I awakened to an overcast world, the room dim despite the open curtains. The mountains were shrouded in clouds, a barrier against the sun’s advances. Athran’s choice of capital, nestled in the north where rain turns to snow, was a mystery to me -unless it’s a stroke of defensive genius I don’t know of. But it’ll always be my home.
Before I was fully dressed, rain tapped a rhythm on the windowpane. Interesting start to a day after months full of sunshine.
“Breakfast?” I called out to her as she walked into the kitchen. I was sitting at the table, enjoying my usual cup of coffee and a rather unusual cookie. It was a simple pleasure, but one I relished, especially with the sound of rain tapping against the window.
She shook her head, “No,” but couldn’t resist and snatched the cookie from my hand. I watched her take a bite, the sweetness seemed to transport her back to a time less complicated than now. “You know, Jonathan had this stupid rule about desserts not being suitable for breakfast. Though, his breakfast was rarely more than a glass of alcohol.”
She sat down beside me, and I noticed her glance at the clock. Six in the morning. Early for most, but a regular part of my routine.
“Do you always get up this early?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
“Usually, yeah. I didn’t want to wake you,” I responded, taking another sip of my coffee.
“It was the weather, not you,” she said, resting her head on her hand.
I looked out at the rain. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s not the rain itself; it’s the cold that comes with it,” she explained. “It brings back memories of past expeditions, battlefields, sleeping under the open sky…”
Her voice trailed off. I had to lift up her mood, with a bright smile. “Is our trip still on?”
“Of course,” she assured me with a smile. “Just need to wrap up here.”
She leaned back, taking another bite of the cookie, as I watched her trace runes in the air. A hazy light formed, and a face appeared within it.
“Your Majesty, you’re up early. What can I do for you?” the image asked in a high-pitched voice.
She frowned slightly. That wasn’t a good sign. “Let’s skip the commentary on my sleeping habits,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but smile at her typical morning moodiness.
“Aren't you supposed to be in the Palace?” Riley's voice quivered with a hint of fear. I noticed his black hair seemed to stand on end for a moment.
“No, Riley. I'm not in the Palace,” she replied, eyeing the secretary. His elongated face was somewhat softened by a thick, long mustache, and a large hooked nose sat between his wary grey eyes. “I need you to arrange a meeting with Remis this afternoon.”
“With lord general Remis?” he asked, perplexed.
“No, with his little son…” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she waited for Riley to scramble for pen and paper. “Tell Hamilton to have someone from the guard collect all of Jasce's papers, documents and other work-related items. Have William question his family about his work and people he's been meeting with for no particular reason. And remind Michael or Junior I want their report.”
“The Council won't approve of that. The crown has no authority to-” he began, meticulously noting down her instructions.
“That's precisely why I'm dispatching the Guard, not you Addison.” she snapped, pushing the remaints of the cookie onto my plate, glancing at the man before her. “The members of the Council are free to formally complain, of course. Do you know when will they select new candidates?”
He shook his head, then added hesitantly. “They've cancelled all scheduled meetings. The Duke of Alryne mentioned they'd decide after the funeral.” he quickly said, noticing her raised eyebrow. She was tilting to her cold side. “In about a week.”
“Eight days!” she exclaimed, slamming her fits on the table, her voice raising unintentionally -I presumed, she's usually weirdly calm. I bit my lip, maybe I should do something. “I can't wait all week, or well… I don't want to.” she took a deep breath and continued in a somewhat calmer tone. “Without all seven members, Council can't make decisions, which means I can't make decisions. Tell them to expedite the process, I want the list in two days. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“There's news from Athran. King Edgar has abdicated, and his youngest son, crown prince Steven Atwell, will ascend to the throne in three days.” my gaze shifted to her at the mention of my name. She just smirked, focused on Riley. “They're waiting for your response.”
“I'm aware. I'll attend.” she said dismissively, waved her hand to make Riley's image disappear. She turned to me. “Would you be so kind and pass me some paper and pen, please?”
How could I refuse. “You seem a bit on edge, didn't you slept well?” I asked, offering her a silver pen and a paper adorned with Athran watermark. She shook her head disapprovingly, I sat back, ready to get back where I was.
“Ever so funny,” she mumbled, took the pen and looked me straight in the eyes. “I just hope you realise at this point the coffee is cold and there's no need to stir it, unless you share the strange habit with you father.” she made sure to pronounce the last three words very carefully. I burst out laughing.
“I slept fine, actually. It’S just the Council… they move too slowly for my liking,” she muttered, scribbling some kind of note. Slipped the ring out of her finger, pressed the seal into the paper and burned the seal onto the paper. The paper burned in her hand a moment later. “And I just really don’t like the cold.”
“Coffee might warm you up,” I suggested, passing a plain black mug. The lack of personal touches in the apartment was staggering. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but it felt so impersonal. I grew up here. I just didn’t want to bring all my stuff from Alryne.
“Tea is more my style,” she replied, just as a clap of thunder muffled her words. With a resigned sigh, she headed to the bedroom.
The Second Heir’s place was a strange show of disorder. The coffee table was a battleground of books and scattered papers, each page a testament to the relentless thought and musing -a trait that obviously ran in the blood. The angular grey couch seemed like a centrepiece no one ever sat on. Sunlight streamed through the open curtains, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden floor, offering a picturesque view of the islands beyond. Overall a pleasant apartment fitting her family more than the Palace.
“Jim!” she called out, approaching the glass staircase that led to the upper level.
“He might still be asleep,” I mused, considering the early hour.
“He’s not, it's already afternoon here.” she explained impatiently. “It’s more likely he’s not alone, buried under his-”
“My little Princess!” his voice boomed as he descended the stairs, his embrace belittling her. He stepped back, scrutinising her with a look more thorough than Joanthan’s.
Damien’s attire was a vibrant contrast to his brother’s more subdued palette -a white shirt paired with a green vest with golden patterns. His brown hair, meticulously styled, and the lighter shade of his eyes, distinct yet still bearing the hallmark of the Hallies’ lineage, gave him a youthful appearance -he looked younger than me. The twin scar on his cheek only added to his mysterious presence.
The problem with meeting a man like this, an heir of ancient lineage and a master of espionage, was an exercise in understanding true power. He didn’t appear intimidating at first glance, his youthful countenance and easy demeanour disarming. Yet even I know the extent of his influence.
“I’m not little,” she protested, though I was pretty sure it was futile.
“Sure you are, always will be,” he retorted with a grin, turning his attention to me. “Young Steeles, I presume. I am Damien Janai Hale, the Second Heir of Hallies’ Light and all its dominions, but normally people go with Jim.” his introduction was as lively as I imagined, but there was an undercurrent of something concealed, a secret he wasn’t sharing.
“Steven,” I replied, shaking his hand. Damien let go of my hand to embrace me as well, a gesture fitting his exuberant nature, I thought. Their entire family was like that, or Andrea, Jonathan and now Damien.
Meeting Damien was like stepping into a scene from a novel, where the charming rogue flashes a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s a real pleasure to finally, personally meet you.” he said, his laughter echoing through the room as he gestured to the bar lined with an alchemist’s dream of bottles. “Andrea tends to keep her friends close to the chest, doesn’t she?”
I saw her raise an eyebrow, before she spoke. “Well, he’s not exactly a friend, and it’s not about hiding; it’s about keeping a safe distance from the… let’s call it ‘enthusiasm’ that seems to run in our family.” she replied, trying to match his casual demeanour. “Besides, you’ve already corrupted one Steeles,”
Damien feigned shock, his hand theatrically pressed to his chest. “Did I now? Was it also me who introduced him to the delights of Lemford, hmm?” His smirk was all-knowing, a private joke shared between the relatives.
“Jim, let's not…” she folded her arms. The man before us was a walking contradiction, a blend of danger and levity.
“Well then, is this about the coronation?” he asked, pouring a mysterious pink liquid into a glasses with a golden rim.
He handed me a glass, his smile a practised art. “Your presence would be a shock to many, considering some believe the Second Heir has vanished into thin air.” I said, a hint of irony in my voice.
I took a cautious sip, the liquid bold and potent, a signature of Damien's taste for the dramatic. “Being Damien Hale is a full time job, but that doesn't mean I've disappeared.” he mused, swirling his drink.
I glanced at the ring on his finger, the initials etched in gold, red stone making his allegiance clear for him. “Perhaps it's time the Heir made an appearance beyond the walls of Eagaveli.” she suggested, meeting his gaze.
Damien's expression sobered for a moment, the weight of his legacy apparent in the set of his jaw. Despite the carefree facade, he bore the burden of his name with a solemn pride, a warrior-poet in a neverending story. “I'll consider it,” he said, and I knew for Damien that was as good as a promise.
I watched as Andrea hesitated, her words hanging in the balance before I interjected. “I'm sure Andrea meant to express that having you around there would be an honour for all of us, myself and my family included.” I said smoothly. Damien turned his gaze towards me, a knowing look in his eyes, while Andrea seemed relieved she didn't had to voice such sentiment.
The tension that had settled in the room dissipated with Damien's melodic laughter. “I like you,” he said, the carefree smile returning to his face. “You're quite amusing, for a wolf.”
Andrea's response was a roll of her eyes, a silent question lingered in the air. “How long have you been here?”
“Just returned, actually.”
“From where?”
Damien's laughter filled the room once more. “What is this, an interrogation?” he jested. I wasn't sure what it was about, but Andrea was onto something, she wanted to uncover Damien's whereabouts.
“Not yet. Have you heard of Casscairn?” she probed further.
Damien's demeanour shifted, as he placed his glass down. “I've mentioned before, Jasce should've been dismissed.”
“And as I've said, a Council member can't be removed without just cause.”
“There's always a reason, if you look for it,” Damien retoreted. I knew Andrea wanted to argue that she could find plenty of reasons to keep Jasce, to have a Council member in debt to her, but she held her tongue.
“He was supposed to ensure the new reached Athran.” Andrea mused aloud, her eyes narrowing slightly as if questioning whether Damien was already privy to this information.
“I'm aware. Quite the predicament you have there.” he replied nonchalantly , running a hand through his hair, his expression unchanging.
“The most amusing part,” Andrea continued, a shiver passing through her despite her composure, “is that someone claimed Jasce's body right before his demise. As if to cast a gaze upon me.”
“That does sound like an intriguing enchantment,” Damien remarked, unfazed. I observed the exchange closely, aware that Damien likely knew more than he let on.
“I'm certain of it,” Andrea said, handing over the sketch Hamilton gave her. Damien glanced at the sketch, his smirk revealing his knowledge of the situation. A chill ran down my spine. Damien pocketed the paper and exited the room without another word.
Once Damien was out of earshot, I mused aloud. “I think I like him better than Jonathan.”
Andrea, disposing of her glass, placed a cigarette between her lips and ignited it with the flicker of her fingers. She exhaled a stream of smoke before speaking. “That's likely because you're not acquainted with Jon. I'd be genuinely astonished if you didn't grow to appreciate him eventually.”
Minutes later, Damien reappeared, an open book cradled in one hand and a lit cigar perched between his lips. Spirals of smoke ascended toward the lofty ceiling. I noted the similarity to Andrea's habits; both smoke when nevres struck. Damien seemed like a man who shunned falsehoods and embraced blunt honesty. Unlike Andrea's father, who I presume would shield her from harm, Damien would confront the danger alongside her. Yet, now, he withheld truths, much like Jon, probably due to Jon.
“I can't disclose the perpetrator, but perhaps this may aid you,” Damien said, placing the book on the table. The formula within resembled Hamilton's, albeit dar more intricate, with additional circles and runes. Both spells bore the hallmark of a single creator, yet no name graced the pages, only the vexing illustrations.
“Are there more like this?” Andrea inquired after a pause. Damien hesitated, then turned the page to reveal similar arcane symbols and a small red cross beside the ancient script -a sign of some sort.
“What is this?” I queried, lifting the book. It's black covers bore no title.
“A mere ledger of spells, ones the Senate should've reviewed centuries past,” Damien replied nonchalantly.
“But there are crosses,” Andrea interjected. “Someone has scrutinised this already, yet no names are present.”
“Don't look at me like that. My signature just marks the conclusion,” Damien retorted, avoiding Andrea's probing eyes.
“You didn't leave, you had the book here and went through each entry.” she said, implying he might have known the author, but decided to keep the information. And since he left it so carelessly on the table, it wasn't probably of much use. “Since when do you merely affix your signature to anything?” she pressed.
At last, Damien met her gaze, a smile playing on his lips.
I waited for her response with a detached curiosity. “I can't complain. So far, it's been rather mundane. Contracts, tedious disputes, and relocating the capital,” Andrea mused, catching my watchful eyes. “But now, with a series of deaths, misplaced weapons, and a deceased Council member, things are finally getting interesting.”
“It's always been interesting,” Damien interjected with a wry smile. “But I've done my time -two hundred and fifty years.” The concept of Immortality intertwined with a monarchy was a complex one. Long before their time, their family had struck a deal; each would rule at least a quarter-century before passing the crown to the next in line. It seemed an eternity, but the family tree had thinned. Now, as the last heir, Andrea faced two centuries to find a successor. “Only Jonathan managed to evade it,” Damien added, his grin at untold stories.
“But he saved our city,” they exclaimed in unisom, erupting into laughter. It was an inside joke I didn’t really get, still unfamiliar with the humour they shared.
“So, how is my little brother?” Damien inquired once the laughter subsided.
“Are you genuinely concerned, or do you simply wish to hear he’s had a day worse than yours?” Andrea retorted, her question laced with scepticism. Damien’s steady gaze and perennial smile offered no clues, only the ascending spirals of cigar smoke hinted at any underlying tension.
“Does it matter?”
“I have no intention of playing mediator between you two.”
“And I never requested such,” For the first time, she seemed to understand Damien’s thoughts. The longstanding feud between her father and uncle was a strange thing to me. Each harboured different visions for the Legacy, and therein lay the crux of their discord -or that was the impression I got. All I knew for sure was that she was caught in the middle.
“I don’t think the book will be of any use; it lacks any names.” my conclusion came swiftly, and Andrea extended her hand expectantly for the book. Despite her smile, I held onto it, a furrow of concern marking my brow.
“I have nothing better to offer at the moment.” he admitted, his words carefully chosen. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t disclosing the full truth either.
Andrea nodded, her grip on the book tightening. “It’s better than nothing.” she conceded. The notebook’s cover was softer than it appeared, betraying its age. Modern materials were thinner yet more durable. “It’s Thalus’ handiwork,” she mumbled. I wrapped an arm around Andrea’s waist, sensing something was amiss. Whether it was Damien’s partial truths or something within the book, I felt the urge to depart.
“Take care, my little princess,” Damien warned, exhaling another cloud of smoke and fixing his gaze on us, “Both of you.”
“I’m no longer a princess, Jim,” Andrea retorted, her tone a mix of defiance and resignation.
We returned to her apartment, the heat was oppressive. The afternoon’s chill in Eagaveli’s mountains seemed a world away. Now, the sun’s rays were relentless, and Andrea’s light overcoat must’ve felt like furnace. Especially with the impracticality of high collars in such a climate.
“He may be more agreeable than Jonathan, but he’s withholding the full truth, isn’t he?” I observed, my eyes fixed on Andrea. Awaiting her decision -would she uphold the family’s secretive ways?
“No, he isn't entirely forthright. Yet, he’s the most truthful of the three,” Andrea replied, thumbing through the book fruitlessly. No names, no dates -only the remnants of torn pages. With a sigh, she tossed the book onto the sofa, where it bounced and landed with a thud on the floor.
“Really?” I folded my arms, shaking my head in mock dismay. My feigned shock at Andrea’s disregard for the ancient book. She approached the table, unwilling to engage in a debate over the treatment of such relics. A letter awaited her attention. Shedding her coat, she tossed it aside and perched atop the table.
“Sometimes, you’re quite the child, have you noticed?” I chided gently.
“What?” Andrea looked up, surprised to find a smile on my face. She had expected anger, not amusement.
“You’re acting like a child.” I echoed, my voice light as I settled among the cushions of the sofa. Andrea tilted her head, pondering a response.
“Right,” she smirked as I started to fiddle with a small bottle on her table. “Says the grown up, playing with a potent poison.” I carefully set it aside. “Don’t forget to wash your hands.”
The apartment, cluttered with misplaced items and scattered clothing, exuded a sense of comfort. I was laying there, on her light sofa -feeling more at ease than in my own quarters- as work demanded her focus. It took me several minutes before I shifted my attention to the various objects on her desk. First there were thick volumes, their dull exterior hardly inviting, written in an old language I never took interest in.
Then was my curiosity captured by a small, unassuming flower. As my hand neared, the bloom unfurled, bathing my palm in a gentle white glow. As I withdrew, Trilla closed. The look of pure childlike delight crossed my face. The flower -once used to detect mages, nearly driven to extinction by hunters. “I thought all of these were gone.”
“Not all,” she was watching me intently. “This is a cherished relic from a friend long gone, safeguarded through the centuries.”
“It’s beautiful,” she nodded, shifting her attention back to the letter in hand. Mine was caught by a black, glossy pyramid. It has to be some sort of puzzle. The objective usually was to spin it mid-air and unlock it to reveal a secret within. I held it, my concentration palpable.
“Jasce sent a message to the Council the morning of his demise. An assault in Casscairn’s heart, three fallen, several injured. I’ll await your arrival,” she recited. I looked up, the pyramid still in my grasp. “According to Michael and Junior’s gathered testaminies, no skirmish was witnessed. The townsfolk were simply instructed to remain indoors, and those who ventured out were escorted to the town hall by Jasce’s command.”
“It aligns, then. He intended to lure you there,” I mused, the pyramid rotating smoothly in my hand, distracting my anger. “Jasce was implicated, and his slayer was likely in the city too. Your guards encountered no adversaries; it’s a matter of timing. They narrowly missed each other, which explains Hamilton’s glimpse of the portal just before it closed.”
“In other words, we glean nothing from this,” Andrea concluded, setting aside the papers and hoping down from the table. The pyramid spun once more, its pace quickening. How long would it take to open such a thing? An hour? “Could you procure the documents pertaining to the vanished units? Perhaps Remis will unearth something.”
“Can you trust him?” I inquired, my tone laced with concern. I continued to methodically manipulate the pyramid, adjusting its rotation angle until I found the one without resistance.
“Remis is a Loyalist.” Andrea affirmed. During her father’s absent rule, the realm led by regents across generations, had fractured. The Loayalists remained steadfast to the royal lineage and time-honoured customs, while the Nobles favoured self-governance, relegating the royals to ceremonial figureheads. Their numbers had swelled over the decades, compounding Andrea’s anxieties and creating mine.
I set the puzzle aside and stood up. “I’ll send someone over with the documents.” before I left, she pressed the pyramid into my hand.
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