It was the man who cruelly killed her brother as she watched helplessly. The man who stole her last living relative.
He wore deep obsidian armor, darkened with evil and death to the point that it would never shine again. His gray cloaksmoldered faintly at the edges, embers clinging to its hem like stubborn memories. His wings—broader and heavier than Val-Theris’s—flared once, flaming viciously, before folding back against his shoulders.
“Mydearbrother,” he drawled, his voice rich with amusement. “I was beginning to think Seraveth no longer had the courtesy to answer summons from its kin. Why have you ignored my letters?”
A murmur rippled through the council.
Val-Theris rose slowly from his seat. “We answer diplomacy, not bloodshed,” he said evenly, “Why are you here, Val-Oros?”
Jesenia ceased breathing. All of the truths she had known came rushing to her in an instant, and sickly realized that the reason she did not recognize Val-Oros during the attack was because the fires of her home burning hid the flaming wings that protruded from his back. The timbre of his voice—that cruel, almost playful lilt—was seared into her memory. She heard it layered over the crackle of flames, over the screams of her village, over the wet sound of her brother’s body hitting the dirt. She moved her hands into her lap to hide the shaking, begging herself not to cry.
“To offer you mercy,” Val-Oros replied lightly, as though discussing trade routes rather than war. His smile was sharp as a blade’s edge. “Before your stubbornness forces my hand once again.”
He paced a few steps into the chamber, boots echoing softly against marble. Then, he took one heavy step onto the table that stretched the length of the room between the councilors. “Korvath grows weary of Seraveth’s interference of my business in Lunareth. Withdraw your legions, or I will return to the border.” His eyes gleamed with wickedness. “And I will not stop at the border next time.”
“Whatbusinessin Lunareth?” Val-Theris asked. “You reduced their homes to ash. If there is anything of Lunareth left, you will not find it in the land.”
Val-Oros’s gaze snapped to Jesenia’s dark hair, standing out amongst the white and gold of the chamber, despite her attempts to shrink into herself. Recognition flared in his eyes, cruel, sharp, and delighted.
“Well,” he said softly, turning fully toward her. “What do we have here?” He took a step closer, eyes gleaming. “One of your refugees, brother? This meek little dove sheltered beneath your wing?”
Val-Oros approached her from his risen position on the table in a predatory way, his presence radiating heat. “I remember you,” he said, almost gently. “The girl who trembled as I smashed that foolish boy’s face in.” When Jesenia’s lip quivered slightly, his smile widened. But Jesenia was careful not to cry out. She sat frozen, shaking, lips pressed together until they blanched. She would not give Val-Oros the satisfaction. He kneeled to be closer.
“No tears?” he murmured. “Has the pacifist learned indifference? Or perhaps my brother has taught you that compassion is a luxury best burned away.”
A faint, broken sound escaped her throat—no more than a breath caught between grief and fury.
“I often wonder if the bleeding took him first, or the fire.” He hummed as if it was a question worth contemplating, and then a crack split the air between them, shifting Val-Oros’s and Jesenia’s gaze to the King of Seraveth.
Val-Theris’s hand had twitched against the table; the marble beneath it fractured, spider-webbing outward. His wings shuddered, feathers vibrating with barely restrained violence. Rohannes, standing at his side, gave the smallest shake of his head.
Not here. Not now.
“Enough,” Val-Theris said. His voice was quiet. Even. The restraint cost him blood that pooled at his broken fingertips. “This hall is for diplomacy, not torment.”
Val-Oros straightened, amused. “Ah, but tormentisdiplomacy.” He turned his attention to the council, spreading his hands. “It is how the world remembers who commands and who kneels.”
Then he paused. His gaze drifted back to Jesenia. Something in his expression changed, and he roughly grabbed her hand from her lap, lacing their fingers together. His eyes glazed over into a milky white as his prophetic sight took hold.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Val-Oros saw her. He saw gold turned to ash. A city fractured by its own fear. He saw his brother kneeling in ruin, and at the center of it all, this woman in a devastatingly pivotal heap, crumbled lifeless to the ground.
The vision vanished as quickly as it came. Val-Oros smiled.
“You will be this kingdom’s undoing,” he said lightly, turning back to the council. “Mark my words.”
The chamber went still.
Val-Theris’s head snapped up in warning, severing the contact between the two and shoving his brother from his spot atop the table. “Val-Oros, enough.”
But he only shrugged. “Withdraw from Lunareth. If you do not, Korvath’s flames will make this gilded palace the next pyre.” He met his brother’s gaze, eyes alight with cruel certainty. A challenge.
Silence thickened, heavy as smoke. Val-Theris inclined his head once, the motion precise and cold. “Then let Korvath rememberthismercy, brother, because when I answer your flames, there will be none.”
Val-Oros laughed—a merciless sound—and turned for the doors, his burning wings casting a red glow across the marble as he left.
The council was dismissed then quickly ushered out of the chamber for an intermission, leaving Jesenia alone with Val-Theris and Rohannes. When she was finally away from the judging eyes of the council, she tried standing from her seat, but sank back into the cushion and wept.
