Chapter 498: A Call For Aid
TESSIA ERALITH
“She’s going to be incredible,” I said, grinning. My fingers brushed over the soft leaves of a sapling nearly as tall as I was. “Varay was already powerful, but watching the way she can reach for mana now…” I turned to my grandfather. I knew I was gushing, but I couldn’t help it. “She’s mastered her Integration with such dignity.”
Grandpa Virion chuckled as he poured water from a spout onto a fresh seedling. “I’m glad to hear she’s in good health. The first person to experience Integration in the memory of our modern era…”
As he had avoided mentioning Cecilia, I followed his lead. “Varay’s recovered well, yes. The experience seems to have cracked the ice of her personality a bit, too. She seems to have discovered a certain fondness for sweets during her recovery.” I fell into a fit of giggles as I remembered seeing the stoic Lance with powdered sugar coating her lips.
“She gives you hope.”
I felt myself catch, like a notched blade pulled from its sheath. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.
But yes.” My gaze turned back to the plants. I took up my own watering can and resumed moistening the tilled earth in which they grew. “Right now, it feels like Art is all that stands between us and the cruelty of the asura. I know Varay isn’t as powerful as that, but seeing her work so hard to improve, even at her level, makes me feel better about our chances.”
Virion set down his can and pruned off a few weak branches on the larger saplings. When he was finished, he stood with his hands on his hips and regarded the arboretum with pride. “The soil is just as potent as Arthur described. Imagine the growth if these trees had proper airflow and sunlight.”
Smiling, his attention settled on me. “You know I wasn’t talking about the future, Tessia. I was speaking about your future.”
I bit my lip as he approached me. His hands settled lightly on my shoulders, and he looked deep into my eyes. “It’s okay, little one. You don’t have to feel guilty. You touched power—real power—and you want it back, because you want to stand beside Arthur and not behind him. There is no shame in that.”
My throat constricted. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around Grandpa Virion, resting my head against his chest. “How can you know what I’m thinking when even I don’t?”
He scoffed. “You’ve never been able to hide anything from me. Like these saplings, I watched you grow from only a little seed. I’ve been there for every success and every mistake. You are the best of both your mother and father, and the beating heart within my chest. How could I not know what you think?”
“I love you, Grandfather,” I said breathlessly, my cheeks wet with tears.
He patted my head like he’d done when I was a child. “And I love you, Tessia.” He cleared his throat, took me by my arms, and moved us apart a single step. “Now, we’ve waded through enough of these emotional brambles. There’s work to be done. We need to—”
He went quiet, turning toward the entrance. A couple seconds later, Bairon flew into the cavern and landed just beyond the border of the arboretum. The human Lance didn’t slow down to greet either of us. “There is word from Alacrya. The dwarven lords have called a council, and they want you to attend.”
Virion gave the Lance a grave half-smile. “You mean they demand I attend. With the war seemingly over for good, the dwarves grow more bold—and restless—with the elves who remain.”
Bairon nodded, running a hand through his silken blond hair. “The sentiment that led to the attack on the Alacryans hasn’t entirely vanished. Even if you weren’t wanted at the council, Virion, I’m afraid you’re needed. As a voice of reason.”
Sighing, Virion dusted himself off and started toward Bairon. He paused after only a few steps and looked back at me. “Would you pick a few subjects for our next transfer to Elenoir? Saria Triscan is chomping at the bit to start another grove.”
“Actually, I’d prefer to come with you,” I answered.
“After my recent visit to Etistin, well, I’d like to be more involved.” Stripping off my leather gloves, I tossed them next to the rest of our tools, conjured a gust of wind to blow off the dirt that still clung to Grandpa and me, and looked at him expectantly.
I knew he wouldn’t decline my request. He’d been gently prodding me to get out of the cavern and be more involved, which is largely why I had gone to Etistin to begin with.
My grandfather grinned and gestured for Bairon to lead the way.
Virion had already been catching me up on the politics of Vildorial, Darv, and Dicathen as a whole. The dwarves respected my grandfather, but they were resentful of Arthur’s insistence that Virion act as commander of Darv’s defensive efforts in the final weeks of the war. The dwarven nation was still badly fractured after the Greysunders’ betrayal and subsequent civil conflict, and both the dwarven lords and people were hungry for leadership from within their own race.
The problem of what to do with the elves and Alacryans—a “problem” in the council chamber only, as almost all the elven refugees had left Vildorial before Alacrya’s final assault, and the Alacryans themselves had been sent home—continued to split the dwarves right down the middle.
We found the council chamber already ringing with raised voices. Durgar Silvershale, who had stepped into his father’s shoes as Daglun recovered from his wounds, had stood and was jabbing his finger into Lord Earthborn’s face.
“—above and beyond for those cut-throats! This is none of our concern.”
Skarn Earthborn, Mica’s scowling cousin, was guarding the door. He stepped forward with a hand on his weapon.
I didn’t know the Silvershales, but I had fought beside Skarn and his brother, Hornfels, in Elenoir before my capture. I rested my hand atop his. He glowered viciously at Durgar, but he held his position.
“Friends,” Virion said, loud enough to cut across the arguing.
The chamber—the inside of a massive geode that reflected a kaleidoscope of colors—went silent. Durgar straightened his tunic and returned to his seat. Carnelian Earthborn watched Durgar carefully, then made a gesture of welcome to Grandpa and me.
A woman stood at the head of the table where the others sat. From the back, she had long fire-red hair. She was dressed simply in traveling leathers. At the sound of Virion’s voice, she turned.
My heart stopped.
I was standing in a press of bodies. So tight they held me on my feet even as I struggled to breathe. A honeyed voice, oozing through the city square. Pillars of stone raised high above. Red hair billowing like dancing flames as that same face looked down at us…
Around her, bodies. Bodies on black metal spikes.
Blaine and Priscilla Glayder and…my parents.
I looked into the eyes of the woman who had paraded my parents’ corpses across Dicathen while espousing Agrona’s divinity.
Virion was speaking. He stepped forward, took the woman’s hand. She answered, her honeyed tones running thin, coming out desperate.
Didn’t he know? I wanted to slap her hands away from his, to…to…
Of course he knows, I answered myself.
I knew of Lyra Dreide’s role in the war, both before and after she ceded the regency of Dicathen to Arthur. She’d done a lot of good for Dicathen, by all accounts.
The words they exchanged finally coalesced into meaning in my ears.
“Lyra Dreide. You’ve come a long way, and so shortly after leaving. What’s this all about?”
“Virion. I’m glad you’re here. Please, Seris needs your aid.”
Carnelian Earthborn grunted. “We were just discussing our response before you arrived, Virion.”
“What is it you’re asking us to do?” Grandpa asked the woman.
Lyra was shaking her head, her red hair flying like a burning flag. “The blast nearly killed Seris and Cylrit, but it wasn’t targeted. Apparently, it did kill Scythe Dragoth Vritra, and many others besides.”
Lance Mica clicked her tongue. She stood flanking her father with her arms crossed, her face pinched into a scowl.
“We let your people go home against our better judgment,” Durgar cut in, half standing again. “Now, they beg for aid because they find their home inhospitable. You’re lucky we don’t march our soldiers straight through those portals and—”
“You don’t have that kind of authority, boy,” a dwarven woman said, smacking her hand on the table.
“Please, my lords.” Grandpa’s voice resounded off the colorful crystals. The dwarven lords went quiet. He motioned for Lyra to continue.
“Lady Caera Denoir had hoped her message might reach Vildorial before Arthur left,” Lyra said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. “He needs to know what is happening.”
“Perfect, let the regent handle it,” Daymor, youngest of the Silvershale clan, said while miming brushing dirt from his hands.
Carnelian hummed thoughtfully. “I’m inclined to agree.” To Virion, he added, “Do you know how we can get a message to Regent Leywin?”
“We have an asura right here in the city,” Lance Mica said, pointing downward through the floor. She was speaking of Wren Kain, of course. “If anyone can get to Epheotus to deliver a message, it’s him.”
With permission, Durgar sent a runner to fetch the asura, and two chairs were added to the table for Virion and me. Bairon stood behind Virion. Lyra was left to stand at the head of the table.
The shock of seeing her had slowly receded as the lords, Virion, and Lyra spoke. I followed their conversation in a kind of fugue, hearing but not absorbing. In the incredibly awkward silence that settled over the Hall of Lords, my mind churned into a slow, muddled mess of thoughts.
The asura arrived more quickly than I had anticipated. Although I’d heard he favored flying around in a conjured seat like a throne, he marched into the Hall of Lords on his own feet, stepping without hesitation across the floating stones that led the way to the large table.
Without preamble, he placed his hands on the table, leaned forward, and said simply, “What?”
“We need to send a message to Arthur.” It was my grandfather who answered. “Can you help us?”
“No.” Wren Kain straightened, spun on his heel, and marched away.
“Please, Lord Kain,” Lyra said, taking a couple of faltering steps after the asura. “It’s quite literally a matter of life and death.”
Wren Kain stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
If not for the incredible pressure of his mana signature, I wouldn’t have thought much of the man just to look at him. Unkempt and hunched, the asura was hardly the picture of unimaginable power. And yet, when his gaze swept across me, the hair stood up on the back of my neck and gooseflesh roughened my skin.
“Aldir had the resources to travel between Epheotus and your world. I do not.” Wren Kain’s words were spoken plainly, but they gripped the room in a chokehold.
I swallowed against the pressure, considering whether to ask the question that came to my mind. After all, I was one of very few who knew that Wren Kain was not the only asura in Dicathen. Although Cecilia was gone, my memory of following Mordain Asclepius to the Hearth remained.
“What about…Chul?” I asked, not wanting to say Mordain’s name in front of so many others.
Everyone present knew of Chul, even if they didn’t know his true identity as a phoenix, but they were not aware of the hidden conclave of asuras beneath the Beast Glades.
Wren’s thick brows rose. “Maybe. I can’t say for sure. You’d have to ask…Chul.”
The dwarves, Bairon, and Grandpa were looking on expectantly. The dwarves, even those not hostile to the Alacryans, seemed universally eager to see someone else step up and take responsibility for the situation. Virion kept his face passive, but I could read him well enough to see his encouragement.
Lyra Dreide looked back and forth between us. “Chul? By why—” Her eyes widened, and I saw understanding bloom within them. To Wren, she said, “Can’t you send a message or seek him out on our behalf? There is nowhere else for us to turn, Master Kain.”
The asura turned fully back toward us. His heavily lidded eyes were bright, and his teeth ground together, causing the muscles of his face to clench and unclench. “Fine. No promises it’ll do any good though.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Durgar Silvershale. “If you lot interfere with the Beast Corps program, there’ll be hell to pay when I get back.”
The Silvershales and their allies on the council paled at the threat, rage and terror warring on their faces.
“While this council continues to believe that we deserve some say in the use of the exoforms, it’s a conversation for another day,” Carnelian said, his voice even more hoarse than usual.
Wren Kain nodded, and there was a dire finality to the small gesture. “Give me your message then.”
“I will tell you everything on the way,” Lyra said, some of her nervousness settled and her posture growing more confident. She turned briefly back to the council and gave them a shallow bow. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said, a bite in the way she pronounced the last word.
Wren Kain only shrugged at Lyra’s words, then gave us a dismissive wave as he again started to leave.
I stood suddenly “I’d like to come with you. If we are going to ask…” I hesitated, aware I still had an audience. “If we are going to ask for aid, a representative of Dicathan should be present.”
“But what’s this Chul boy have to do with anything?” Daymor Silversale asked. A couple of other dwarves echoed his question.
“He is connected to Arthur in a way that may transcend the boundaries of our two worlds,” Wren lied quickly and easily. To me, he said, “Well? Come on, then. We apparently don’t have all day.”
I squeezed Grandpa’s hand. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Maybe check in with Saria and our test growths while you’re there,” he answered with a wink.
There was a brief conversation about whether the dwarves should send a representative as well, born by Durgar’s questioning of my authority to represent Dicathen in any official capacity. Only Lance Mica volunteered, but the council quickly forbade her from leaving, and the argument died.
Wren Kain and Lyra Dreide gave me enough time to retrieve my belongings, then we hurried toward the surface. The asura flew in his conjured seat while Lyra and I struggled to keep pace behind him.
Once under the scorching desert sun, the sand beneath our feet transformed into the deck of a small sailing vessel made of stone. I bent down and ran my fingers across the surface, and was stunned to find it indistinguishable from the wood that it mimicked. Lyra grabbed hold of the mast as the ship shot up into the air, and then we were flying across the desert at a speed I thought even the Lances would have struggled to maintain.
Wren stood at the front of the ship and watched the land melt away beneath us.
“It hardly looks like he even has to concentrate,”
Lyra said in a low voice, barely audible over the rush of wind. She had released the mast and moved to the railing, which she gripped tightly as she looked down at the desert floor far below.
I didn’t reply. When she spoke, I heard only her unctuous voice announcing the slaughter of my parents…
“I…know who you are,” she said after an uncomfortably long pause.
I leaned against the rail and took a deep breath, watching the mountains come quickly closer.
“You must hate me, and I won’t blame you for that. Under Agrona, I was eagerly cruel. I genuinely never considered any other way to be. But fear and hope are both powerful motivators, and Regent Leywin has given me many reasons to feel both.”
At Arthur’s name, I finally looked at her. Really looked at her. Although this was the same face that had looked down on us from beside the corpses of my parents—the same light red eyes and burning hair—it was not the same woman.
And I was surprised to discover that I didn’t hate her.
I’d experienced exactly what Agrona was capable of. Only someone who’d been on the receiving end of his manipulative magic could really understand. Even if he’d never dragged his venomous claws through Lyra Dreide’s mind, the influence he had on every Alacryan could not be overstated. This only made the people who had fought against him even braver…
I brushed my hair out of my face and forced a smile. “Arthur’s pretty good at that. I’m…still trying to live by his example. I won’t hold it against you.”
The Alacryan woman’s brows climbed up until they vanished behind her hair, which was whipping in the wind. “Really? Sorry, I don’t mean to question. I just forget, sometimes.”
I cocked my head slightly, not sure what she meant.
A wry smile played over her lips. “How…kind you Dicathians can be.” Straightening, she slipped one arm through mine and tugged me toward the cabin door. “Come on. Why don’t we get out of this wind? I want to know more about you, Tessia Eralith.”
Bemused, I let myself be dragged along.
***
The journey to the Beast Glades was impossibly short. Twice, Wren Kain defended our ship from flying mana beasts, but most of the creatures were kept away by his aura alone. When we reached our destination, he did not land the ship. Instead, it dissolved beneath our feet. Left standing on small stone discs, Lyra and I floated gently to the ground, while Wren did the same in his throne.
Flashbacks of Cecilia tracking Mordain and Chul to the Hearth played behind my eyes, and the answering guilt twisted my stomach.
That wasn’t me, I reminded myself.
Wren floated us down a deep ravine that entered into one of the many dungeons that dotted the Beast Glades. Inside, we found the mana beasts slaughtered. Wren shielded us all in mana and flew ahead. Lyra and I jogged to keep up. Technically I could fly, but my control wasn’t perfect, I didn’t want to bounce off the walls like a manic baby bird trying to keep up with the asura.
Although I, or rather Cecilia, hadn’t entered into this dungeon, I still recognized the shape of it. When we came to the large black doors into the Hearth, Wren finally slowed.
The doors, carved of charwood and imbued with mana, were engraved with the image of a phoenix with its wings spread and inset with metal that gleamed orange in any light. Wren hammered on them impatiently.
They opened without delay, revealing a muscular man who stood over seven feet tall. A bearlike mana beast that reminded me forcefully of Boo—only much larger—stood at his side. Its small dark eyes pierced us one by one, and it gave a low growl.
“Wren Kain IV,” the giant said, his voice a deep rumble that I felt in my bones. He was obviously asuran, but I wasn’t sure of his race beyond that. There was a metallic tinge to his mana signature that felt similar to Wren Kains, making me think perhaps he was a titan. “This is an unexpected visit.”
Wren scoffed. “Could have fooled me. The red carpet was all but rolled out. Why is the dungeon clear, Evascir?”
The other asura cocked his bald head slightly. “Mordain has been keeping a closer eye than usual on the outside world. The scouts require clear passage.”
Wren frowned thoughtfully, but he didn’t comment on what Evascir said. “Bah. Are you going to invite us in or should we wait for this dungeon to devour the scourges’ mana and birth them all over again?”
The giant examined Lyra and me closely. “These two smell of the Vritra clan.”
“Lyra Dreide, once a slave of Agrona, now the leader of her people in the Beast Glades. She’s practically your neighbor, Evascir. And Tessia Eralith, princess of the elves,” Wren introduced in a lazy drawl.
Evascir bared his teeth. “The Legacy. I know of you.”
“Not anymore,” I said, stepping around Wren’s floating throne. “Cecilia—the Legacy—was banished from our world, and I have reclaimed my body. I’m here to ask Mordain for help on behalf of all Dicathen.”
Evascir’s jaw worked as he considered my words. “So be it. Enter. Mordain will know of your coming.”
We passed through the outer guard chamber into a warm passage carved of granite and lit by silver sconces. The walls were green with vines, and for a moment, I forgot we were deep underground. Something about the scent of this place reminded me of my childhood home in Zestier.
This passage led to a balcony, which overlooked a wondrous garden. Despite being inside and underground, multiple towering trees grew from soil to ceiling. I took a deep breath, drinking in the smells of sweet flowers and rich, dark earth. The trees, which had silver bark and bright orange leaves, gave off a spicy scent like cinnamon.
But Wren didn’t pause to smell the flowers. He flew off the balcony and straight through the garden, leaving Lyra and I to hurry down the stairs after him. A handful of people with burning eyes and hair—phoenixes—watched us enter from around the garden. They all wore nearly identical expressions of reserved concern.
Wren glanced back to see us flagging behind. The ground lifted up beneath us, and a disc of stone whisked after him. I went to one knee and grabbed the edge of the disc, my stomach flipping. Beside me, Lyra did the same.
Wide tunnels flashed past until we came out high up in another huge room. Like some kind of theater, several layers of balconies encircled a stage that held a large circular table.
Only a single figure sat at the table. He stood as Wren approached. The floating throne melted away, and Wren’s feet touched down smoothly onto the ground. Lyra and I landed just behind him, stumbling onto the platform.
Something shuffled from the rail of the closest balcony: a green, horned owl. I recognized the creature from my time in Xyrus Academy.
“Hello, Tessia Eralith,” it said softly as Mordain and Wren greeted each other. “Welcome to the Hearth.”
“Welcome indeed,” Mordain echoed, stepping around Wren and holding out his arms wide.
I had seen Mordain through Cecilia’s eyes when she attacked Chul, but this was my first time meeting him in person as myself. Glowing markings ran down the sides of his surprisingly youthful face, but they were rendered dim by the brightness of his eyes, which glowed like the sun. His golden, feather-embroidered robe flowed around him when he moved, as did his untamed mane of fiery hair.
“This one almost looks as if she belongs here,” he said jauntily, looking at Lyra’s hair. “Lady Lyra of Highblood Dreide, if I am not mistaken.” He folded both her hands into his own as she gaped in surprise.
When he turned his face toward me, his expression softened into a complicated smile. “Ah, Lady Eralith. It is both a pleasure and an honor to have you here.”
My cheeks reddened. The way the phoenix lord spoke and looked at us, it was like we were the only people that mattered in the whole world.
“Come, sit. Tell me why you are here.”
We all took seats around his table, and Lyra recounted the message she’d received from Alacrya, as well as the discussion with the dwarves in Vildorial.
Mordain listened with careful patience. He didn’t interrupt, even to ask questions, and seemed to hang on to every word. When she was finished, he let out a long, thoughtful hum. “We felt this disturbance even here. A great outpouring of mana, and an even greater swelling back in on the source.”
My mouth fell open as I stared at him in shock.
“What?” Wren was quick to say, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward over the table. “I didn’t sense it!”
Mordain gave him an understanding look. “Your sight is inward, Wren. We have been gazing outward.”
“How could something be so powerful that it was felt across the entire ocean?” Lyra asked breathlessly. “What was it?”
Mordain gave a small shake of his head, turning regretful. “I do not know, my dear, but I admit that it strikes fear into my heart.”
“Will you help us then?” I asked too quickly. I swallowed down my anxiety and straightened my posture. “Please, can you help us get a message to Arthur?”
Mordain opened his mouth to speak, but a blaze of power filled the chamber, crashing down on us like a comet. I instinctively wrapped myself in mana as I jumped up from my seat.
A broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man slammed into the ground hard enough to make the giant table jump, sending a candle holder rolling. The green owl flapped its wings in agitation.
The man pointed his weapon at me: a large iron sphere on the end of a long handle. Fissures in the metal flared with orange light. “You! Come back to finish the job, have you? I think you’ll find me a much better match this time around!”
“Chul!” Wren, Lyra, and Mordain all spoke his name at once.
Like a man waking from a dream, Chul blinked, gazing around at the others. His eyes—one icy blue, the other burning orange—widened. “I—I felt…”
Mordain smiled wryly, one brow inching up. “And you thought that I had simply allowed the Legacy to wander unhindered through the heart of our home?”
Chul swallowed visibly and lowered his weapon. “I don’t understand.”
Mordain’s ever-present smile took on a kinder, softer edge. “Chul Asclepius. Meet Tessia Eralith, princess of Elenoir and close friend and ally of Arthur Leywin.”
Chul’s eyes widened even further until he looked like a child’s caricature of a man. “Tessia! Arthur’s pining love, who he spent so many sleepless nights agonizing over?” With a booming laugh, he lunged forward and lifted me into a crushing hug, nearly knocking over Lyra in the process.
“Chul…” Mordain scolded, but the half-asuran seemed to take no notice.
I could only hold my breath until Chul set me back on my feet. He took a step back and beamed down at me with his hands on his hips. “You are much more beautiful and less horrible now than when you were the Legacy! Perhaps not quite so beautiful as Lady Caera of Clan Denoir, who also vies for the heart of my brother in vengeance, but I can see now why the mere thought of you stutters his heart.”
I felt my eyes glaze over as my mind went utterly blank, unable to conceive of any way to respond to this comment, which seemed to come out of nowhere. “Th-thanks?” I managed to stammer.
Mordain hummed again, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Chul, these representatives of Dicathen and Alacrya have come because they need to send a message to Arthur in Epheotus. They seek our help.”
Chul rested his foot on the seat of the closest chair, which also happened to be the one Lyra had just vacated. He leaned one elbow on his knee.
“It is time, then. I am prepared. I will take this message to Epheotus.”