Chapter 3 Cethin
Cethin
“Motherfucker!” Cethin growled under his breath when a black, leathery wing hit the back of his head so hard he spilled a glass of pomegranate juice down the front of his light grey tunic.
Now he was going to have to change. He had meetings with his advising council later this morning, and while no one would say anything to their king, it was the principle of the matter.
His father was always walking perfection, easily commanding an entire room.
One would think the centuries of training to eventually take the throne would have prepared him to be the same.
Turned out nothing prepared you for your parents suddenly leaving you to run an entire kingdom.
Razik didn’t look at him as he rounded the table, making his way to his usual chair at the other end of the long table.
It’d been nearly two weeks since the attacks, and he’d clearly refilled his reserves completely.
The fucker never walked around with his wings out, but apparently today was a special occasion, and he was doing just that.
Wren, a Fae female, took the seat beside Razik, avoiding Cethin’s eye. She was nice enough, but her closeness to the male kept them from being anything more than formal acquaintances.
Cethin had been at odds with Razik for as long as he could remember.
They were nearly the same age, Razik being older than him by three years, but in terms of the centuries they’d been alive, those three years may as well be three hours.
They’d gone through their Stayings long ago, both of them appearing as mortals in their late twenties, save for the slightly pointed ears.
Razik’s uncle was the Avonleyan Commander of Forces, and Cethin’s father had been the Avonleyan King until slightly under a year ago. The day so much had changed.
A day he should have seen coming, but a day that had somehow blindsided him anyway.
Cethin and Razik had been forced together for several reasons, but even with all the encouragement to form a close friendship, they were rivals.
Except they weren’t competing or striving for any of the same things.
Razik loathed him, and Cethin returned the sentiment.
This feud between them had always been a part of who they were.
Nothing could change centuries of animosity.
He went back to his plate of eggs and sausages, pointedly ignoring Razik at the other end of the table, and when the sound of several pairs of boots sounded down the hall, he held back his sigh of irritation.
Those footsteps belonged to members of the Cadre, which Razik was part of.
Technically, so was Cethin, but seeing as he was now their king, he wasn’t included in much of their antics or debauchery.
Not that he had been as their prince either.
Nobody wanted to be responsible for getting the prince in trouble, or worse, injured.
Nobody wanted to be responsible for the prince, period.
Then the whole king thing had happened, and the dynamics had shifted even more.
A group of mostly males entered the dining hall, voices loud and boisterous echoing around them, although a bit more subdued than usual with the loss of Valric.
The two females who were part of the Cadre held their own.
Cethin had sparred with them on more than one occasion, and on more than one occasion, he’d gotten his ass handed to him.
“Where’d you go last night, broody fucker?” Jarek asked, yanking out the chair on Razik’s other side and taking a seat. “Thought we had a rematch to handle?”
Razik shrugged, not bothering to look up as he loaded eggs onto a piece of toast and took a bite. Truthfully, the male was a prick to everyone; it was just magnified when it came to Cethin.
When Razik continued to stay silent, Jarek turned to the Fae female. “Where’d you sneak off to, Wren?”
She shot him a flat look as she popped a piece of melon into her mouth.
Her navy blue eyes narrowed, and her dark brown, nearly black, hair slid over a shoulder as she tipped her head.
“Some of us were out working all night, Jarek. The last thing we wanted to do was deal with your drunken asses as the sun rose.”
Another male a few chairs down snorted a huff of laughter. “Tell me more about this work, Wren. I’m sure it was difficult for both of you— Fucking Fates!” he suddenly cursed, diving for the ground when his chair went up in black flames.
The other members of the Cadre snickered as the male glared at Razik. Getting to his feet, he grumbled, “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You should know better than to insinuate anything about Wren,” Fallon quipped, her long blonde hair in a plait that hung over her shoulder. “She’s off limits in every way, Bram.”
The youngest member of the Cadre grumbled under his breath as he slid into another seat a few chairs down, his light green eyes now fixed on his breakfast with a glare.
“What are the plans for today? The usual training, or do we get to do something different?” Jarek asked, tying back his dark blond hair before digging into his food.
“Glad you asked,” came another voice moments before Tybalt entered the room.
All the Cadre straightened as their Commander appeared, and no, it didn’t escape Cethin that they showed him more respect than they did their king.
He didn’t really care. They were the closest thing he had to friends, and even at that, he didn’t think he could classify them as such.
He’d told them long ago they didn’t need to bother with decorum when no one else was around.
He’d been told countless times by his advising council that should have changed, especially when he was crowned king, but there were too many other changes happening for him to care about that one.
But things had changed anyway.
Cethin held in his sigh as a stack of reports was placed atop the ones he was already going through. His life had become nothing more than endless reports and meetings.
He rubbed his brow with his forefinger, skimming the first page before glancing up to find Tybalt already staring at him. The male’s warm brown eyes were hard, his jaw tight.
More Fae had been found dead last night.
The Fae numbers in Avonleya had been dismal for centuries.
Until recently, they couldn’t figure out what was killing them, and Cethin still wasn’t sold on the idea that it had been these phantom creatures the entire time.
Either way, the Fae numbers were nearly nonexistent now, which for Avonleyans was disastrous.
Avonleyans were the descendants of the gods.
They originally descended from a god or goddess who had a child with a demigod—half god, half mortal.
The bit of mortal blood from the demigod weakened their magic, making them less than the gods they descended from.
Along the way, those Avonleyans had children with other mortals, but some had children with other magical beings: Fae, Legacy, Shifters, Witches.
Most of those living in Avonleya were those descendants.
More powerful than an average Legacy, a descendant of a demigod and a mortal, but not as powerful as the gods.
Not even as powerful as a deity, a child of a god and another magical being.
Centuries later, the terms Avonleyan and Legacy were nearly interchangeable, even if Avonleyans were more powerful.
None of that would have mattered if it weren’t for the fact that the gods were fearful of their Legacy, and thus Avonleyans, becoming too powerful.
To assuage those fears, they made both dependent on the Fae to refill their power rapidly.
A gift it had been called. Cethin had always thought it to be more of a curse.
Their magic reserves could refill over time, but the process was excruciatingly slow.
And living with low power reserves was an agony in and of itself.
It kept most Avonleyans from even using their magic unless forced to.
Without a Fae counterpart, it was their only option.
It was forbidden in their kingdom to force a Fae to become their sources of power though.
The Fae had to be willing, the choice consensual between the two parties.
Which is why Razik had a Source bond with Wren, while Cethin, the ruler of the kingdom, didn’t have a Source at all.
It was also why the dwindling number of Fae was a problem.
One he’d thought he’d found a solution to three seasons ago when a ship from across the sea had found its way here.
Since then, two more ships had arrived. All of them brought a small number of Fae among the passengers, fleeing a continent where the Fae were feared by mortals, only to find a worse fate here.
He’d promised safety, and instead they were meeting death.
“Where were they found? Was it the same beings?” Cethin demanded, the question more of a low growl that had the entire room falling silent.
“Same area. In the southwest part of Shira Forest, on the edge of the trees,” Tybalt replied just as tightly.
“We have no way of knowing for sure if they were the same beings. Wounds didn’t match those of the recent attack, but they were the same as previous attacks over the last years.
Something needs to be done, Cethin, especially with another ship being spotted coming from the east.”
“Have they crossed the Wards yet?” Cethin asked.
Tybalt shook his head. “It remains to be seen whether they’ll make it.”
Because not all the ships did, and for the life of him, Cethin couldn’t figure out why some were able to cross the Wards and others weren’t. Far more failed than made it, likely returning to spread tales of how the rumors were false and that the Wards still stood.
Which they did.
For now.
“Night Children?” Jarek asked, and Cethin clenched his jaw.
Night Children hadn’t been an issue in Avonleya his entire life.
If they were suddenly going to become a problem, of course Fate would make that happen during his first year as king.
But while Night Children were a possibility, it didn’t seem likely.
The Fae numbers had been declining for years, long before a few ships had managed to traverse the Wards.
“We’ll go investigate the area where the Fae were found,” Razik cut in, getting to his feet, the Fae female following suit.
“You won’t,” Cethin retorted. “Not with Wren.”
The female froze under Cethin’s stare, and Razik’s lip curled back, baring his teeth. “You think I won’t keep her safe?” the male demanded.
“I think there are others who can go so we don’t need to risk it. Jarek, Fallon, and Bram can go. If anything, I should be going with them.”
“With all due respect, Cethin, until we figure this out, you shouldn’t be anywhere near the scenes of discovery. Especially considering the events of two weeks ago,” Tybalt cut in.
“I’m the king. I should be part of uncovering what is harming my people,” he argued, hands flat on the wood table.
Inky darkness seeped from his palms, and he inhaled sharply, working to keep his power from overtaking him.
The same godsdamn magic for centuries, and he still felt like he could scarcely control it at times. He much preferred his other gifts.
“You are the king,” Tybalt agreed. “Which means you have responsibilities—”
“To ensure this kingdom is safe for my people,” Cethin interrupted.
Tybalt’s gaze darted away, eyeing the rest of the room where the Cadre were all eating, looking anywhere but at them and trying to appear otherwise occupied. Except for Razik. He was glaring at both of them, his arms crossed and features telling exactly how irritated he was with all of this.
“Jarek, Fallon, and Bram go search the area where the Fae were found,” Tybalt said after a tense moment of silence. “The rest of you can go lead drills with the sentinels.”
Everyone else filed out, but Razik stayed put, feet planted where he stood. Jerking his chin, Wren followed the Cadre from the dining room. Razik waited until the heavy doors thudded closed before his arms dropped to his sides, hands curling into fists.
“This is bullshit, and you know it,” Razik spat, his sapphire eyes flickering with black flames.
“Razik,” Tybalt said sternly, but before he could go on, Cethin interjected.
“It’s not bullshit. Whatever this is, it’s targeting Fae. You think it a wise idea to willingly bring Wren to the last place of attack? It’s your job to protect her—”
“Do not lecture me on my responsibilities, Cethin,” Razik snarled, leaning towards him and bracing his hands on the table.
“Someone has to because you sure seem to shirk a lot of them.”
“Fuck off,” Razik snapped, his pupils shifting to vertical slits and glowing bright blue.
“Both of you, enough!” the Commander cut in. “You both have responsibilities. Things could be different if—”
“Don’t you dare say it, Tybalt,” Razik snarled.
Tybalt straightened, all his features tightening as he looked at his adopted son. “Then fall in line and go do your job, Razik.”
Razik said nothing else, stalking from the room. The doors banged behind him, and Cethin heard him bark something to the other Cadre members before the sound of boots echoed.
Cethin stared at Tybalt. The male who could best be described as an uncle to him.
Cethin had known him his entire life. He’d served as the Commander of the Avonleyan Forces for as long as Cethin could remember, and he’d been close to both his parents.
Even when the Commander had been trapped on the other side of the Wards for far too long, he’d returned and gone right back to his duties.
“I’ll talk to him,” Tybalt said. “He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”
“Don’t bother,” Cethin muttered, grabbing the stacks of papers and straightening them. Nothing ever changed with the male, and he was fine with that. He had bigger things to worry about, and he avoided speaking with Razik unless necessary.
“You’re not as different as you think,” Tybalt tried. “If the two of you could just—”
“I have meetings to get to,” Cethin interrupted. “Thank you for the reports this morning. Let me know what the Cadre learns upon their return.”
“Of course, your Majesty,” Tybalt said with a small bow of his head.
The title irked him coming from someone he was so close to, but he understood. At the moment, he was pulling rank. He was the king, and Tybalt was the Commander.
Nothing was as it should be.
But he would fix all of this, even if it killed him in the end.
Just like it’d killed his father.