His gaze drifts toward the distant horizon only he can see.
“Casimir sealed them within Astefar,” Rhydan continues. “The Ancient Fae who would not bend. The monsters beyond reason. He named the forest forbidden and warned his people never to cross its borders.”
Rhianelle’s hands tighten on mine. She lived in that forest for nine hundred years.
“For a time, there was peace. The seventy-seven were worshipped. The thirty-two territories united beneath one crown. Aelfheim prospered.”
Contempt creeps into his voice. “But prosperity breeds hunger.”
Rhydan exhales. “Some among Casimir’s descendants became obsessed with power and territory. They looked upon what he had built and saw opportunity for exploitation rather than survival.”
“Like the Aeonians,” Red says quietly.
“Yes.” Rhydan inclines his head. “A royal elven line who cloaked greed in righteousness. They twisted Casimir’s legacy into permission for conquest.”
Rainer straightens. “You cannot reveal this to Aelfheim. Not now. Truth like that would fracture what little unity remains.”
“I know.” Rhydan’s expression grimaces. “But truth does not cease to exist because it is inconvenient. My granddaughter deserved to hear it.”
I have the uneasy sense that my wife already knows all of this. Her patrons are the Un themselves. Yet Rhianelle’s facereveals nothing. No shock or outrage. I cannot tell what she is thinking. I doubt anyone in this chamber can.
Rhianelle’s voice is quiet when she speaks. “Did my mother know?”
Rhydan’s expression softens. “Yes, starlight. She knew. I told her when she was young, just as I’m telling you now.”
“And you still supported her conquests?” Rhianelle’s voice wavers slightly.
“I loved her,” he answers simply. “All of her. Her ambition and her desperate need to protect what she saw as hers.”
His gaze shifts to Rainer.
“I imagine you understand.”
Rainer nods once. His jaw tightens as he swallows.
Rhydan turns back to Rhianelle. “I will stand with you if you choose to save Aelfheim. Just as I stood with your mother even knowing she was wrong in many things.”
The chamber holds that fragile moment.
The doors slam open. A Kashran soldier stumbles inside, chest heaving, eyes wide with terror. He falters at the sight of Rhydan and nearly drops to his knees.
“Your Grace—“
“Speak,” Rhydan commands.
The scout gulps air. “We saw war vessels out past the western reef. Black Rose regalia.”
Warmth drains from Rhianelle’s expression.
“How many ships?” she demands, already moving toward the door.
“A hundred, maybe more,” the scout gasps. “And beneath them… sea dragons. The sea itself is lit from below, Your Highness.”
Voices rise over one another in disbelief.
Western reef. Damn it.
They struck where we are weakest.
