The chamber was silent for a moment, and then it erupted with protest.
“Your Grace, with respect, this matter requires delicacy.”
“Delicacy does not mean handing influence to an outsider?—”
“Especially not one fromtheirquarter.”
Val-Theris’s gaze remained steady on the carved marble surface of the table, letting them speak, letting the tide of their voices crash into him. At last, he lifted his head.
Councilor Varin, one of the eldest among them, leaned forward with his hands clasped and his knuckles pressing into wood. “My lord,” he said carefully, “we are sworn to serve you. To advise you. To act as the spine of this city when darkness grows long. And yet—” He hesitated, measuring his words. “And yet, when unrest grows in the quarter, you summon one of those unruly vagrants. And a woman, no less!”
The chamber filled with murmurs of agreement.
The memory of Jesenia’s voice still lingered in Val-Theris’s mind, soft but unyielding as she’d said: “They just want to go home.”
He felt the ripple of quiet judgment settle around the table and folded his wings tighter, his hands curling loosely at his sides.
“She has the trust of her people,” Val-Theris said, his tone even, controlled. “She hears what none of you will hear and sees what none of you choose to see. Her counsel is?—”
“Dangerous,” Varin interrupted, sharper now, his restraint faltering. “You raise her voice above ours, and they will raise her name above yours. She is not one of us, Val-Theris. She does not serve Seraveth. She servesthem. Do not confuse her decency with loyalty.”
A younger but still seasoned councilor spoke then, low and measured, each word chosen like a blade: “The people already murmur, my lord. They see where your gaze lingers. They see who commands your loyal men through punishment inside the gates. Give our people no reason to believe your judgment…compromised.”
Silence fell. Val-Theris’s jaw tightened, shadows curling low beneath his lashes as he let the words settle, cold and sharp in the room’s stillness. The weight of command sat heavily against his shoulders, and though his wings remained steady, he felt the faint tremor in his hands.
He dismissed the council then, voice soft and expression unreadable, but their words clung long after their footsteps faded into the vaulted corridors.
Moments later, Rohannes approached his king, having witnessed the session from the corner.
“So we are to leave for Korvath, sir?” he asked quietly, careful not to mention Jesenia or Lunareth.
Val-Theris nodded. “Gather a few of your best men to accompany us. You will leave tonight—bring my horse with you. I am going to fly to Lunareth and see what my brother has done with my own eyes. I will meet you there tomorrow morn.”
Rohannes bowed at the instructions and left to make the arrangements. While his wings allowed him to travel the journey in less than two days, Val-Theris did not want to meethis brother alone. Val-Oros and Val-Theris were blessed with immortal life from their father, but could still be killed, and the only men foolish enough to try to end their lives were each other.
Val-Theris finally left the chamber and retreated to his private quarters in the eastern wing of the palace. He stood out over his city on the same balcony where he had countless visions, hoping, this time, for another of Jesenia.
The thought startled him, like he hadn’t meant to think it in the first place. He knew nothing of her other than the honesty and kindness she had shown him and his men, and yet the Angel-King stood there, yearning to see her gentle face in his mind.
Val-Theris stoodat the edge of what had once been a city, his wings folded neat against his back, their gold dulled beneath the gray sky. The air smelled of ash and old rain, of stone burned too long and never rebuilt. No birds cried here. No insects stirred. Even the light seemed reluctant to linger.
Houses lay collapsed into themselves, roof beams charred black, doorways yawning open as if still waiting for their owners to return. The streets were carved with scars from flame, deep grooves etched where boots and chains had passed in endless procession.
He saw scorch marks at child’s height along the walls and turned away.
He knelt beside a shattered well, its stones cracked and split, and pressed his palm to the earth. The ground was cold. Empty. It gave nothing back.
My war did this to them,he thought. A war he never wanted, but also a war he never seemed to fight hard enough to win.
Further in, the central square opened before him, wide and ruined. Scattered around lay remnants of life hastily left behind: a child’s shoe half-buried in soot, a cooking pot warped by heat, a length of fabric snagged on a nail, fluttering weakly in the wind.
And bones. So many bones.
Val-Theris’s chest ached.
At the far end of the square, tangled in the debris of a collapsed wall, he saw a banner. It was torn, its edges scorched, the silver sigil of Lunareth barely visible beneath ash and grime.
He approached slowly as though nearing the body of a fallen soldier.
