Chapter 76

The Arvellian soldiers were understandably uneasy around Elise. They’d made that clear the night before - void-mage aura and disciplined infantry did not mix well. What surprised me was the horses.

They loved her.

While I spoke with Fairholt and finalized the route, Elise drifted toward the tethered mounts. One by one they pressed in around her - broad heads lowering, soft muzzles nudging her sleeves. She stroked their necks with careful, almost reverent motions. Not a single one shied away. If anything, they seemed calmer for her touch.

When we were ready to depart, Elise rode with Fairholt - he alone seemed entirely at ease in her presence. I mounted behind a soldier named Kells.

He looked young, though there was a steadiness about him that suggested competence rather than bravado. Five-nine, a little shorter than me. Mouse-brown hair cropped close. Blue eyes were sharp and focused. The armor made it hard to judge his build, but I guessed it was average - strong without being chiseled. He spoke sparingly. Whether that was professionalism or nerves about riding with a man who could sing buildings into existence, I couldn’t say.

I left Adhaneth at the keep. Riding with her in staff form would have been awkward, and she’d quietly informed me she could traverse the Interstitium to reach me if I ran into trouble. That was news to me, but she assured me there was no danger to her - and no risk of her children breaking free -so I agreed. It was the best option.

We set out at a measured pace, winding through forested hills where pine and spruce mingled with oak and maple. The air still held the bite of winter, though it was just cold instead of bitter. After an hour or two, the trees thinned and the land opened into wide plains.

Kells rode well as far as I could tell. My expertise in horsemanship amounted to not falling off, and on that metric he was excellent.

I, on the other hand, felt like a sack of grain lashed behind him.

The last time I’d been on a horse, I’d been a boy led around a fenced field. This was nothing like that. The animal beneath us was all shifting muscle and coiled energy. I wasn’t seated properly in the saddle but perched behind it, which made balance an ongoing negotiation. No stirrups meant no leverage. With a man in front of me, I wasn’t entirely sure where to put my hands - and the fact that he was armored didn’t make it less awkward.

Mostly, I felt self-conscious in my inexperience.

Once we reached the open plains, Kells told me to scoot forward and wrap my arms around his waist. I did, swallowing my pride.

At Fairholt’s signal, the pace shifted.

The horses surged forward into a loose formation, riders sliding into position with practiced ease. The initial gallop jarred my spine and rattled my teeth, but as their speed increased, the gait smoothed. The pounding of hooves blurred into rhythm. Wind tore at my cloak and stung my eyes.

We were barreling down the hard packed road at sixty miles an hour, maybe more. The world streamed past in bands of brown and gold. I glanced sideways at the other riders and, for a moment, I wasn’t convinced their horses’ hooves were touching the ground at all.

We rode until well past noon before stopping to rest the mounts. The horses steamed in the cold air as we dismounted. Rations were passed around. Elise and I took our meal a short distance from the others - close enough to rejoin quickly, far enough to dull the edge of her aura.

“Do you know why you have that effect on people?” I asked gently.

She folded her hands in her lap, gaze lowered. “When I was young, I was told I was an affront to nature. That my presence warned others of danger.” Her tone carried no emotion, as if reciting a theorem. “Master Edevane believed something occurred during the Silent War that not only birthed void-mages, but caused others to instinctively revile us.”

She paused.

“Records from before that era are scarce. The Myrddin destroyed or corrupted much of what the world once held. I do not know if void magic existed before the war. Nor if void-mages did.”

A faint breeze stirred her white braid.

“What I do know,” she continued, “is that it has nothing to do with mana sensitivity. Animals are often highly attuned to magic and yet do not recoil from us. But humans, elves, dwarves, naga, orcs, goblins - many do. I sometimes wonder if your divinity shielded you from the unease I cause.”

“It’s definitely not that,” I said. “I felt it the first time we met,” I admitted. “Like danger looming right behind, ready to strike.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“But feeling it didn’t mean I had to act on it,” I continued. “You’re extraordinary, Elise. Anyone who treats you like you’re less than that is wrong.”

Color flooded her pale cheeks. I reached out and squeezed her hand. The reaction was immediate - her flush deepened, but she didn’t pull away.

“Whatever that unease is,” I said quietly, “it’s temporary. It doesn’t define you. It fades. I didn’t get used to it. I don't feel it anymore. Give people time. The right ones will see you for you.”

She nodded, eyes downcast but shining faintly. I let her hand go before I embarrassed her further.

Shortly after, Fairholt gave the word that our break was over.

* * *

We arrived at Crownreach an hour after sunset as the last bit of twilight swallowed whole by the night.

The city rose from the center of a lake like a crown set in water. Two broad stone bridges stretched toward it from the northeast and northwest, stretching over the dark pool. A perfectly round wall of white stone encircled the city, seamless and immaculate - thirty feet high, smooth as polished bone, lacking even a hint of battlement.

Four towers stood at the cardinal points, rising sixty feet from the waterline. Each was round and carved from the same flawless stone, reinforced by three thick, rectangular buttresses that clung to their outer curves. Near their tops, a ring of arches framed arched windows - practical openings for archers. Above that, another ring of arches circled purely for beauty, before each tower was capped in a brilliant blue dome that caught what little moonlight filtered through the clouds.

The city itself climbed a hill within the outer wall. Beyond it, I could see a second circular wall mirroring the first. At its heart rose a larger, more ornate tower - its buttresses triangular and sloping, its dome the same bold blue. Even at night, it dominated everything around it. The palace, no doubt.

As we crossed the bridge, I glanced down. The lake wasn’t deep - perhaps ten feet - and the edges bore the scars of old excavation. The land had been carved away, reshaped to cradle the city in water.

The horses slowed as we approached the gates. Massive wooden doors parted outward without protest, and we passed into wide stone streets flanked by white buildings - some square, some round - all crowned with blue roofs or domes. The structures were built of smooth ashlar blocks, well-maintained and orderly. Even in the dark, the city gleamed as bright lamps lined the roads.

The road ran straight for a couple hundred feet before ending in a T-intersection. We turned left, then curved around to a four-way crossing. A right. Another curve. Another turn. The streets spiraled rather than cut directly inward. Whether it was meant to slow invading forces or simply showcase the city’s grandeur, I couldn’t tell.

Within the inner wall, the scale changed. Large mansions stood among flowering gardens, their silhouettes soft in lanternlight. The central tower - larger than I had realized - waited at the top of a broad stone staircase. Its silver doors shimmered faintly in the torchlight.

A dozen guards flanked the steps, clad in bright plate and tabards bearing Arvellia’s gryphon. We dismounted - or rather, I slid off the horse with all the grace of a wet noodle. My legs protested. Divine regeneration dulled the worst of it, but riding at that speed had not been kind.

A broad man with dark hair streaked heavily with gray descended the stairs toward us. Ornate light mail covered him, and his tabard was of finer weave than the others. At his hip hung a longsword with a golden crossguard shaped like flame.

I stepped closer to Elise. She flushed under the lamplight but assured me she was fine.

I reached out and tried to summon Adhaneth. She arrived in a black bolt of lightning that leapt upward from the stone, rising seven feet high. Instead of thunder, the air split with a shriek like drawn violins. When the sound faded, she rested in my hand in staff form.

Together, Elise and I approached the man.

“Greetings,” he said, giving a short bow. “I am Sir Dunfield, Lord Marshal of the Grand Kingdom of Arvell.”

“Seth Grimm,” I replied with a smile. “No fancy title. And this is Apprentice Elise Rosecroft of Morentis. Thank you for the invitation.”

One eyebrow lifted at that, but he let it pass.

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Abigayle Alderbrook of Haleford sends her regards and offers you lodging in the palace this night. While she attends to other matters, High Council Amberleigh requests the honor of your company at dinner.”

I glanced at Elise. She gave me a small nod.

“We would be delighted,” I said.

The interior of the palace was breathtaking in scale. Ornate columns rose to a vaulted ceiling in the foyer. Twin curved staircases swept upward toward silver double doors. Portraits lined the walls, each framed in intricate gold. A massive crystal chandelier hung above, magical globes suspended on silver chains casting bright, steady light.

We were led down a long white corridor lined with carved doors inlaid with gold. Paintings of battles, soldiers, and sweeping landscapes adorned the walls - it felt as much a gallery as a palace.

Our rooms were spacious and opulent. A large canopy bed dominated the chamber. A fire crackled in the hearth. There was a small sitting room, a bathing chamber, and furniture that looked as though it had never known hardship. Elise’s room was beside mine, which eased my mind a bit.

I left Adhaneth in my room and offered to take Elise to my demesne to clean up. She accepted, though she declined my offer to conjure her new clothes. I washed, changed into something I hoped passed for stylish rather than ridiculous, and returned with her to the palace.

* * *

Dinner was an opulent affair.

Roast pheasant glazed in honey and thyme. Broiled salmon flaking beneath a squeeze of citrus. Mixed vegetables roasted to a perfect char, mashed turnips whipped smooth with butter and cream, and fresh bread still warm from the ovens. Every bite was balanced, deliberate - seasoned with a confidence that spoke of a kitchen accustomed to royalty.

I was ashamed to admit it was better than Mirri’s and Gram’s cooking.

Our host was Archmagus Garrethyn Amberleigh, High Council to the queen. He looked ancient - stooped beneath the weight of years. His white hair and long beard were wild and untrimmed, giving him the look of a scholar who had long ago decided appearance was irrelevant. His eyes were green, though one was clouded by a milky cataract. The other, sharp and clear, never seemed to leave me for long.

We kept to safe ground at first - weather, the condition of the roads, our impressions of the kingdom, the city, the palace, and, of course, the excellence of the meal. Only after the plates were cleared and wine refreshed did the air shift.

“I hear there have been dragons seen in the hills near Northwatch Keep,” he said mildly, though both eyes fixed on me with intent. “I trust you and your people are safe.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” I replied. “My hope is most of that is behind us now. We’re looking forward to trade resuming. It’s been a lean winter.”

“I’m certain that once Her Majesty is satisfied the threat has passed, merchants will be permitted to return to their routes,” he said smoothly.

I set down my cup. “May I speak candidly, Archmagus?”

“Certainly.”

“I’m not a diplomat,” I began. “When your messenger delivered his writ of ejectment, you probably assumed we were bandits squatting in the hills. We’re not. We’re just people trying to live quietly. Peacefully. There are other settlements up there - full of good people. I don’t want them caught in the middle of any dispute between your kingdom and me.”

He inclined his head.

“I assume I’ve been invited because of the rumors,” I continued. “You want to know if I’m a threat. I can tell you I’m not - but I understand that my word alone doesn’t carry much weight. So, as a gesture of good faith, I’ll tell you what’s been happening up north. Then you can ask what you like. I’ll answer truthfully - within reason.”

He folded his hands and listened.

“There was an incident in Northgate a few months ago. You’ve likely heard whispers. You haven’t heard the truth. A cult - if that’s the right word - planned to purge the city of non-humans. The city guard and the wizard university were involved, though I don’t know to what extent. They intended to use an artifact called a Bonefire Sphere to turn orphans into undead and unleash them on the city. They were led by a man named Case. I don’t know his fate.”

I paused only briefly.

“We found them because my daughter was kidnapped. She’s a goblin and they meant to sacrifice her. We tracked them into the sewers and stopped them. Many of the orphans didn’t survive. In the chaos, the street above collapsed. The only reason any of those children are alive is because of one of my companions. She’s a dragon. She saved them. She saved me.”

Amberleigh’s expression did not change.

“The guard covered it up,” I continued. “Branded my companions criminals. Jailed one. She didn’t stay jailed.”

Silence stretched, but I pressed on.

“After that, we were attacked by a god-killer named Brand. I believe he convinced several dragons to strike at us. We’ve slain at least four. My hope is that with Brand dead, the attacks end.”

The Archmagus’ fingers tightened almost imperceptibly at that.

“Brand confronted me in Morentis, outside Master Edevane’s tower. He opened a rift and released a Myrddin. We closed the rift. We killed Brand. We killed the Myrddin. And that brings us here.”

I watched him carefully. He absorbed it all without visible reaction. No surprise. No outrage. No doubt. It made him hard to read.

“I’m sure you have questions,” I said. “Please.”

He studied me for a long moment, chewing slowly at the inside of his cheek before finally speaking.

“How,” he asked carefully, “did you kill the Myrddin?”

“I stabbed it and burned it to ash.”

“Stabbed it,” he repeated, “with a sword?”

“Yes. A very powerful sword.”

His jaw worked again. “And the fire?”

“Dragon’s fire.”

“This companion of yours?”

“No,” I said evenly. “My own.”

His good eye sharpened. “So you are a dragon.”

“I’m human,” I replied. “I participated in a rite called the Rite of Shared Flame. Afterward, I could… borrow my companion’s fire. Or perhaps I developed my own. I don’t fully understand it.”

“And you are certain the Myrddin is dead?”

“I can confirm it,” Elise said quietly. She had remained silent for most of the dinner, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Three Masters from the Council of Wizards also verified there was no remaining trace of the entity.”

Amberleigh inclined his head toward her.

“The goddess Yveth confirmed it as well,” I added.

That drew a reaction - a faint narrowing of his eyes.

“Yveth?”

I nodded. “The goddess of sorrow that never fades.”