "This is not something that needs to be resolved today. But it cannot wait until Veynar either."
A pause. "And it cannot leave this circle."
Colsar turns fully. "Speak."
Rorin exhales slowly, the way men do when they have been carrying something long enough that setting it down feels strange. "I had months in that pass," he says. "Nothing to do but think. And the more I thought, the less sense any of it made."
He looks between us.
"Yes, there were undead at Shalvar's borders.
But the attack that pulled you away last year," he says, his eyes moving to Colsar, "was too targeted.
Too precise. Shalvar has not taken sides in this war.
The Threns have no reason to move against it.
And undead are only formed where Threns have killed. "
He pauses. "So why were they near the high pass at all? What would there be to gain from pressing into Shalvar?”
"Speak plainly," Colsar says.
Rorin meets his eyes. "I do not think it was an accident, Majesties. I think the attacks were targeted. Either to put you in harm's way," he says to Colsar, "or to move you out of it. So that she could be reached."
The air shifts.
"Sevrin does not know these mountains,” I say. “And we are at war with the Threns. He has no reason to coordinate so elaborately.”
"Teorin," Colsar says. "Most likely."
"Perhaps." Rorin does not look convinced.
“That is not his style,” I say. “Not truly.”
Rorin nods. "To raise that many undead requires time and considerable resources."
I sigh. "Teorin is too calculating to spend either on something this indirect."
Colsar frowns.
Rorin is not finished. "There is something else," he says. "While we were in the pass, I saw creatures I have never seen before."
"Morraks," Colsar says immediately.
"I am familiar with Morraks, Majesty." Something in Rorin's voice does not waver. "These were not Morraks. I could not tell during the attack whether they were trying to kill us or the undead. Only that they were unlike anything I have encountered."
"Morraks have black wings," Colsar says. "That is what you saw."
Rorin holds his gaze. "No, Majesty." A pause. "I am certain. These creatures did not have black wings."
The silence stretches.
"Their wings were red."
No one speaks. The courtyard moves around us, entirely unaware.
Colsar looks at me. I look back at him.
"We do not have time to investigate this before we move," Colsar says finally.
"No," Rorin agrees. "But I thought you should know before you ride into Veynar."
We leave it there. There is nothing else to do with it today.
But as we walk I turn it over, piece by piece, following each thread until it leads where I do not want it to go.
The dinners I sat through with Sevrin. The hunger.
The loneliness. The days without sunlight.
Mysin and his friends with their knives.
The nights I did not know if he would ever return.
If any part of that was arranged, if I was made to endure it by design…
If Teorin orchestrated any part of this, I decide quietly, I will not wait for Colsar to act. I will kill him myself.
And thanks to him, I know exactly how to do it.