Chapter 25

Calen

Cold air sweeps through the palace halls and the corridors lose their usual warmth. This place feels dead, lifeless, like a battlefield without the corpses but the same astounding silence.

Servants, usually full of cheer, now hurry down corridors, trying to disappear in the shadows. Even Averion’s usual hustle and bustle has quieted. I close my eyes, willing my ears to remember the joy of this place and the laughter of its inhabitants.

I get to the courtyard as the sun sinks into the horizon, the moon a small crescent high in the sky. There’s no time for me to enjoy the view. There’s no time for me to enjoy anything these days, nor rest. There’s too much to do and too much to figure out.

I quicken the pace and enter the garrison to check on our units. The clashing of swords greets me, confirming that several soldiers are still training.

I remember a time when swords were reserved for displays of strength and agility. Artistry in its purest form, hypnotizing and grandiose, but as beautiful as the art of wielding swords may be, we’ve long lost it. Only the remnants of the wars remain in the exercise, forever ingrained in our souls and bodies. Another reminder of why I have to do this.

Fiery strands of hair catch my eye where Vesta is talking with Wyn and Varan. I hold back the smile tugging my lips at the sight. The years have done nothing to tame their wild spirits, and those damn twins are always stirring up trouble.

My almost smile turns into a frown as I observe their exchange more closely. Vesta puts a hand on their shoulders as they nod, and my heart breaks a little more. We’ve barely spoken since my address to the citizens of Averion and she’s doing a great job avoiding me.

Wyn’s eyes dart to me and the conversation quiets down. Keeping a straight face, I go around the room, assessing stances and giving encouraging nods. Now more than ever, my presence here is key.

A change in leadership is never easy, especially when it lies on a bed of rumors.

“General.”

A messenger clears their throat behind me as they hand me a piece of paper.

“Thank you,” I say, dismissing them with a wave of my hand.

It’s a message from the Sun Fae of Kalar.

My eyes scan the content of the missive before tucking it inside my leather vest.

Tharrion just agreed to the plan.

I storm out and make for my office. Everyone steps out of my way, but I catch their startled gazes.

Hours later, my eyes snap open, irritation winning over exhaustion and getting the better of me. Another sleepless night it is.

I stare at the ceiling a while longer, tortured by memories of Vesta’s mouth all over my body and her cold gaze. I royally fucked this up, but there’s no time for me to dwell on it.

Tossing the covers to the side, I dress quickly and leave my room.

As I wander the palace, my steps lead me to the courtyard for fresh air and the barracks, as usual. I’ve always had a penchant for self-destruction.

I quietly make my way through the building, my gaze fixed on a door at the end of the corridor. A door I irrevocably find open, an empty room waiting beyond, with a cold bed inside.

I usually keep walking, but tonight I can’t force my legs to go on and I step inside Vesta’s room. She’s the most solar Fae I know, yet her quarters carry no warmth. There’s barely anything here, and no personal effects except for a small wooden sculpture on the bedside table. A leaf, the only reminder of her past and dead mate.

Whispers stir me from the trance and I head back out. Guided by the murmurs, I pause by the garrison’s entrance.

Wyn and Varan are huddled together by a pillar, the faint light of the wall torches highlighting their features.

“I can’t believe they would do this, run away like that.”

Wyn’s voice carries an undeniable hint of anger.

“That’s enough, Wyn,” his twin answers.

“Either that, or they’re both dead.”

“Enough,” Varan says sharply. “You heard Vesta. We don’t have a choice.”

Wyn bares his teeth. “Forever the level-headed one, brother.”

“And you’re forever the careless fool.”

“This is not a joke to me. I didn’t destroy my face for this, you hear me?”

Varan’s hand goes to his brother’s shoulder, pressing tightly. “No one but Braern is responsible for this.”

Wyn mumbles something in return, but doesn’t argue.

“What would you have me do?” Varan continues.

“Follow orders,” I say, stepping into the light. The twins straighten, casting their eyes to the ground. “Our goal remains unchanged. Unite and protect the Fae.”

Wyn opens his mouth, but his brother elbows him in the ribs.

“Yes, General,” Varan answers for the both of them.

I nod in response before walking away.

Why can’t they understand I’m doing what’s best for all of us? Have I ever let them down in the past?

I rack my brain for a better way, though I know there are none. I’ve spent hours going over everything I know and don’t, leaving no stones left unturned, trying to avoid the inevitable. But it’s time I dance with the devil.

They all look at me like I’m the enemy, like I chose any of this, when the choice was robbed from me the moment Azran left. My soldiers used to look up to me, admire me; now they fear my steps. Az often hinted at the toll leadership takes on a soul, but only now does that isolation register in my bones. Damn him and his wretched politics. To hell with it all.

I have to leave and make sure Lóna is protected. I didn’t spend the better part of my life spilling my people’s blood for it all to be taken away from me. Not now. Not ever. Few memories remain untainted by the horrors of war, and I refuse to believe the years I spent fighting for this land have been for nothing. I won’t let them. Someone has to make the hard call, and if no one else will do it, then it will be me.