In this moment, there is little else in this world I’d like more than to tear the general apart bit by bit, starting with his mind, moving to his body, and finishing with his soul. For all I know, he is the oldest feyn on the face of Terr, and if that’s true, it’s no wonder they left him behind in the sundering. He probably started the great war all by himself, with his hisht personality.
“Is everything all right, Shivaria?” Riesh stops to open the cottage door for me, wearing a rather concerned look as he examines us.
His eyes flick to the general and I’m not sure what he sees, but he frowns at his friend.
“Everything is perfect. Thank you, Riesh,” I say.
My murderous thoughts of the general fade away the moment my feet pass the threshold, landing on the heavily knotted wood of the cottage floor. The home is every bit as charming inside as it is outside. An array of colorful, heavily cushioned chairs litters the room by the stone fireplace. A large table carved from the roots of an ancient tree sits at its center.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” says an unfamiliar voice. A tall male with green eyes and a mop of dark brown hair rushes down the stairs with a wide grin, gripping the banister that’s been carved to resemble the gnarled branches of a tree.
He rushes to Awri and pulls her into an embrace, resting his cheek on her head.
“She was never going to make it an entire day with an unwrapped gift waiting for her,” Riesh says, smiling.
“It wasn’t just that.” She pushes out of the male’s arms and looks from me back to him. “I wanted you to meet the new friend I was telling you about. Kishek, this is Shivaria.”
He dips his head and offers me a warm smile, dimples forming in his olive tone cheeks, and I smile warmly back. Awri hands the male her bow, a proud smile plastered on her face as he looks it over, nodding approvingly. Riesh makes himself at home, swinging a kettle over the crackling fire, andthe general simply stands in the corner exuding his perpetual gloom.
The table is littered with papers and a variety of books, beneath which sits a map of Terr. In its entirety.
My stomach flutters with anticipation as I walk to the table, perhaps a little too quickly. The general tenses in the corner, the floor creaking as he shifts his weight off the wall to hover at my back. I lace my fingers behind me, bending over to examine what little of the map is exposed beneath the piles of papers and books splayed on top.
Not wishing to appear too forward by moving anything on the table, I drink in the details that are visible below the southern border of La’tari. Where I have only ever seenThe Smudge,this map boasts colorful depictions of mountain ranges and countryside in a land so vast A’kori could fit inside it five times over.
“I’ve been told that the La’tari censor Brax from their maps,” Riesh says, and I startle, not having noticed him settle against the table beside me.
“Brax?” I wonder aloud.
“That is the name for the land between La’tari and the southern sea.”
“It’s true.” I hate admitting out loud that I’ve been kept ignorant about something that is clearly common knowledge in the north. “I always called it The Smudge. It’s nothing more than a dark swath on our maps.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” he asks.
My brow pinches when I look at him. It’s clear by his tone that he has his own ideas about why that would be.
“To keep us safe,” I say, simply because it is what I have always been told.
The smudge—Brax—is incredibly dangerous. I have known many Drakai over the years who’d gone on missions into its unknown wilds and disappeared without a trace. If I ever had any doubts about the danger that exists beyond the southern border, they all vanished the day I met the crone in the woods.
“What other reason would they have?” I ask, letting him bait me into the debate he is apparently eager for.
After all, if we agreed on everything, we wouldn’t have teetered on the edge of war my entire life. Riesh glances behind me, lifting his chintoward the general. When I turn to look, I find the male resuming his lax position against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes nailed to the map before me.
Without lifting his eyes, he says, “Awri, would you like to show Shivaria your fea drawings?”
My face contorts in confusion, but it seems I’m the only one thrown by the general’s sudden change of subject when Awri nods, turning to dig through a large wooden trunk beneath a rain pattered window. A moment later a thick leather-bound book is dropped with a resounding thud on the table, fluttering the edges of the map.
“If I recall correctly the wood sprites are somewhere near the center,” the general says, offering me access to the tome’s pages by way of raising his chin toward it.
I’ve seen pictures of the creatures before, but it was long ago in a children’s book, and at the time Leanna assured me they no longer existed here. When the ancients used the lifeforce of Terr to split the veils in the sundering, most fea creatures fled before the gateway between veils was sealed off forever. I was taught that the few who remained behind died long ago.
I have to wonder how it is that the La’tari have no idea of their continued existence. While Awri and Riesh seemed curious about the creature, neither appeared terribly surprised to see it. Despite all the budding questions in my mind, I can’t help but feel a swell of pride that I have uncovered one more piece of valuable knowledge to bestow upon my king when I return. Though I have no idea what he is likely to do with the information. What use is a wood sprite to my people?
I crack the book open near the center and flip through the pages until Awri’s hand shoots out, to halt the motion.
“Is that what you saw?” she asks excitedly.
