Nyluma is a widespread city, its castle perched high above upon the uppermost bluffs. The blue waters of the Dewsong Sea glitter under the early morning sun. A few speeding craft sail across the distance, their sails billowing with color. The fastest features three masts with forest green, cutting through the waves as if it were sliding across glass.
It heads northeast, likely seeking the open waters of the Clarecier Ocean. Barely visible on the horizon lie the marshy lowlands of Renna—the homeland of the truthtelling Sovereign King, Eloric.
One of the fae bastards responsible for this whole mess.
Thanks to Lilith’s little lesson last week, I’ve learned Ganus, the other king leading the charge against Rowen, and Eloric arecousins. The glossed over detail lends fair credibility to Rowen’s sentiment regarding their assault being politically motivated while implemented under the guise of altruism.
If Rowen falls, Vis will not be the same by the time a new Sovereign King ascends. And while I’m not particularly invested in Vis or its people, Erus shares a border with Vis andBattalia—Ganus’ lands. Meaning this could bear more than significant weight upon Ryc.
In whom I do have significant investment.
“Should I worry?” Ryc asks, his voice yanking me from my thoughts.
The sea, the city, the sky—they all come back into focus.
“Worry?” I turn from the window, catching his gaze.
“Am I going to lose you to Nyluma?” A teasing grin spreads on his face.
I scoff a dry laugh. “No, not at all.”
My hand seeks his, braiding our fingers together as we stand side by side, waiting in the window-lined hall leading to Rowen’s throne room. We wait for Fenryn, and I’ve lost myself in the lands in the interim. My appearance today is not widely known. Rowen keeps those who have already arrived in the throne room. Fenryn will be walking beside Ryc and I as we enter.
It sends a message.
Lots of messages being sent today.
Let’s see if they all land.
“Nyluma is beautiful,” I say as I turn my eyes to the window once again. “Ollora is my home.”
A flock of gulls near the shore rise higher, riding the briny updraft. They soar high above rooftops and while I cannot hear them through the glass and over the distance, it takes little to imagine their calls. I watch with curling envy, and my back tenses with the longing to stretch my wings.
“For now,” Ryc replies, his voice quiet.
He’s mourning the loss of Ollora too.
Ascending and moving to this Illa Ysari will be new for us both.
“For now,” I echo, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“I must have missed the announcement regarding matching attire,” Fenryn’s jolly greeting carries through the hall. “Though I should have figured. Witherhorns have always been thebrooding-in-blacktype.”
Ryc chuckles as we turn and Fenryn approaches. He dons a white sleeveless robe accented with gold around the collar and waist. His golden hair flows over his shoulders, cascading down his back.Quite the contrast to the version of him I saw yesterday morning.
His Captain of the Royal Guard walks beside him, the same fae in his company a week ago when Rowen visited. He wears the same gilded armor, his auburn hair pulled back into a knot. They look like a pair of sun-kissed gods. The Captain’s green eyes meet mine and he offers me a charming smile.
Fenryn notices. “Riordan is a lot like Cyran, except he knows how to smile,” he says, jutting a thumb in the Captain’s direction.
“Honored to meet you formally, Lady Vestaris,” Riordan greets as they join us near the window. He dips his chin in a respectful nod. “Captain Riordan Hollymist. I’ll be working with Captain Stargarden to ensure your safety today.”
“Where is Cyran?” Fenryn’s head swivels. “He already inside?”
Ryc nods. “Confirming details with Captain Nightgale and Captain Seaclove.”
The Captains of the Royal Guard for Vis and Aeros, though I don’t know enough to decipher who belongs to which. Nor do I know their first names.
Fenryn shifts his eyes to me. “Good. If any of those bastards step out of line, it’ll be a step against at least four countries.”
