“It is true,” conceded the druid. “Even my kin spoke of it. They carried its memory from the Ere of Wood. They carry much in memory, but its origins remain unknown.”
The Vaich narrowed his eyes.
“I went into the bookhold in search of understanding. Contrary to what you may think, I do not chase ghosts blind. And I found my truth in old records. These… creatures… I believe they have come before.”
“This is…”
“Absurd? Perhaps. But I begin to think we’ve been placed in this moment… together.”
“And for what? Why us?”
“I cannot know, yet I have been gifted these visions, and you a kingdom. Is it really all coincidence?”
“If it was so important, the Sun might have gifted these visions to me,” muttered the Vaich.
“Yes,” said the druid. “If your gods are asyousay, then you are beloved, and what need have you of me?”
“But youarehere.” The Vaich did not seem angry in that moment, but exhausted, as if he’d come to a realization he ought not have. “Ifthese visions are prophecy… if invaders come, then what shall it matter? I command a vast army. We will fight them as we have always fought.”
“Do you?” questioned the druid.
“What?”
“Do youcommand armies? Your reign has just begun, and yet it is fraught upon every side. Our shores are fractured, and you may not defend them.”
“What do you mean? Of course I command them! I am Vaich!”
“Mm.” The druid hummed. “That’s right. The boy who would be king. The man who shall not die. Yet, you are not as powerful as you think. Are you?”
The words were a challenge, but they were also truth; the evidence of which still stained his thighs. The Vaich could not fight it, and so, he backed down, his face filling with darkness.
“I won’t be lectured to by a woodsingr,” the Vaich muttered. “Even if you are Chosen of the Moon.” He shook his head. “No. Where is your proof?"
“I have none at present, but if you’ll let me return to my kin—”
“It’s too late for that now. I gave you your chance.” The Vaich rubbed his temple, his face pinched in frustration. “Hundreds of women have survived the lunar trials, but no Oracle has ever warned of invasion from the sea.”
“And no queen was ever foretold.”
The Vaich ground his teeth. “So not only are you prophet, but savior? You certainly think highly of yourself.”
The king rose to leave, but the druid reached for him. “Wait—”
Like a hunter sensing danger, the Vaich snapped out, snatching his wrist in a tight hold. The druid winced and immediately the Vaich loosened, his eyes going wide.
“I—” The words stumbled as the Vaich’s gaze snagged upon the sagging blue ribbon around his wrist.
The druid’s stomach seized, and he yanked his arm back, covering the marks with his hand.
“What is…?”
“Never mind it,” the druid said. “What matters is—”
But the Vaich grasped him again. This time, his grip was tender, and the druid’s heart fluttered.
Carefully, the Vaich drew the satin band away, revealing the bruising mark once and for all. His golden irises flared and when he spoke, it was not a question, but an accusation.
“Othrik.”
