Chapter 20

U sually, setting foot inside his homeland brought a sense of comfort. The familiarity of Rhell relieved a touch of the apprehension that burrowed beneath Ezzyn’s skin whenever he was called away. It hadn’t always existed, the sense of unease, only since Eylle’s assault, festering over five years as the blight spread toward the wellspring at the kingdom’s heart. Ezzyn had dedicated himself to stopping it, finding a cure. That they’d managed to slow the spread to a crawl did nothing to alleviate the fear he carried every time he was away that he’d return to disaster, the light of Rhell snuffed out at last.

This time was different. The sights and sounds, the feel of home was still there. The same drive to banish the poison as he observed patches of deadened land. But something else pulled at him, or perhaps he wasn’t as empty and angry in returning. He didn’t need the comfort of home to make him feel quite so whole.

During the ride into the capital city of Talihn, Ezzyn’s mind swam with possibilities for complementing the spring research trip. Which sites would be most suitable. Accommodations for rotating shifts, since multiple groups would need to manage the test areas at different stages. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d stopped thinking solely in terms of himself and had expanded to including others—not simply trying one approach after another but thinking of the other mages as colleagues. Entrusting a part of the process to them. Collaboration.

Anadae had left her mark on him.

Ezzyn smiled to himself. He wished she was here. For her perspective, so he could see how she interacted with the elements of his home. And yes, so he could be with her, but not only in a carnal way. She’d become a comfort, too, carved away some of the fear he held beneath the surface. Failures were never pleasant, but she reminded him that they were never the end. That he wasn’t alone in his quest. Though a distant, rational side of him had known that several highly qualified mages had dedicated themselves to ecological restoration work and Rhell was top priority, they had never felt equally committed. He’d never let them in. Anadae made him feel hopeful. Whether they found an answer that spring or five years from now, it all felt less futile.

“You’re smiling.”

The voice broke Ezzyn from his reverie. “Gaz.” Without realizing it, he’d arrived at the family’s manor. Dismounting, he gave his brother a one-armed hug. “You’re looking well.”

“Well enough, anyway,” Garethe said. “The menders say if this keeps up, I can teach a summer course at Sylveren.”

Though he still looked on the frail side, Garethe’s color was good. There was a liveliness to his demeanor that had been lacking some months ago.

“Good. They could use a real teacher,” Ezzyn said as they went into the manor. “I still don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Vaadt and the others say you’re doing fine. Hardly any students have complained.” Garethe winked at Ezzyn’s disgruntled look.

“I’ve had complaints?” Ezzyn said. “You’ve been writing the other professors about me?”

“Yea.” Garethe patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re doing, remember?”

Ezzyn stewed over the remarks as Garethe chattered on about the events at home: repairs needed at the port, prompting a debate over whether or not to do expansion work and how any of it would be funded. A good growing season in the working sectors of the Dappled Woods for Rhell’s highly sought paper industry trees. Squabbles over profit sharing amongst the noble houses who jointly owned some of said forests.

Garethe steered them down the hall to Jeron’s study. “I’ve been reviewing your research results. When did you learn to play nice with others?”

“I’ve worked with plenty of others.”

“Tolerated, more like,” Jeron said as they entered. He shook Ezzyn’s hand before waving his brothers toward seats. “The Valley has been good for you.”

Ezzyn rolled his eyes at their smug looks. “I happen to like Sylveren. Stop patting yourselves on the back, you didn’t do anything.”

“He really has mellowed some, hasn’t he?” Jeron said.

Garethe nodded. “He’s snarky today.”

“I’m sitting right here.”

Jeron ignored him, eyebrows lifting as he made a point of facing Garethe. “What could’ve brought on such a change?”

Garethe grinned. “Or who?”

Ezzyn sank lower in his chair, arms crossed, as if he was a sullen teen again. “Keep this up, bastards, and I’m leaving.”

Jeron laughed, waving his hand when Ezzyn pretended to stand up. “Whiner. Fine. Tell us about your research. How is Magister Three treating you?”

Ezzyn described the current trials and what he hoped to work on during the field opportunity in the spring. Garethe had questions about the seminar, and though there was a touch of envy in his face, he seemed pleased with Ezzyn’s answers. The breadth of Rhell’s bioremediation needs were large and varied beyond Ezzyn’s admitted tunnel vision on finding a cure for the poison. Garethe took notice of student projects Ezzyn had brushed over because they focused on addressing needs he saw as irrelevant, either because they didn’t stop the blight or had nothing to do with it at all. When his brothers discussed the merits of introducing some new bug to predate an invasive one damaging the paper forests versus grovetender work to boost the trees’ hardiness, Ezzyn felt lost. He knew they were inclined toward thinking in the long term, but, as ever, it all seemed pointless to him if the blight could not be—at the very least—stopped. What point was there in protecting a forest that would die without the energy of the wellspring?

“Your delayed fire and ice trials,” Jeron said, switching back to Ezzyn without pause. “I remember seeing an ice proposal for the spring trip.”

“My research assistant, Anadae. Her proposal studies multiple applications, my trial only uses one,” Ezzyn said. As calmly as he could manage, he added, “I’m biased, but her work is very good. It meets all of the criteria for the spring study.”

Jeron and Garethe exchanged amused, knowing looks.

“He’s trying very hard to sound objective.”

“He is. I think we found our who.”

Exasperated, Ezzyn glared at them. “I didn’t say anything!”

“And now he’s being defensive.” Garethe tapped his chin in thought. “Anadae. Why is that name familiar?”

Before Ezzyn could reply, Jeron interceded. “Unclench, Ez. I remember the proposal. She’s on the short list.”

Stifling the urge to press, Ezzyn contented himself with a nod. Even if Jeron and Garethe ultimately went with other students, Ezzyn could cite her role as his assistant to bring Anadae on the trip. It wouldn’t be as expansive a learning opportunity as her intended plan, but it would still be relevant research. And she would be here, with him.

Jeron’s good humor waned. “Speaking of the trip, you should know about the new environmental organization that’s been proposed in conjunction with the Rhell Accord. The potential members are using the spring trip as a first meeting to determine the org’s mission and if it’s all viable.”

“New organization? The Assembly is forming a—”

“Not the Assembly. An international effort,” Jeron said. “Restorers of the Alliance.”

“How catchy. So, not only are you moving forward with the Accord, but you’re giving outsiders a controlling interest in Rhell?” Incredulity made Ezzyn’s voice crack.

“Calm down,” Jeron said. “We’re in discussions. I’m not giving them anything. The Assembly voted and approved it. And it’s not a controlling interest. They would advise and recommend—”

“You’re the king. You could oppose it.”

Jeron’s jaw tightened. Eight years, he’d been king, and never had he called on the limited powers left to him when Rhell had transitioned to the nonpartisan Assembly. The monarchy was more legacy than anything else, something Jeron was proud of. Even their mother, so aghast at first when her eldest son had proposed it, had grown to approve of the change. Ezzyn knew it, yet the notion of a horde of unknowns coming in to dictate approaches to a problem they knew nothing about, one they had no stake in, it rankled.

Anger and panic clashed within him, made his fingers go white at the tips as he gripped the arms of his chair. He clamped down on the urge to argue further. Went silent, his words and the judgment within them left in the open.

“We need this, Ez,” Garethe murmured, breaking the standoff. “We can’t keep taking on the burden of restoration alone. It’s not so different from the arrangement with Sylveren.”

“How is it the same?” Ezzyn snapped.

A contract with the university, he trusted. The seminar and the fellowships were still the purview of Rhell. His brothers decided which would be approved. Administrative details and financials were negotiated with Sylveren, but the Rhellian government had control. Ezzyn had worked with supposed environmental groups before. Had made the trip to Graelynd’s capital multiple times to lobby for aid. “International” meant Graelynd—possibly someone from the Radiant Isles and Sylveren, too, but funding for any kind of organization began in Central. Graelynd had shown they cared about commerce first during Eylle’s war with Rhell. They could slap a new name on themselves, but Ezzyn didn’t trust that any mission statement would be anything less than self-serving.

“Multiple people at Sylveren and Grae U have been working toward something like this,” Garethe said. “And mages from three nations across the sea.”

“If you’ve been working on this for so long, why haven’t I heard about it until now?”

“Perhaps because I didn’t want to fight ten bouts with you over something that is happening regardless of your tantrums,” Jeron said in chill tones.

“Tantrums?” Ezzyn stood, fists resting on Jeron’s desk as he leaned forward. “I have been bleeding myself dry for years—”

“No one asked you to be so obse—”

“No one had to ask me. It’s my duty—”

Garethe cut across them. “We lost Den’olm.”

“Garethe,” Jeron warned.

The middle Sor’vahl shook his head. “He was going to find out eventually.”

Ezzyn’s head whipped back and forth between his brothers. “The outpost or—”

“The outpost and half the town,” Jeron said, anger giving way to grim resignation. “We’re holding on to what’s left. So far.”

So far. Ezzyn stood frozen, speech failing as his mind tried to make sense of the words. All he could manage was, “How? When?”

Den’olm was a smaller town in the eastern part of the kingdom, situated directly over the ley line to the wellspring. Bolstered by such proximity, and being a staging town for several magical pursuits and thus home to a consistent number of mages, Den’olm acted as an aggressive line of defense against the blight. It had taken increasingly more people and effort to keep the poison at bay over the years, but Den’olm had endured. For it to be all but gone, to have lost such a bastion, was unthinkable.

“A month ago,” Jeron said.

The mood in the room, so easy and light only minutes ago, had gone taut, horror mixing with gloom.

“A month,” Ezzyn repeated, voice faint. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. We didn’t want you to—”

Ezzyn left, his brothers’ voices falling to background noise as he made for the stables.

The distance from the Sor’vahl manse in Talihn to Den’olm was less than thirty leagues. A two-day trip at a comfortable pace.

Ezzyn made it there by nightfall, changing horses along the way. The ride passed in a blur, too slow for his patience yet his memory of it later was mere snippets, his mind too consumed with anger and dread. He hated his brothers for keeping the news from him, even though the remaining sliver of his rational brain knew their reasoning made sense. He couldn’t have stopped it, but he did nothing by remaining in the Valley.

Destruction from the blight was not new for him, yet still Ezzyn was struck by the sight of the ravished town. The outpost at the far reaches had a noxious quality to the air, the ground conveying an unnatural cold, its appearance desiccated and dull gray. The abandoned buildings carried the stench of rotten wood, stone reduced to crumbling pieces, metal pitted and cracked.

Most civilians residing in the town had been evacuated, and only mages and a few supporters remained. It was almost comical to see the stark line dividing the healthy portion of remaining soil from the corrupted side. Healthy ground and buildings abutting that which was moldering and dead, nothing visible keeping them apart.

Almost nothing visible. Ezzyn found a few mages he knew from previous efforts fighting the blight. It didn’t take long to get him up to speed on Den’olm’s containment progress, not when there was so little to report. Not so much progress as holding on with all their might. He deflected questions as to his arrival, and everyone was too busy, too exhausted, to press. Of utmost importance was securing the ground around two of the surviving wells.

Ezzyn threw himself into the work. Whatever softheaded mentality had crept in while he’d been safe down in the Valley was quickly seared away the moment he dug his fingers into the corrupted ground. The sting of the poison trying to resist his fire had a welcome familiarity. How weak he’d let himself become. But it didn’t matter, not anymore. So many years spent pushing through the bite of poison against his skin meant he toughened quickly. It didn’t take long for his body to remember how to ignore exhaustion. To fight on, always. At that first lick of poison, at feeling it grudgingly recede beneath his power, Ezzyn felt a vicious stab of glee. Of relief. The emotion tore through the layers of self-recrimination and so much anger that had fogged up his mind. Finally, he was where he was meant to be. Where he should’ve been all along.

He joined a trio of fire mages working to burn off the poison saturating the land near a well. Elementalists of all disciplines worked in tandem, but fire was always in first. Their blunt if efficient spells incinerated swathes of ground, water and air coming in behind to cool and prepare the roughly treated soil for wards. The grovetenders’ followed with plantings to further breakdown traces of poison and make the area resistant to recurring damage. Wind-shapers cleansed the air as best they could. A handful of menders kept the cleanup crew physically able. Magic could only do so much for the mental drain.

Ezzyn worked through the night, ignoring shift changes and snapping at anyone who suggested he take a break. Incited his royal status without remorse. If they could just clear enough ground out from the wells, then wards could be installed to maintain some of the spellwork, reducing the need for so much in-person casting. But the poison here was strong, reinfecting the land as fast as they could cleanse it. Progress was so painfully slow he would’ve screamed if he could spare the breath.

The sound of his name being called broke through his concentration. Irritation seared through him, bubbling over into a snarl when a hand shook his shoulder.

“I fucking said—” He shrugged off the hand.

“Yes, yes, you’re the godsdamned prince. I’ve heard,” Garethe said, unruffled.

Ezzyn blinked as awareness of the rest of the world filtered back in. Pink and hazy purple streaks faded from the dawn sky.

“Come on. You need to rest.” Garethe took him by the arm and dragged him away.

“No, I’m close to—” Ezzyn protested, then shook his head. Realization clawed its way to the front of his mind. “You shouldn’t be here! It’s too—”

“You don’t get to lecture me on health and safety,” Garethe said, temper finally flaring. “You are taking a fucking break.”

Disgruntled but not yet completely devoid of his faculties, Ezzyn wriggled out of his brother’s grip as he followed him to the rest area. He accepted a plate of food and a water skin, availing himself of both under Garethe’s watchful eye.

For a while, they surveyed the activities of the town in grim silence. Guilt ate at Ezzyn, souring the taste of his food and drink. How quickly he’d forgotten the reality of the fight in Rhell. Even though he’d been researching ways to even the field, find something that was truly progress rather than another flimsy stopgap, in just four months he’d become complacent. Let himself be comfortable down in the Valley. Given to distraction instead of applying himself. Pursued petty indulgences. Grown lazy. Lax. Lost the sense of urgency Rhell needed. He’d become that which he scorned, no better than the outsider intellectuals who saw Rhell as an interesting problem on paper, far removed.

Absently, he scratched at an itch on his arm, surprised to see his flaky, grime-encrusted skin.

Sighing, Garethe fetched a first-aid kit. “You can’t do this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You have to take breaks. This place is bad for you.”

“This place?” Ezzyn snapped. “My home?”

“Our home.” Garethe’s eyes narrowed, then he sighed, shook his head. For all that he seemed better than the last time they’d seen each other, in that moment, Garethe looked so weary. “You can’t get into it like this.”

“I’m needed. This place needs every drop of magic we have.”

“But not to drain the well. Use the damned menders, Ezzyn.”

“I don’t need them.”

Garethe scowled. “You want to go on about how you bleed yourself dry for this place? Ever think that it might be making you sick, too?”

Ezzyn shook his head. “I’m not sick. It’s not affecting me like it did to you.”

“Maybe not the same, but you aren’t the same, either, when you’ve been in the field too long.”

Ezzyn didn’t reply. It was a ridiculous notion. He could appreciate his brother’s concern later, when there wasn’t a town at stake.

“Spring term—”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m not far enough to get third tier anyway, and you need me more here.”

“No, we don’t.” Garethe stopped his protest with a glare. “The team is managing. You have a commitment at the university to honor.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do!” Garethe snapped. “I’ve been working on that program for years, Ezzyn. I know you get deep in your own head, but some of us think about the long-term. The Rhell Accord is a necessary addition to your work, and you might like it better if you actually gave some input instead of covering your damn ears whenever I’ve tried to mention it. We’re not giving up on anything, just expanding.”

Ezzyn gritted his teeth. He wasn’t so heartless as to say it, but Garethe wasn’t a mage. He couldn’t understand.

Garethe sighed again, anger giving way. “No one expected you to get all of the work done for Magister Three in a year. That’s your own delusion. And I know you don’t believe it, but we need your research more than your muscle right now.”

“The others can finish it. There are enough people involved and my methods laid out to progress without me.”

Garethe shook his head, a sad curve to his mouth. He cleared his throat, spoke with a new hesitation. “I remember why Anadae sounded familiar. Anadae Helm? Is she the same one you tutored?”

“Yes.”

Anadae. Longing clawed at him even now, when he was surrounded by the work that should matter most. He’d thought of her as a steadying presence, but he’d been weak for her. Convinced himself that the glacial pace of collaborative effort might actually work. It was fucking ridiculous, and he knew it, yet he’d indulged such work for months. She thought along similar lines as his brothers, and where he ignored them with ease, she’d put a turn in his mind. Maybe if he’d reunited with her sooner, if the poison hadn’t been seeping toward the wellspring for the last five years, maybe then he could’ve played around with experiments that made everyone feel included and like a team. He couldn’t afford that now.

“You want to tell me about her?”

Lies only hurt in the beginning. He’d learned that well. “She’s a good assistant. There’s nothing to…” Except, there was more to say, if he dared. Anadae’s work could be of vital importance here. Rhell’s needs were too great to bow to tender feelings over self-worth. Not even hers.

Garethe gave him a questioning look.

“I’ll go back after the spring trip. Stage it here. But—” Ezzyn hesitated.

He remembered how small her voice had been, the worry etched into it, when she’d asked if he had any say over the Rhell trip. And the relief on her face when he’d said no. He remembered those moments of vulnerability when she’d admitted that she wanted to earn her way and her fears that she wasn’t enough. Anadae would never forgive him. Would probably hate him—if she found out.

Ezzyn got to his feet. “Since you’re nagging me about a break, fine. Anadae’s proposal should get approved for the trip. Her work uses my Magister Three research as a base, and it’s our best chance at making any progress.” Rhell didn’t have time for sentimentality. “Pass that on to Jeron. Tell him I insist.”

“Ezzyn.”

“It’s only a few weeks before they’re up here anyway. I’ll finish out your commitment after.” Ezzyn strode back toward the demarcation line before Garethe could argue, calling over his shoulder, “My assistant can handle the work in the Valley until then.”