The Summons
AXAR
Korakar, Morrath
Axar, King of Korakar, was enjoying a smoke when he heard the familiar rush of wind that always accompanied Ivernet’s arrival.
“Highness,” she said solemnly.
Axar tried to mask his irritation. “Yes, Sentinel. How can I be of assistance?”
Ever since that sordid sorting hall had forced him into the king’s household, his patience for both the king and his sentinel had worn thin, even if Ivernet herself remained practical and intelligent.
“There is a problem with the king,” Ivernet said quietly. “One that requires discretion.”
Axar studied her for only a moment before rising. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and sweat beaded across her brow. Whatever had happened, she had come without stopping to rest.
“Savil.”
The man appeared almost instantly.
“Ready my horse.” He paused. “Send my men after me in the morning. I ride for the king’s palace tonight.”
Savil regarded him with that irritatingly patient expression that always suggested he understood more than Axar had said aloud, but he bowed all the same.
“It will be done at once, Highness.”
Axar turned back to Ivernet.
“Is this a conversation for here…or there?”
“There,” she answered without hesitation.
Axar nodded once.
“At the palace, then.”
By the time he extinguished his pipe, Ivernet was already gone.
The ride from Korakar to the Darkway took only a few hours. Axar’s mount was of the feeder breed, faster than nearly any horse alive, and he pushed it hard across the countryside, his thoughts turning over every possibility that might have prompted Ivernet’s summons.
When the palace finally came into view, he needed no guide.
Sevrin’s Morraks carried a scent unlike anything else, and tonight they were everywhere.
Axar swung from his saddle and strode through the palace gates. No one stopped him. Guards stepped aside before he even reached them.
A knot of dread pressed into his chest.
He climbed the stairs two at a time.
The moment he entered the king’s chambers, he understood why.
Sevrin lay motionless upon the bed, his skin unnaturally pale. Healers surrounded him, speaking in hushed voices as they worked. Upon a silver tray beside the bed rested a bloodstained knife, clearly the weapon they had only recently removed.
Axar stepped closer.
His eyes landed on Sevrin’s neck. The veins beneath the translucent skin had blackened. He did not need anyone to tell him what he was looking at.
Yorali. He was not surprised.
Ivernet joined him. “Like it or not,” she said quietly, “he is our king.”
Axar inclined his head. “He is our king. And Morrath, for now, is our country.”
His eyes remained fixed upon Sevrin. “If word reaches the people, there will be disorder. If it reaches the neighboring kingdoms…” He exhaled slowly. “Even worse. We cannot allow Orsin to believe he has won.”
He finally looked toward Ivernet. “Even with Sevrin incapacitated, you’re still able to fly in and out?”
“For now.”
The uncertainty beneath her answer did not escape him. Much of Morrath itself answered to Sevrin’s magic. Everyone knew it.
“Spread word that the king has fallen ill and taken residence in Briavar.”
Ivernet hesitated.
“There are rumors Ivanoxa intends to strengthen there. A Yorali—”
“If she stood with her father,” Axar interrupted, “she would not be here.”
He considered the room.
“Send Sevrin to Briavar under heavy guard.”
“And the Darkway?”
“The Darkway remains under Rathmor control.”
“A vacant seat means another could—”
“There is no vacancy.”
His voice was calm.
“No one but a Rathmor may sit on that throne. The magic will not permit it. Ivanoxa is not Rathmor. There is no challenger. The throne will remain protected while I am away.”
Ivernet frowned.
“Away?”
“I ride for the Witchward.”
“Why?”
“They will show me what happened so that we may prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
Axar looked once more toward the unconscious king.
“Whatever is coming.”
He folded his hands behind his back.
“Sevrin is no small opponent. Even I would struggle to kill him. Whoever managed this possesses magic capable of far more.”
Silence pressed between them.
Finally Ivernet spoke.
“You worry for the girl.”
Axar did not deny it.
“Yes.”
His expression hardened.
“It is no secret Asharin is his obsession. If someone sought to strike at Sevrin…” He paused. “They may already have struck at her.”
His jaw tightened.
“And that, I cannot allow.”
One of the healers finally looked up.
“The king will recover,” he said quietly. “Given time.”
Axar nodded.
“The Darkway throne will await its next Rathmor occupant. If Sevrin remains unable to rule when I return, I will occupy the seat until he recovers.”
He turned toward the door.
“As for Sevrin…”
He paused.
“Take him to Briavar. To Kelsey Castle.”
Ivernet blinked.
“Is that not the Queen of Umbrelai’s countryside castle?”
“The castle belongs to Rathmor.”
His tone remained even. “Everything in Morrath does.”
"And," he added, "it is the closest castle to the Bloodhaven, which is undoubtedly where Ivanoxa plans to strengthen and what Sevrin will need to fully recover.”
The healers in the room nodded in agreement.
A faint sigh escaped him. “If our dear Ivanoxa wishes to enjoy Bloodhaven and all of its amenities, she will simply have to tolerate the presence of my nephew.”
Axar looked at Ivernet. “While I am gone, whoever is responsible for protecting the princess may take temporary control of the castle.”
“Majesty—”
“I do not even know if she has been harmed, or if she is alive or dead. But if she is harmed and ends up here in Morrath, whoever brings her will need control to get use of the healers and to protect her. She will be a target and I will not be reachable.”
“I thought there were no other Rathmors—”
“I didn’t say it would happen, Ivernet. I simply said what to do if it does. Give your people my instructions.”
Ivernet inclined her head. “I will make the arrangements.”
Axar left without another word. The road to the Witchward was long.
He suspected what awaited him there would be far worse.