Page 33 of The Truth

Eltoar bit at his lip and shook his head, turning his gaze down to where Aeson Virandr held a wooden practice sword to Salara’s throat as she lay on the ground. The young man grasped her hand and hauled her to her feet.

“Speak, Eltoar. I will not have you walking the streets of Ilnaen with ill in your heart.”

He pursed his lips, feeling Helios rumble in the back of his mind. The pair waged a war back and forth, the dragon urging on, Eltoar trying to calm the flames. Eltoar tapped his fingers on the balcony’s stone parapet and turned to face Alvira once more. He looked upon the golden circlet on her head. “From whose hand was that gift given?”

“What gift?” Alvira followed Eltoar’s gaze and touched the golden circlet. “This? What of it? It was a gift from Eric Ubbein. A token of his gratitude.”

“And what need have you of golden trinkets, Alvira?”

“You sip wine with a man who spreads whispers of discontent amongst the blood of what we have built yet condemn me for a circlet?” Alvira looked at Eltoar as though he had lost his mind.

“Are you truly so blind that you can’t see the truth of what is around you? It’s not just a circlet Alvira, it’s everything that comes with it. These gifts bear silver chains. Do you not see? The council wear silks to every audience, precious gems on every finger. They have had the dome of the council chamber recast in gold. Their own lands have grown tenfold.”

“You see shadows where there are none, Eltoar, and yet you walk in the dark.”

Miles away, Helios lifted his head, a rumble of defiance in his throat, his bubbling rage seeping into Eltoar. “Do not twist my mind, Alvira. What I say is true. After Vastillion, almost a century ago, did I speak these words?” Eltoar opened his arms wide. “I held no love for Loik Hass, but he did not garb himself as a king, nor did he swell his own lands on the backs of others. You do not look deeper because you do not wish to see. You see the light in others, Alvira, but little else. That twist of gold upon your head is not a gift, it is a tether.” He stepped closer, resting his hands on Alvira’s shoulders. “All I want is to protect you, as is my duty.” He looked into those eyes that pierced him so. “As is my desire. I must search the shadows that you cannot see. I must beware the knife in the dark. I must look at the things you pretend do not exist.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “If you do nothing else, will you not trust me? Have I not earned that from you?”

Alvira looked at him, her expression softening. What Eltoar saw in her eyes that moment was not anger, or pain, or frustration, but sadness. “How am I to trust you, Eltoar, when you so clearly do not trust me.”

Before Eltoar could answer, footsteps sounded to his left, and both Salara and Aeson Virandr approached, slicked in sweat, marred in a plethora of cuts and bruises.

Eltoar pulled his hands from Alvira’s shoulders as the two apprentices pressed their closed fists to their chests and bowed.

“Archon. First Sword.”

Alvira inclined her head. “You both fought well.”

Aeson dropped to one knee, clenching his fist to his chest so tight that his knuckles turned white. “You honour us, Archon.”

Salara followed his lead, repeating his words.

“Rise,” Alvira said, stepping closer to the pair. “You – both of you – are the future.” She stared wordlessly at Aeson and Salara for a few breaths before placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “I ask of you something.”

“Anything,” Aeson said without hesitation, again Salara following.

Alvira looked back at Eltoar, her stare meeting his. “Protect each other. Fight for those around you, always. You are Draleid now. That means something.”

The two apprentices bowed their heads and thanked her.

“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” she said, glancing between the two of them and then to Eltoar. “There is much that must be seen to.”

Alvira turned and grasped Eltoar’s forearm, pulling him close – closer than he had expected, her head pressing against the side of his. “I trust you,” she whispered, moving her right arm to grasp the back of his head. “I trust you, Eltoar. Despite our words, despite everything. I trust you more than anyone else in this world. Please, I beg of you, have faith in me.”

A hand unseen closed itself around Eltoar’s heart, and he squeezed Alvira a little tighter. “I do. I always have.”

Reluctantly, Eltoar pulled away and watched as Alvira took her leave, forming curses at his own idiocy for allowing his anger to spill over onto Alvira. This was not what he wanted. All he desired was for her to see, to open her eyes to what was happening around her. It wasn’t too late, but they needed to be stronger.

As he stood there, Salara walked to the parapet and looked down into the yard where Aeson had returned to stand beside Atara Anthalin. The pair continued to move through the forms as the yard emptied, and Aeson’s soulkin descended from her perch, curling up in the yard’s easternmost corner, watching on in earnest.

Eltoar clasped his hands behind his back. His gaze was fixed on the two figures moving back and forth, their swords sweeping, but his mind floated in the aether of the past, of every choice he’d ever made, every word spoken, that had led him to that moment. There were so many things he’d change, so many choices.

“Master?” Salara’s voice drifted through the haze in his mind.

“Hmm?” Eltoar raised an eyebrow, part of him still wandering the past.

“Have you ever fought Draleid Anthalin in single combat?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure.”