It was absurd to care. Absolutely ridiculous. Leadership wasn’t about being liked—it was about making impossible decisions. Keeping everyone alive.
But no amount of reasoning silenced the nagging voice that wondered if Jassyn saw him as no better than the king, stealing power without hesitation.
It didn’t matter. The decision was slipping through his fingers anyway. Aesar was nearly on the cusp of interfering, ready to return Serenna’s ability behind his back.
Appearing on the verge of spouting a flurry of arguments, Vesryn opened his mouth, but Lykor silenced him with a raised hand. He’d relent without a fight. This debate wasn’t worth the air it would waste.
Wordlessly, Lykor lifted his gauntlet to his chest. Delving into his Well, he wrenched the augmented portion of his portaling talent free—the piece that had once belonged to thegirl—leaving his own portion of the ability intact. He stared at the light flaring above his palm, grinding his molars, loath to relinquish strength in power.
Eventually, the collective weight of the expectant stares itched between his shoulders, driving him into action. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he hurled the ability across the campfire.
The light streaked through the air in a sharp arc before Serenna caught the orb mid-flight. Without so much as acknowledging him, she passed the talent off to Fenn.
Jewelry clinking, Fenn’s brows rose as he glanced between her and the ability now hovering above his claw.
“It makes more sense for you to have it,” she said with a shrug. “You’ve traveled farther across the realms and know more locations than I do. You can help portal the wraith around. And if I need to go anywhere…” She trailed off, her gaze sliding toward Vesryn, who was stoically staring at the main camp with his back half-turned. “I’m sure I’ll be with either you or the prince.”
Clusters of elven-blooded and wraith gathered around scattered campfires, but it was clear the prince wasn’t looking at them. The tightness in his shoulders betrayed his sour mood, though whether it stemmed from Serenna’s decision or some internal struggle, Lykor neither knew nor cared. He had no patience for this lovers’ quarrel.
Fenn’s gaze drifted to him, searching for guidance—or permission. Lykor offered a curt nod, tossing aside his empty bowl to seize a stick from the ground.
He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but the girl’s reasoning was strategic and practical. Fenn’s possession of the talent meant he could direct its use when needed. That made this ordeal more tolerable. Barely.
By the time Fenn absorbed the ability, Lykor’s attention had already shifted, drawn to movement at the edge of the glade. The rangers’ flight captain strode into view, her steps purposeful, like she belonged wherever her boots landed.
The scales in Zaeryn’s black leathers gleamed faintly in the morning sun, her sheathed weapons poking over her spine. She nodded to the group in greeting before taking a seat close to Jassyn on the log.
Too close.
The stick in Lykor’s hands snapped in half, the brittle crack cutting through the conversation. A few heads turned, but only briefly.
Lykor’s gaze burned, locked onto the intruding elf before he ripped his attention away, tossing the broken splinters into the fire.
His fangs elongated, digging into his gums. The sting was a welcome distraction from the maddening thought—if Zaeryn inched any closer, she might as well drape herself across Jassyn’s lap.
It didn’t matter. Jassyn could sit next to whoever he scorching well pleased.
“I have the report from that harbor you sent us to investigate in the southern realm,” Zaeryn relayed to the prince.
“A harbor? In Vaelyn?” Serenna asked, a frown forming. “My mother requisitioned supplies before I left for Centarya, but surely construction isn’t anywhere near complete.”
The words droned in Lykor’s ears as his frustration simmered. If Galaeryn had already begun building vessels, then they weren’t just behind, they were losing ground.
If there was time to slip away to those beaches while Aesar was resting… Lykor quickly severed that idea, slamming it behind his obsidian doors. Instead, he considered how many different ways he could make the flight captain disappear.
Fangs grinding, he cut off that thought just as quickly. He couldn’t care less. Obviously.
Jassyn’s voice broke through Lykor’s turbulent thoughts, yanking his attention back to the group. “In the stables…” He hesitated, fingers curling tightly around his mug. “I saw glimpses in Elashor’s mind. The king intends to tether Essence-wielders to conceal their magic from the Maelstrom. If the storm gets close, he’ll force those with shaman blood to control it. That’s how they’ll cross.” He shook his head, firelight casting shadows over the worry etched across his brow. “I didn’t gather much else.”
Lykor barely registered the words as Jassyn shifted away from Zaeryn, ever so slightly. He despised how that small motion extinguished the blaze of jealousy in his chest. It was absurd. Irrational. But still, relief cooled the heat in his veins.
Elbows on her knees, Zaeryn leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the prince. “Vaelyn’s shores are crawling with the capital’s soldiers, and bands of humans are camped beyond the castle walls.”
Vesryn released a disgusted scoff. Fenn wordlessly handed him a log and the prince shoved it into the flames with unnecessary force. Sparks scattered, flaring before fading.
“I’ll portal under the cover of darkness tonight,” Vesryn muttered, wrestling the wood deeper into the fire. “I’ll find out if the fleet has launched—or how close they are. I’ll question someone discreetly and figure out what else they know.”
Information.
