1
TERRAN
Thaeron, Elydor
“Kill him, Terran.”
I would do no such thing, despite that the order had been given by my father, the king.
The Aetherian captive was haranya, and there was no glory in killing one who’d not lived yet one hundred years. I met the ice-blue eyes of the warrior, one whose hands were tied behind him with vines from an ancient tree of my ancestors. Binds that would not break.
“He was delivered to me, and I will deal with him.”
That his father would even grace this corner of the palace underscored the importance of this particular captive. Here, in the eastern-most caverns of the mountain, the only one above ground as much of the Gyorian palace was built underground, the men were more loyal to me. The Gyorian nobles and diplomats from other clans rarely ventured this far east either. It was my domain. That my father made an appearance meant there was more to the story than the guards had told me.
“He is an Aetherian spy.” My gaze met the water-wielder. He didn’t acknowledge my father’s claim in any way.
“Perhaps,” I said. “But until your men’s claims are verified, he will remain as my prisoner.”
One of the guards who’d brought him here cleared his throat, his discomfort obvious.
My father’s jaw flexed, the ground under his feet rumbling. That he allowed his anger to show in front of an audience was not surprising. The Gyorian king was not known for his stoicism or patience.
Few Gyorians were known for such a virtue, including myself. But the king less than most.
Watching Father’s fingers, I envisioned what might happen next. He could twist them so subtly, most would not see them move. And as the most powerful Gyorian, not only would the Aetherian be dead in moments; my father would likely cause a fair amount of destruction to the courtyard where we stood.
Challenging him would not end well.
“He’s been questioned,” I said with a glance at the guards who handed him over to my men. “But not by me.”
I let the implication hang in the air. I would question him andthenkill him.
“My lord?” The youngest of the guards who had caught the apparent spy, one not much older than the Aetherian himself, spoke.
My father looked sharply his way without responding.
“He was found speaking to Ilyas Rho just outside the gates, but Rho was nowhere to be seen when the traitor was apprehended.”
I didn’t know the guard well, but my opinion of him soared. He knew well how to appeal to my father. Naming him a “traitor” would appeal to a man whose hate against the Aetherians had grown to a fever pitch of late.
Traitor.
I couldn’t think of the word without envisioning the face of one familiar to me. So familiar, I saw it each and every time I peered in a mirror. There was little time to dwell on my brother’s treachery. We were a heartbeat away from war. According to some, it had already reached us.
“Terran.” The reprimand was sharp. The one who delivered it, inflexible.
Perhaps more inflexible now than ever before, the father I’d known for so many years was nearly a stranger to me. Sometimes, I wondered if duty was simply what my father used to mask fear. Fear of change. Fear of what we might become if we didn’t hate the Aetherians quite so much.
My jaw flexed. I’d not apologize. Weakness among a Gyorian was unacceptable, especially for a prince.
“I will question him first,” I said to the guard.
With that, my father spun angrily away, accustomed to having his orders followed. His men walked away with him as quickly as they’d come, leaving me and my own to deal with the Aetherian.
I sighed.
Young. Defiant. He stood on a copper slab mined from the very mountain in which we gathered. A defense against erosive air magic, mined from the ground beneath us, would ensure that even if the vines that bound his hands broke, he would find it difficult to summon magic.
