The Low Stone Wall
SERAPHAE
Twilight had become divided over a simple human.
By the end of the week, it became apparent that I was the only thing anyone spoke about. Whether it was among the servants or the soldiers in the training yard.
If they didn't have a betting pool on whether Caelan and I had been sleeping together, they now had one on whether I would get executed.
I received both unprecedented words of encouragement and threats in equal amounts. I had caused a rift outside and inside the estate. The protests in the square had not quieted. If anything, they had grown teeth after learning that Crown was on the way.
The trial was indeed because of me. I had heard the confirmation pass through a door that I wasn’t supposed to be standing near. A trial to determine what they would do with me. As if I was a thing to be examined and judged before I was disposed of properly.
Mallas had accepted the appointment as judge. He was already on the way, and Crown would be here tomorrow.
If I wasn't exiled, I'd likely be executed, which brought us to the bond problem. It was like standing on the edge of the same cliff and only the direction of the fall had changed.
Caelan did not let me stay with him during court councils.
Which made my position as his personal guard less and less real and made it look more like an excuse.
Every morning before dawn, Caelan would be either in the throne room or the council room.
Preparing, I assumed. Building whatever defense he intended to build on my behalf in a room full of people who had already made up their minds.
I wandered the estate aimlessly for the first part of the morning. Walking past servants who did not bother to be subtle with the staring. Couriers ran with great urgency toward the throne room, parchments clenched in their hands.
As I walked through the courtyard, my path was blocked by a man on his hands and knees.
Small terracotta pots of veyras were scattered around him. He was working the soil when he looked up at me.
“Ah,” Groundskeeper Sylas smiled and wiped his hands on his apron. “My lady. Apologies for the mess.”
He was an older fae who had been with Caelan since he was a child. The sun caught subtle strands of silver in his dark hair. His green eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I'll forgive you if you tell me why you're planting veyras.” I peered over his shoulder.
He smiled sheepishly. “I noticed you liked them.”
I gaped at him, warmth rising to my cheeks.
He chuckled and removed the plant from the pot by its stem before carefully placing it into a hole in the dirt.
“Do you know the story behind the flower?” he asked.
“No.” I crouched beside him. “Tell me more.”
“Long ago, there was a prince of Primoria.” He poured more soil around the plant, packing it in.
“He went riding at the edge of the kingdom and found a field of flowers.
Purple, scented like honey. Beautiful, unlike anything he'd ever seen. He returned the next day. And the next. Each time lingering a little longer. Breathing them in, watching them sway. On the seventh day, he lay next to the flowers and never rose again.” He began digging another small hole beside it.
“When they found him, he was still smiling, the flower in his hand.” He glanced at me.
“So warriors wore a single bloom when they went into battle knowing they wouldn't return from it.”
I frowned. “That's tragic.”
“Maybe a little.” He laughed. “But veyras in Primoria mean beautiful ruin. People usually refer to them during moments of reckless devotion.” He brushed a finger over the small leaf.
“Terribly romantic, if you ask me.” He looked at me.
“The smile on his face, with the flower in his hand. The prince was welcoming his own downfall.”
I watched as he studied me with an intensity for reasons I didn’t understand. Then he turned away and continued planting.
“But that's what veyras means,” he said without looking at me.
Silence stretched as I remained crouched for a moment longer, letting the story sink in. The whole understanding of it.
Once all the pots were planted and I no longer had a reason to be crouched next to Sylas, I pushed the thought aside and kept going.
I found myself at the base of the estate cliffs, past the fields and into the training yards. A group of soldiers walked by. Our eyes met briefly. Their expressions ranged from pity to a curl of the lip to one man who looked like he was one encouragement away from pulling me into a hug.
Maelor stood at the edge of the yard, shirt off, skin slick with sweat. He was gesturing wildly at two soldiers who kept nodding enthusiastically.
He squinted when his eyes found me and straightened slowly. The two soldiers turned, saw me, and practically ran.
Maelor watched them go.
“Ah,” he said. “The woman currently responsible for half my security headaches.”
I winced at that.
“Impressive, really. You split the entire kingdom in less than a week.” He raised his thick brows and had the audacity to look proud. “Usually needs a war for that.”
“Glad it has been entertaining for you.”
He draped an arm over my shoulder and led me toward the low stone wall. Freshly repaired from the minor training accident involving a certain human lantern.
I sat. The thin fabric of my dress was a useless barrier against the stone heated beyond comfort by the sun.
Maelor offered a piece of dried meat, which I politely refused.
“Caelan in council?”
I nodded and watched the soldiers busy themselves with their sparring partners. I could feel Maelor watching me.
“I feel bad.” I turned to him. “I didn't mean for all of this. I didn't think—”
“Stop it.” Maelor leaned in, elbows on his knees. “Obviously, you didn't plan for this. You tried to stab him when you met him.” He grinned, unreasonably proud. “But shit happens. And trust me, Caelan is at least responsible for half of the disaster.”
I crossed my ankles, then uncrossed them. “They aren't wrong, though.” I took a breath. “A fae and a human. Can't really blame them.”
Maelor made a dismissive sound. “Who cares about that?”
The world. The people. Life.
“This isn't one of Brie's novels,” I said. “There is no happy ending for a fae and a human. A royal at that. That's the reality.” I shook my head. “It's like I'm standing in the eye of a storm headed for destruction and I can't stop it. I'm only making it worse.”
He took my chin between his fingers and turned me to face him. I had never seen Maelor with the expression that he had right now. The humor he usually wore was stripped bare, and he looked protective. Determined, even.
“You're standing in the middle of a storm,” he agreed softly. “But he walked in there with you. And we are right behind him. Riven, Brie, all of us.” His hand released my chin and lifted a finger as if remembering a detail. “Did you know that Brie is gathering seals against the petitions?”
“What?”
“She's very determined about it.”
“It won't matter,” I said, eyes going down to the ground with great focus. “Crown isn't coming because of petitions. Petitions Caelan could manage. Crown is coming because someone decided this had gone beyond Twilight's authority to resolve.”
Maelor had nothing to say for a long while because he knew I was right. Then, “We’re with you no matter what verdict they pass.”
There were no words that came except a lump in my throat. I swallowed that down.
He offered his usual smile. The broad one that showed all his teeth. Then he stretched, muscles rippling with the movement.
“Train with me.” He hopped off the low wall.
I looked down at my dress.
He smirked. “Who said you can't break necks and look stunning at the same time?”
A slow smile spread on my face before I could help it. Of course, Caelan had told him about what I said on the first day I reported as his personal guard.
He offered his hand.
I took it and stood.
We were crossing into the sparring ring when Riven materialized behind us.
“Fuck,” Maelor flinched. “One day I'm going to stab you.”
Riven looked at him long enough for it to come off as a challenge. Then he looked at me.
“Is Caelan done with council?” I asked.
His eyes dropped to my dress that had no business being in a training yard.
“No.” He fell into step with us. “Running late again.”
I didn't need to ask why.
“You trying to spar?” Maelor asked.
We stopped in the middle of the ring.
Riven looked at me. “Do you want to?”
I took a moment and thought about whether being put in the dirt by Riven was a good way to pass the afternoon. Then decided it made for an excellent distraction.
“Blades?” I asked.
“Blades.”
“Don't bleed.” I moved to circle him.
He tilted his head. “Don't cry.”
My jaw dropped. He did not just—
Before I could make an excellent remark, he disappeared. There was only one place he could reappear to.
I swung my elbow backward. It collided against his forearm.
I pivoted, blade already up. It ricocheted off his blade with a sharp ring that vibrated up my arm.
He moved fast even without shadow stepping. Faster than Caelan and Maelor. His blade slashed toward my ribs, and I nearly missed it. Left-handed. Annoying.
I parried and ducked low, drove my shoulders into his ribs.
He let me push him back, boots sliding easily across the dirt.
“You're going easy on me,” I said as I slashed again.
He parried, grabbed my wrist, and I spun free with barely any effort.
“I'm training you,” he replied, sidestepping out of my strike.
“You're babying me.”
I lunged again. He vanished.
Reappeared behind me to the left this time.
I twisted, blade flashing in a tight arc that should have cut his face if he had been half a second slower.
He caught my wrist and stepped right into my guard. Twisted once and pulled me into his chest.
“Is this about Mirror Lake?” I asked.
He stilled. His face was close enough that his breath brushed my cheek. The grip on my wrist faltered. Barely, but enough to notice.
“It's not your fault,” I exhaled.
That hit somewhere he hadn’t expected, and surprise flickered across his face.
In that split second his attention was elsewhere, I dropped low and swept his legs before following him down.
His hand gripped my thigh, the other on my hip as we hit the dirt together.
My knee pressed into his chest, the other knee against the hard earth. My blade—the flat part—pressed against his throat.
He extended his neck against the cold steel and looked up at me as if he were seeing me for the first time.
“See?” I said. “I'm fine.”
Silence stretched long enough that I noticed him swallow. I thought I had learned how to read him by now. But something flashed in his eyes that I couldn't decipher.
Then the sound of clapping and whistles cut through the quiet. My head snapped up to the sound.
The soldiers who were sparring had lined the margin of the ring. They had been watching.
I pushed off him and stood before offering a hand.
He took it.
Maelor was grinning at the edge of the yard with his arms crossed. Pride was written on his face like he had personally willed the outcome himself.
“She had you on your ass, Riven.”
I threw a smile over my shoulder at Riven, who was further behind than I thought. Almost like he was intentionally putting distance between us.
A corner of his lip tugged, nonetheless.
All three of us sat at the edge of the yard on the low wall. We watched the soldiers train. Then we listened to Maelor complain about their techniques, which I was sure he had been the one who taught them. Riven offered little commentary but stayed anyway.
I had a flicker of hope then. Perhaps this too shall pass. The storm was relentless, but so was I. And I was not alone.
I felt Riven tense beside me, his focus snagging on something in the distance.
I looked toward his line of sight and spotted a guard running toward us with great urgency. Brows knit tight, expression grave.
My stomach lurched.
“Captain,” the guard said breathlessly.
His eyes met mine briefly before returning to Riven. He opened his mouth to speak again—
Riven held up a hand and stopped him midbreath. He pushed off the wall without another word and walked toward the estate with the guard.
They were at a distance far enough that most people wouldn't be able to hear a breath. But I wasn't most people. Three words were all it took to dismantle the hope that I had just built.
“Crown is here.”
The storm didn't pass. It raged.
They were supposed to arrive tomorrow.
They were early.