War.
Heknewwar, and he knew this war in particular, because it was the subject of every lesson for his entire life. So, he rolled back his shoulders and remembered who he was: the Crown Prince of the north, chosen by the gods to rule.
He hadjustopened his mouth to spout his battle plan –split the forces into segments, attack from above and below, do something unpredictable because after so many years, surely the Acolyte expects what we’re to do?– when his father slammed his fist on the table.
A gasp left Arawn’s lips.
Even the snow stopped falling on the table.
To his right, Hux, the Windmage Master, shifted uneasily.
Failure,Arawn’s mind hissed.They’re all looking at you now, disappointed in your mistakes!
...but it was the king who everyone’s eyes went to. Not Arawn.
“Have you no thoughts in your head? Or have you no cares at all for the plight of your kingdom?”
His face was pale, his eyes exhausted. Strands of grey had begun to pepper his once-dark beard, and wrinkles softened the once-hard lines of his face. He spent so much of his magic each night on the battlefield, channeling the Five’s power.
To have both windandfire?
It made Draybor nearly unstoppable. But it also made his clock run down faster with each passing day.
His face, his unavoidable deterioration, was a constant reminder that Arawn would someday take his place.
Arawn cleared his throat.
“I...my apologies, Fath—King,”he corrected himself. “I simply wanted to be certain with my answer. So that the very first time you asked for my input would not be my last.”
“There is no propriety in war,” the king growled, standing up from his chair so swiftly that Arawn flinched. “You hesitate, Crown Prince, and your armydies.”
A wave of his hand, a flutter of his lips as he requested more power...
And glittering blue flames erupted from his outspread hand. So hot, they melted the miniature Expanse, the tokens, every last piece upon the table, until there was nothing left.
He put the fire out with a crushing of his fist.
A cool wind circled, pushing the smoke away, and everything settled into silence.
Cold.
Empty.
Arawn didn’t even dare breathe as he watched the king settle back down in his chair.
“Get out of my sight, boy,” Draybor said. “Next time, if you are blessed enough tohaveanother chance, you will speak when I ask you to speak. Without a moment’s notice.”
Arawn nodded. “Yes, King.”
And before he could stop himself, he stood. He bowed...then turned to leave the room.
He hadn’t even shut the door when he heard his father say, from behind him, “Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever be strong enough to lead.”
Arawn made it to the training room early, desperate to move his body.
To do something he wasgoodat, because here there were noMasters, no king, no frowning queen. Here, it was just his hands and his feet and his heart pounding in time with the motions he’d practiced since he could walk.
Fighting was not a march. It was a dance...a place to befree.
