21. Eighteen

Elindir

The heavy wooden door groaned as I pushed it open, stepping into the war room bathed in dim firelight. Shadows danced upon the cold stone walls, cast by the flickering flames in the great hearth. The air hung thick with the scent of wood smoke, aged parchment, and the metallic tang of armor polish.

In the center of the chamber stood a massive oak table, its surface scarred from generations of strategic planning. An ornate map was splayed across the tabletop, depicting the sprawling lands surrounding the keep. Delicately inked forests, rivers, and mountain ranges marked the parchment, while small carved figures represented the positions of enemy forces.

Ruith was already there, leaning over the map, his tall frame cast in an amber glow. The seven braids of his long black hair fell like shadows down his back. He looked up as I entered.

My heart quickened at the sight of him, a familiar longing stirring within my chest. It had been three long days since we'd had a moment alone together, and I felt the weight of every minute on my shoulders.

"Elindir," he said softly. "I'm glad you are here."

I moved closer, trailing my fingers over the war table. "Where else would I be? You summoned me to a war council, Your Grace, so here I am."

I stopped in front of him. The way he was looking at me, I half expected him to grab me and pull me against him. A part of me wanted that, even knowing that the rest of the war council was about to descend on the room at any moment.

Ruith's hand drifted closer to mine. "Indeed, I did. But I confess, I had hoped to steal a moment with you before the others arrived."

He reached out, his fingertips grazing the side of my face with a featherlight touch that sent shivers down my spine. I leaned into his palm, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.

"Ruith..." I breathed, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. "We shouldn't. Not here. Not now."

"And why not?" he mused. "Our secret is out now. There is no more reason to pretend. Everyone on the council likely already knows the reason for Klaus' betrayal."

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing at his touch. "That may be so, but this is hardly the time or place. The others will be here any moment."

Ruith's fingers trailed down the side of my neck, leaving a fiery path in their wake. "Then we best make the most of what little time we have."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. I shivered, desire coiling tight in my core. The scent of him surrounded me—leather, smoke, and something uniquely Ruith that I could never quite define. It was intoxicating, and my resolve begin to crumble.

"You are playing a dangerous game, Your Grace," I breathed, even as I tilted my head to the side, giving him better access to the sensitive skin of my throat.

"Mmm, but it's a game I fully intend to win." His lips brushed my pulse point, and I bit back a moan.

Ruith's lips ghosted over my skin, his touch featherlight yet searing. I clutched at his shoulders, the rich fabric of his tunic bunching beneath my fingers. He nipped at my earlobe and I gasped, arching into him.

"Come to my bedchamber tonight," he murmured, his voice low. "I need you, Elindir."

I pulled back slightly, fixing him with a coy look through lowered lashes. "You mean you don't intend to summon me for a late-night secret rendezvous as you did last time?"

"No," Ruith said firmly. "This time, I want you to come to me of your own accord and because you desire me as much as I desire you. In fact, I grow weary of this secrecy. Of stolen moments and furtive glances. I want to claim you as mine for all to see."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "What are you saying, Ruith?"

"I am saying that I want us to share a bedchamber. Openly. Let there be no more doubt as to the nature of our relationship."

I stared at Ruith, my mouth suddenly dry. To openly share his bed, to no longer hide what we were to each other... it was such a huge step, and a risk. What if the Wolfhearts weren't the only one who would be offended by him spurning his queen to lie with me instead?

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could utter a word, the heavy door swung open once more.

General Niro strode into the war room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene before him. He moved with the silent confidence of a seasoned warrior, his scarred hands resting on the pommel of his sword. Niro took his place beside Ruith, inclining his head in a respectful nod to the king.

Close on Niro's heels came Commander Hawk, his grizzled features set in a grim expression. As he passed me, Hawk acknowledged me with a nod and came to stand beside me.

Victorin Stoneriver entered next, his brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Ieduin sauntered in a moment later, a mischievous glint in their eye despite the solemnity of the occasion. They moved with a fluid grace, the silken fabric of their tunic swirling around their lithe frame. Ieduin wasted no time in getting to work, their slender fingers deftly sorting through the various papers and scrolls strewn across the war table. They had a knack for bringing order to chaos, for seeing the patterns and logistics that others often missed.

I gave Ieduin a silent nod of thanks for looking after Leif and Torsten for me. The boys had been happy to see me earlier, and they looked in good health.

Katyr Runecleaver followed him in, slipping into the room with barely a whisper of sound as he took his place near the end of the table.

The door groaned once more, and a hush fell over the room as the Empress of Bones strode in. Her presence was formidable, her weathered face marked with the intricate tribal tattoos of her people. She moved with a predatory grace, her every step measured and purposeful. The Empress's piercing gaze swept over the assembled council, acknowledging no one save for Ruith. Her eyes locked with his, a silent communication passing between them. Ruith inclined his head in a gesture of respect, which the Empress returned with a subtle nod.

Queen Taelyn entered last. Since I had last seen her, she'd taken to wearing a single braid in her hair, a symbol of the victory she had claimed against her father's forces. She wore a gown of deep forest green, the rich fabric clinging to her slender frame. Taelyn's storm-gray eyes held a quiet intensity as she surveyed the room, her gaze lingering on Ruith for a moment before she took her place at the table.

Ruith's hand fell away from my face as the others took their seats around the war table. I immediately missed his touch. I forced myself to focus on the matter at hand, where I might do some good.

Victorin, however, remained standing, his posture rigid with tension. "Your Grace," he said, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. "I must object to Queen Taelyn's presence at this council. She is a Wolfheart, and her family has proven themselves to be traitors to the crown."

Taelyn's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, her hands clasped before her. I could see the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders stiffened at Victorin's accusation.

Ruith's gaze hardened as he turned to face Victorin. "Taelyn is here at my invitation. She has proven her loyalty by standing with us against her own kin. I will not have that loyalty questioned."

I watched the tense exchange between Ruith and Victorin, my own unease growing. I understood Victorin's reservations about trusting a Wolfheart, given what Klaus had done. But I also knew that Taelyn was not her father. She had defied him, choosing to honor her vows to Ruith and remain as his queen, even as the rest of her family declared themselves enemies of the crown.

Silence stretched between Victorin and his king, heavy with unspoken accusations. Finally, Victorin inclined his head stiffly. "As you say, Your Grace." He sank into his seat, but the tightness around his mouth remained.

I glanced at Taelyn, trying to read her expression, but she'd schooled her features to be carefully neutral. I could only imagine the strength it took for her to be here, to face the judgmental stares and whispered doubts, all for the sake of a cause she believed in.

"The Wolfhearts may have dealt us a blow," Ruith said, "but they are not our only enemy. Nor our most dangerous one. The Wolfhearts have made their choice. They have chosen to stand against us, to align themselves with my father." He looked up, fixing each member of the council with his piercing stare. "Can we still win this war without the Wolfhearts' support?"

A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Doubt flickered in eyes all around the table, the uncertainty that came with losing such a powerful ally.

It was Niro who spoke first, his gruff voice cutting through the stillness. "It will not be easy, Your Grace. The Wolfhearts command a significant force. But perhaps if we can win the support of the Longclaws and the Northfires, we may yet stand a chance."

Ruith nodded, considering Niro's words. "The Longclaws are staunch rivals of the Wolfhearts. I believe they can be swayed to our cause, though it will require significant maneuvering. But the Northfires..." He glanced over at Katyr.

"The Runecleavers are their rivals," Katyr supplied, "And we side against them. Surely that should count for something?"

"Maybe," Ieduin said, "if we didn't have the Runecleaver heir coordinating our mage force. You really think a bunch of Northfires will like taking orders from you?"

Katyr's jaw tightened at Ieduin's words, but he didn't argue the point. I could see the frustration simmering in his eyes, the weight of his family's legacy bearing down on him. It couldn't be easy, being the heir to a clan known for their prowess in battle magic, trying to forge alliances with those who had long considered the Runecleavers their enemies.

I cleared my throat, drawing the attention of the council. "If I may, Your Grace?"

Ruith's gaze settled on me, a flicker of warmth in his eyes despite the gravity of the situation. He nodded for me to continue.

"There haven't been many wars recently in the human lands," I started, "but back when Ostovan won its independence from Savarra, we did so with the aid of the city state of Brucia, who had long been our rivals. To avoid any bickering under a single commander, the rebel Ostovan army and the Brucians shared command, appointing two co-commanders of equal rank. Perhaps you might employ a similar solution here should it be enough to sway them. It could foster cooperation and allow autonomy without asking them to acknowledge Runecleaver superiority. Also, reminding them of the significant threat Vinolia poses and the land they stand to gain might help."

Katyr frowned. "I am willing to renegotiate the northern Runecleaver borders with the Northfires if needed, though I do not know how my fellows will receive the news."

I watched as Ruith considered my suggestion, his brow furrowed in thought. The firelight danced across his angular features, casting them in a warm glow that softened the hard lines of his face. After a long moment, he nodded slowly. "It is a sound strategy. We will send envoys to the Northfires, offering them a joint command and the promise of expanded territory should we emerge victorious. Katyr, I trust you to negotiate the border concessions with discretion."

Katyr inclined his head, a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he met my gaze. "As you command, Your Grace. I will do what is necessary to secure their support."

I let my gaze drift over the map, taking in the carefully inked lines and symbols that represented the complex web of alliances and rivalries that made up the elven clans. My eyes settled on the sigil of the Turtlefalls, a stylized turtle shell embossed in shimmering silver.

"What of the Turtlefalls?" I asked, glancing up at Ruith. "Their lands border the Deepfrost territory, placing them very close to the capital. If we could sway them to our side, it would put significant pressure on Taratheil."

Ruith shook his head, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "The Turtlefalls have already sent word that they wish to remain neutral in this conflict. They will support neither side."

"Typical Turtlefall behavior," Victorin scoffed. "They're famous for hiding behind their walls when war breaks out and reading their books while the rivers flow red with blood."

I frowned, studying the map intently. The Turtlefalls' position made them a valuable potential ally, but their stubborn insistence on neutrality was a frustrating obstacle. I opened my mouth to suggest a possible diplomatic approach, but before I could voice my thoughts, the heavy door burst open with a resounding bang.

A scout stumbled into the war room, his chest heaving with exertion. His cloak was tattered and stained with mud, and his face was ashen beneath the grime. He staggered forward, dropping to one knee before the war council. "Your Grace," he gasped out, his voice ragged. "I bring urgent news."

Ruith straightened, his eyes narrowing. "Speak," he commanded, his tone sharp with anticipation.

The scout drew in a shuddering breath. "The Wolfhearts, Your Grace. They've joined forces with the Runecleavers. Their combined army is marching toward the castle as we speak."

Ruith's face hardened, his jaw clenching. "How many? And how fast do they approach?"

The scout's voice trembled as he answered. "At least six thousand strong, Your Grace. And they are moving swiftly, with a sense of purpose. I estimate they will reach the castle walls within three to four days if they maintain their current pace."

My heart sank at the news, a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. The Wolfhearts alone would have been a formidable foe, but with the might of the Runecleavers behind them? It was a devastating blow. We may have outnumbered their six thousand men in theory, but in practicality, more than half our forces were still untested and untrained slaves who had no idea how to function in an army. Three days was not nearly enough time to train them.

Niro's eyes narrowed, his scarred hands clenching into fists on the table. "We must act quickly. Fortify the walls, double the watch, and send out scouting parties to harass their flanks. If we can slow their advance, buy ourselves some time, we may yet have a chance."

Ruith nodded, his expression grim. "See it done, General. I want every able-bodied soldier on the walls, and our best archers positioned in the towers. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared."

"Every freed slave who can hold a sword or draw a bow must be trained," I said. "We'll need to work in shifts, drilling them day and night. It won't be enough to make them seasoned warriors, but it may give them a fighting chance."

Hawk nodded. "I'll oversee their training personally. We'll focus on basic formations and defensive maneuvers, try to instill some discipline."

"Good," Ruith said, his gaze still fixed on the map, as if he could divine some hidden strategy from the inked lines. "And we shall get the forges lit and making swords and armor through the night and day."

I watched Katyr closely as Ruith outlined the defensive preparations. The young Runecleaver's face was ashen, his eyes haunted by a deep, unspoken fear. When Ruith finished speaking, Katyr cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke.

"Your Grace, if I may..." He paused, as if gathering his courage. "The magical threat posed by the Runecleavers cannot be overstated. My family's clan is renowned for their mastery of battle magic, and they will not hesitate to unleash their full might against us. And perhaps Vinolia herself might make an appearance. If she does…I cannot say how we might begin to stop her without some means we do not yet possess."

I turned to Ruith, meeting his gaze across the war table. "Your Grace, did you not send Aryn to the Duskfell clan?"

Ruith nodded. "Indeed, I did, and for this reason. The Duskfells have long been known for their mastery over the darker arts, for their ability to hunt and destroy creatures that defy the natural order. But getting them here in time… That will be difficult. We will need to get word to the Obsidian Keep immediately. Perhaps if they set sail today, they'll arrive in time."

A murmur of unease rippled through the council at the mention of necromancy, the taboo art that toed the line between life and death. But I could see the desperate hope kindling in their eyes, the realization that we may have just stumbled upon a weapon that could turn the tide of this war.

Ruith turned to Katyr, his expression grave. "Katyr, you are our resident expert on magic. What do you know of Vinolia's abilities? What can we expect?"

Katyr drew in a deep breath, his eyes distant as if lost in a haunting memory. When he spoke, his voice was low and somber. "Vinolia is... a being beyond the realm of natural life. She has harnessed the darkest of magics to extend her existence far beyond the years allotted to any mortal creature. In truth, I know not the full extent of her powers, for she rarely has cause to wield them openly. But I have seen glimpses... and what I have seen chills me to the bone. Her body is a vessel, preserved through the blackest of arts. She does not age, does not sicken, does not tire. Wounds that would fell a lesser being heal before her foes' very eyes. And her magic..." Katyr shuddered. "It is a corruption of the very life force that flows through all living things. With her jade comb she…feeds, drawing power from brushing it through the hair of her children and grandchildren, sometimes until they sicken and die. I have seen her raise the dead, not as mere shambling corpses, but as twisted mockeries of their former selves, imbued with an unholy strength and bound to her will."

The air in the war room seemed to grow colder as Katyr spoke, the firelight flickering ominously in the hearth.

He shook his head. "She is a force to be reckoned with. Even I could not best her with all my power."

I glanced around the war room, taking in the grim expressions on the faces of the council members. The shadows seemed to press in closer, the flickering firelight casting an eerie glow over the stone walls. Even Ruith, usually so unflappable, looked shaken by Katyr's revelation. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes hard as flint as he stared down at the map spread before him.

"We must get word to Aryn immediately," Ruith said, his voice low and urgent. "The Duskfells may be our only hope against Vinolia's dark magic. Ieduin, I need you to send our fastest messenger to the Obsidian Keep. They must set sail without delay if they are to reach us in time."

Ieduin nodded, their slender fingers already reaching for quill and parchment. "It will be done, Your Grace. I will see to it personally."

Ruith placed his hands flat on the table. "Taelyn…"

"I will rally the women and children," she said firmly. "Not all are suited to fighting, but everyone can help. They can mend, cook, clean, and sew bandages. I will organize some to triage wounds, to carry water, arrows, and stones. Let the men fight. We will ensure that you can."

"Then you all have your orders," Ruith said. "See that you carry them out with all haste. This is not where our rebellion ends. We must withstand the onslaught from the Runecleavers and the Wolfhearts at any cost. Gods watch over us all."