They readied their camp, Enver drawing out a muna’riel to illuminate the clearing. They needed no additional light from the lanterns Karigan had brought along. She collected wood while Estral struggled with their tent. Soon, she had a cheery fire blazing, and put a kettle over it to boil water for tea. As they ate a simple meal, the clouds appeared to disperse altogether above the boney branches of the trees. The stars shone eye-piercingly sharp.
“Would you like to try singing?” Enver asked Estral.
“No. I am sorry. I am . . . I am afraid.”
Enver bowed his head in acknowledgment.
“Will this path we’re on,” Karigan asked, “take us directly to the p’ehdrose?”
“No,” Enver replied. “There are branching ways, and it may be my people have left none that lead to the p’ehdrose.”
“You don’t know where they are? How do you know how to find them?”
“Not all worlds share the same space as ours,” he replied. “You, Galadheon, would know this better than most.”
She began to get an idea of why the Eletians had requested her for this mission. It was not her they wanted so much as her ability to cross thresholds . . .
“Why did no one mention this before we began?”
“Lhean did not say?” Enver asked, looking genuinely surprised. “The habitation of the p’ehdrose will be sensed more than seen.”
“Like the path,” Estral murmured.
“In a way,” Enver replied. “Your king knew as much. He is perceptive, for he comprehends that not all in the world follows the same rules when etherea comes into play. It is most likely, Galadheon, we will not need your ability to find the p’ehdrose.”
With the way things usually went, Karigan doubted such would be the case.
“Look,” Estral said. She pointed toward the sky.
They all looked up and through the trees where glowing waves of green stretched across the sky.
“The northern lights,” Karigan murmured. “It is the first I’ve seen them this winter.” It felt like an omen.
AUREAS SLEE
Slee was frustrated. The way to the Beautiful One and the young she carried was blocked with wards, and not just any wards, but Eletian spells alongside the lesser mortal ones. Slee thrashed at them as a gust of wind, only to be rebuffed. There had to be another way.
Slee backed off, floated down corridors as a barely visible haze. It drifted into chambers and wove among those who dwelled in the castle, its presence nothing more than a chill draft. There was little of interest to be found, and the corridors were endless. Slee slipped back outside and hovered among the low-lying clouds. It dropped snowflakes of perception among the flurries and found two humans strolling in the courtyard gardens.
As Slee’s snowflakes alighted on their heads and shoulders and swirled around the pair, it listened to their conversation, for the man was the One of Power. The castle was his, and he ruled all that fell within the boundaries of his realm. The woman who walked with him commanded etherea, but it was negligible.
Slee touched them with snowflakes, learned the workings of their minds. The woman was of little concern except for how she was regarded by her king. While her red hair fascinated Slee, she’d too many years on her, was too scored by old wounds to be of much interest.
The One of Power, the king, however, was the mate of the Beautiful One, and the sire of the unborn. His mind was keen, but in turmoil. He bore the heart of a warrior, but preferred peace. Despite all the man possessed—a realm, an army at his command, and the radiant queen with her young—a gloom lay over him as thick as night. Slee looked deeper, listened to words and thoughts, and formulated a plan that would allow it to have the Beautiful One and her young, and all the king’s power.
Yes, Slee would have it all.
THE FINGERS OF A HAND
The fresh air had done Zachary good, and when he returned to the castle, he found his gloom had lifted appreciably. When he sat in on a long meeting of the treasury, he was engaged as his administrators recounted the state of taxes collected and budgets allotted. It was critical that sufficient funds be available to feed, clothe, and arm his military for the conflict to come, though he wished, with regret, those funds could go to building and maintaining roads, and other projects that would help Sacoridia progress into the future. Alas, war was upon them, and it must be confronted. Should the gods grant them victory, then he could turn his attention to improvements to his realm.
Satisfied all was in order, he moved on to other meetings until darkness fell, and then returned to the royal wing to look in on Estora. Jasper and Finder came tearing to greet him before he even reached her sitting room. He laughed and patted them before proceeding. He found Estora in her customary place on the sofa, blanket drawn over her legs. She looked up from her book of poetry when he entered. Her thoughts practically rippled across her face—hope and eagerness balanced by wariness and resignation.
“How are you this evening?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He stood awkwardly there for a moment. He would not apologize for speaking sharply to her after she’d made Karigan reveal her mirror eye. As for the rest? He felt guilty he could not devote the whole of his affections to her. She deserved better.
“Will you be dining with me tonight, my lord?” she asked.
Her formality stung. “I cannot. I will be hosting a banquet for my generals.”
The disappointment on her face was plain. “Will your ladies not join you?” he asked.