“Lykor is the reason Aesar survived—the reason the wraith have survived.” His claws clicked against the table. “You will show him proper respect, Princeling.”
Vesryn’s gaze snapped to Fenn and then shifted to Serenna, sharp and searching. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say, he locked back behind his jaw.
“We’re here to discuss what comes next,” Kal interjected, his soothing voice doing little to douse the smoldering tension.
“I agree,” Lykor grated out, shoulders twitching with annoyance. “The sooner we—”
“Who put you in charge?” the prince interrupted. “Shouldn’t we vote on who will lead us?” He raised a hand. “I vote Aesar.”
Lykor sneered. “This isn’t a fucking council.” He jabbed a finger at the door. “If you don’t like how I run things, see yourself out.”
More than ready to expel his irritation, Lykor leaned forward. “What are you anyway? A prince of nothing? Enlighten me as to what you’re bringing to this table aside from your complaints.”
“I lead the rangers,” Vesryn shot back. “And we have nearly a hundred fighting dracovae, all paired with elven-blooded warriors.” Crossing his arms, his fingers began tapping an agitated tempo. “I need to relocate everyone somewhere safe before the capital extends its reach to us—it’s only a matter of time.”
Lykor’s lip curled. “If you’re suggesting my stronghold, think again. We’re already housing more strays than I want.”
Aesar halted his pacing in their mind.A hundred Essence-wielders would be a significant asset.He flicked out a hand.Perhaps you’d complain less about being the only one with magic if we combined our forces.
“We can fend for ourselves,” Vesryn insisted, a tendon straining in his neck. “Can’t you see the advantage of having scouts cover more ground from the air? From what Kal has told me, my fliers could give us early warning if that human army approaches.”
Lykor rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t think you’d need reminding that the cold will kill your beasts—likely even faster than your idiocy.”
Vesryn’s nostrils flared as he shifted in his chair, as restless as Lykor felt.
“We all want the same thing—safety for our people,” Jassyn said quietly. A reminder.
Lykor hadn’t meant to look at him, but his gaze landed again on the jagged seam slicing through Jassyn’s eye. The scar shouldn’t have mattered—shouldn’t have felt like a blade twisting in his chest, each glance at it sharper than the last.
But it did.
Lykor bared his fangs and Vesryn tensed, but Jassyn placed his hand on the table in front of the prince, a signal for restraint.
“We need to address our wraith,” Jassyn continued, unflinching as he met Lykor’s scowl head-on, those soft amber eyes daring him to feel the sting of regret. “The king has drained hundreds of elven-blooded, as well as scores of Centarya’s former recruits, and released them across the realms.” He turned toward Thalaesyn, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. “We’ve unraveled the coercion that renders them mindless, but the rangers collect more wraith every day. We’re running out of room.”
“I can assimilate them into our ranks,” Fenn offered, immediately perking up. “The ones who want to fight. For the rest, our crafting districts offer a wealth of trades to master.” He shrugged, spinning a ring in his ears. “Not everyone’s destiny lies in being a warrior.”
“Most of the recruits were nobles, like I was,” Serenna added. “Any adjustment might be difficult if—”
“They’ll adjust,” Lykor snapped. “Or they can find someone else foolish enough to take them in. I’ve no tolerance for useless nobility.”
But those stripped of magic, discarded like refuse after the king drained their power—they weren’t nobles anymore. Allowing them to join his number wasn’t born of sympathy. It was recognition of a grim kinship, how they were victims of the same torment. Lykor knew that terror too well to ignore it.
Ripping his mind away from the past that threatened to resurface, he jutted his chin at the lieutenant. “You’ll oversee the integration personally. If any of them prove too lazy to pull their weight, I’ll hold you responsible.”
Thalaesyn gave a thoughtful nod. “Losing their magic has left many unmoored. We’ll need to give them purpose—a place to belong. With the state of the realms, there’s no safety for them outside your walls.”
A disgusted growl wrestled out of Lykor’s throat before he thrust his finger toward the researcher. “This isyourfault. You were too desperate, so reckless with Essence in trying to reverse that sterility curse.” His chest heaved as decades of pent-up fury suddenly rekindled, blazing under his skin. “Galaeryn wouldn’t have learned how to steal power if you didn’t do it first! You handed him the knowledge he needed.”
That’s not entirely fair,Aesar said quietly, the sun fading from his library, turning the room dark.The king was already on that path.
Sucking in a breath, Lykor refocused and realized everyone was staring at him.
“I’ll work with Fenn to reorganize the squads,” Kal said quickly, seizing the lull to interject. “The reavers left gaps that need filling.”
As if anyone cared about his meticulous handling of such trivialities.
“Our clans are organized for departure,” Mara said. “We’re ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Thal and I can oversee the civilians.” Her hand settled over Thalaesyn’s in a quiet show of solidarity.
