“You used to be the reckless one. Blades before strategy. Shadows before thought.”
“And you,” Kael said flatly, “used to be the drunk one.”
Thauren chuckled. “Still am. Just better dressed now.”
Kael allowed the ghost of a smirk to flicker across his face. “We were gods-damned disasters.”
“We were boys,” Thauren corrected. “Too young to inherit kingdoms already crumbling under divine rot.”
They fell quiet again, the weight of memory pulling heavy between them.
“I miss her,” Thauren admitted after a beat.
Kael’s throat tightened. “So do I, Elenwe was better than us all.”
“She would’ve liked Maris.”
“She would’ve fought for her.” Kael said.
“Seems to be a pattern,” Thauren muttered.
Kael examined the map before him, every inch of it bled consequence. Borders. Routes. Weaknesses. The tether to Maris may still exist but what would be left of her when he got there?
The thought twisted like a blade in his gut.
Up to two months. That’s what Thauren had estimated for their soldiers and navy to merge.
Kael spoke grimly. “ There must be a way to cut down the estimates, Calanthe's shores need to be invaded now.”
Thauren gave a reluctant nod. “That’s the time it’ll take for your forces to ride from the far eastern ranges. My ships will need to cross the length of the continent, and land where your navy can rendezvous. We are at the mercy of the trade-winds. Then add the time to coordinate your noble houses and their bloodline militias…”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Too long.”
“Then we cut it as thin as we can,” Thauren said. “I’ve already sent ravens to Virellia’s outer islands. My outer fleets will move in formation, staggered, stormwalkers cloaked in fog, tidecasters protecting their passage. They’ll meet your cavalry at the southern marshlands. The others…”
“The houses will follow,” Kael finished, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Ones that do not will be dealt with.”
Thauren raised a brow. “ After your little example before them all, I don't see that being an issue.”
The sea king huffed a wry laugh and leaned forward over the table’s edge, finger tracing the painted coastline of Achyron’s western cliffs. Nerium's looming edge, carved into sea-slick stone like a wound.
“She’s there,” Kael said. “And every day she’s there, he works his hooks in deeper.”
Thauren’s expression darkened. “You’re worried about her breaking.”
Kael shook his head. “No. I’m worried his venomous whispers.”
A beat passed, then Thauren murmured, “You could’ve told her the truth. About Elenwe's death. About Alarik.”
“I tried to protect her.”
“You tried to shield yourself,” Thauren said. “You didn’t want her to see you through his eyes.”
He couldn't deny Thauren's words, and that truth only sharpened the self-loathing that had taken root with her absence at his side.
“I will right my sins when she is safe.” he muttered, voice low.
They stood there a moment two kings forged by ruin, once friends, now allies born of necessity.
