53. Fifty-Three

Fifty-Three

We stood in what I could only describe as a war room, gaping at Asrai. Amusement glittered in her eyes as she looked back at us. And as if the tether that was holding me and Ata in place had snapped, we darted toward her.

“We thought you were dead.” Ata’s voice shook, breaking as she stifled a sob. We crashed into her, our arms wrapping tight around her waist. Our guardian, our mentor—she was alive. Asrai kissed the tops of our heads, letting her hard exterior down for only a moment then pushed us away from her. She examined each of us thoroughly, checking for wounds—for scars.

“How did you survive?” I choked out, looking up at her with tears staining my cheeks.

“Ardan and Taft, where are they? They need to be here for this conversation,” she said, looking to Landers. Wren’s back stiffened and Ata winced at the sound of Ardan’s name.

She didn’t know. How could she? She had only just arrived. So much had happened in the months since we left her alone to battle for our school—our realm.

Landers stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder as if to steady me for the words that were coming next. “Ardan is dead, and we have not seen Taft since he left our party in Ithia.”

Dead.

Landers said the word so bluntly it felt like a dagger to my chest. Asrai stayed quiet for a long moment. She lifted her hand to Wren’s cheek as she looked into his eyes. Those eyes that had once been so blue, so filled with light, that had now faded into the depths of a black sea.

Asrai placed her other hand over Ata’s heart and let her eyes fall over all of us.

“He lives on in all of you,” she said softly. “He will never, never be forgotten.”

We stared back at her, each of us holding back the tears that were threatening to spill over, trying not to crumble before her eyes.

“Now,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back in a commander’s stance and looking to Landers. “Tell me what has happened since you left.”

We sat around the desk in Landers’s study as he told the tale of our travels, leaving no detail out. There were moments that I glimpsed pride on Asrai’s face as Landers told her of all we had done, of the magic we had each used to keep each other safe.

There were other moments where I closed off my ears entirely, not wanting to relive the fear and pain they had caused.

I examined the room as he spoke, taking in the height of the domed ceiling supported by stone columns carved with the ancient runes of protection and victory. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting legendary battles and heroes of yore, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber mood. Shelves and alcoves overflowed with scrolls and tomes. The wisdom of generations sitting at Landers’s fingertips.

I wondered how many of those scrolls were written by him. Wondered how many times, after losing his men on the battlefield, had Landers come to this windowless room and written their stories so they would not be lost to history. And I wondered—hoped—that Ardan’s life would one day make it into The Stories . That his legacy, his bravery would be told to children for generations.

The centerpiece of the room was a massive table, hewn from petrified oak. Its surface, a mosaic of maps and charts, detailed with the topography of the realm and its neighboring lands. The maps moved on a phantom wind, coming alive with markers and tokens made of precious stones and metals; each representing armies, fleets, and fortresses. The air felt thick, scented with the musk of old parchment and the faint, metallic tang of armor.

“Hyacinth,” Ata whispered, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, feeling the faint twinge of nausea burning my lungs as I focused back on the conversation in front of me.

“The Iron Forest has fallen. Redelvtum has been taken captive by The Silliands and Ammord.” Asrai’s words rang in my ears, a hundred bells going off at the same time.

“How is that possible?” Andrues said flatly. “Redelvtum has been the strongest realm for millennia. How does a realm of that caliber fall in a matter of months?” Asrai’s eyes met Andrues—full of anger and rage but also of despair for her fallen kingdom. A kingdom that she had fought for, for centuries.

Asrai tapped her nails against the oak desk, almost as if she was re-centering herself from the rage that had flashed so briefly in her eyes.

“There was a traitor on the War Council. Someone inside of the House of High fed secrets to Ammord and The Silliands.” Her fingers balled into a fist. “That is how they knew about the tunnels. How they knew that the academy would use the tunnels to send War Teams into the city.”

The words hung over the room with a deafening silence. If Redelvtum was being held hostage, if it really had fallen . . . how would we be able to stop them from doing the same to Ithia, to Locdragoon? They were nowhere near as powerful as The Iron Forest. They didn’t have the numbers, the warriors.

Wren stepped forward, wrapping his hand around the back of my chair as he spoke. “Is there anything left of Redelvtum to salvage?” he said slowly, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened with every word.

“No, I do not believe so,” Asrai breathed. The heaviness in her voice was not something I had heard before. “Ravhal has Marzog and Hanth guards encasing every inch of the city wall, and the High Priest and Priestesses are being held in the House of High. When I got the students through the passage between realms, I tried to go back, but they already had guards on the borders, blocking anyone else from leaving.”

Landers nodded, leaning back into his chair as the faded brown leather groaned against his movement. “This problem will not be solved today,” Landers said calmly. “Asrai, get your party settled. The captain of my guard is making arrangements for all of the students to be placed with families and see our healers.” His eyes softened as he looked at her, still covered in mud and blood from their journey. “You need rest. Tomorrow we will decide how to move forward.”

Asrai nodded, wise enough to know he was right and too tired to argue.

Pri stepped toward Asrai as she stood from her chair, offering that comforting smile of hers and said, “I’ll show you to your quarters and help get everyone settled.” The shuffling of chairs against the stone floor was the only sound as the two of them left the room.

Andrues stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles as he let out a deep sigh. Wren began pacing as Landers dragged his hands down his face.

“So . . .” Ata said cooly. “I don’t know what everyone else heard, but it sounded like we’re fucked.” The corner of Andrues’s lips tilted up at the brazenness of her tone as I looked at her, lifting a brow. “What? Someone had to say it.”

I tried. I really tried not to laugh. Now was not the time or the place for laughter, but for a second, something in her eyes twinkled. Something that reminded me of Ardan, reminded me of who we were before all of this. I sucked in a deep breath, then choked on the laugh that came billowing out of me.

Andrues walked with me through the open corridors of the castle and down to the stables. His fingers were clutched around a book and tucked neatly behind his back. We walked in silence—thinking, contemplating our next moves.

“What is your role in this”—I gestured to the castle behind us—“court?”

Andrues smiled over at me as he pushed open a wooden fence. “I do what is asked of me.”

“Ever the submissive servant.”

He smirked at the sarcasm in my voice then added, “My official title is the Hand of the King.”

“Must be so hard when all that power is within your reach,” I said with a wry smile.

He chuckled, nudging me playfully with his elbow as we walked the trail to the stalls. “I would be happy with no title at all,” he said in a soft voice. “If I could spend my days with a book tucked into the stalls with my horse, or at the infirmary helping our healers . . . that would be enough for me.”

We walked the rest of the trail in peaceful silence. I had grown fond of my moments with Andrues. He didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with meaningless conversation. Mostly, we just sat together, enjoying the comfort of having someone nearby but only speaking when there was something to be said.

It was nice. Nice to have someone that wasn’t afraid of silence.

I placed my hand on Andrues forearm as he reached up to unlock the stables.

“Thank you,” I whispered up to him. “Thank you for taking care of her. For healing her while I was . . . away. Thank you for every time you have healed me; for telling me the truth about my wounds in Ithia. I have not said it to you enough and I am sorry for that.”

He looked down at me for a long moment, setting a hand on my shoulder. “You never have to thank me for doing what I can to keep the people I love alive—to keep this family whole.”

I didn’t have a second to think about the words he said before he was embracing me. He never let down his walls long enough for me to see the side of him that cared so deeply.

He called me family .

He was my family, it had just taken me a while to realize it. I pressed my cheek to his chest and wrapped my arms around him as a healing tear fell from the corner of my eye.

Between his arms, another piece of my heart clicked back into place.