Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Thalia

We emerge from a forest into a field of green grass with a few trees scattered about and hills rolling to the horizon. In the distance, I can see the sparkle of a blue river. Bastien keeps a brisk pace ahead of us.

Kieran had said we were in the south lands, but I don’t know them at all. They’d be akin to the states of Wyoming, Nebraska, and Montana in the First Dimension in that there is a lot of space and not a lot of people. In Wyoming, my nearest neighbor was fifteen minutes away, and Moose Gap, with its small grocery, was a thirty-minute drive.

Except here in the south lands, there aren’t any towns—just isolated farms and homesteaders who prefer peace and solitude. They grow their own vegetables and slaughter their own animals for food and will barter with traveling vendors.

I understand why my people chose to move here, knowing that Ferelith would not chase our forces so far from Kestevayne. She was more concerned with conquering the cities, which control commerce and the people. War is a nasty business, and it can last years.

More than a thousand years before I was born, Vyronas saw many wars in the battle for control of the throne. Then peace reigned, and perhaps we got lazy, never considering someone might try to overthrow us.

“It’s just up ahead,” Kieran says, jolting me out of my thoughts. I realize he’s talking about the cloaked stronghold.

I look toward Bastien, his long legs eating the distance but in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Had I not known about the cloaking spell, I might have thought he bent distance, which can make it seem like a person has vanished. But he’s merely passed through the magical shield that hides the stronghold. It not only renders it invisible to the naked eye but prevents anyone not invited under its protection from being able to get within a few miles of it. If that were to occur, the spell would befuddle travelers and compel them to find an alternate route around the concealed encampment.

Not so much of a problem out here in such isolation and without even a passable road nearby. It’s the perfect place to hide.

I open my magical senses, tap into a small ley line, and I feel the presence of something foreign. As if something doesn’t belong.

The cloaking spell, of course, hiding something in the middle of nowhere. I use all my might to see past it, wanting to test its strength myself, but I can’t breach it.

While I might be a little off-kilter with my magic, it’s some of the most powerful in our land. I approve of the strength of this cloaking spell.

“I can’t push past the cloak,” I murmur in appreciation.

“The Scrinia did a good job. Had you not been with me or Bastien, you would’ve been pushed off course about a mile back.”

As we walk closer, it feels like a rubber band snaps the surrounding air. Suddenly, I can make out the spell’s shimmering edge. My magic connects, and I can feel that I’ve been granted access. The cloak forms a pearly, luminescent dome over the area, rising high into the sky and spreading out so far over the hills, I can’t see where it ends. Tiny sparkles swirl about, but I can’t see what’s inside. Only the hilly landscape beyond.

“It’s massive,” I say.

“Lots of people to hide,” Kieran replies.

The edges of the spell undulate as we get closer, as if it senses our presence and is trying to figure out if we’re allowed past.

We step through, and it feels like a cool breeze against me, enough to lift my hair away from my shoulders. King startles slightly, but my firm grip on his reins keeps him in check.

As I take in the surroundings, nothing prepares me for what I see. My jaw drops in astonishment. Standing at the edge of an alley between two buildings, I realize now that this isn’t just a camp or a stronghold but a fully functioning town, bustling with people. Permanent buildings line several streets, built of wood, stone, and mud mortar with shale-shingled roofs. The roads are hard-packed dirt mixed with gravel, upon which horse-drawn wagons travel while people stroll the cobbled sidewalks. There are even oil lampposts on street corners.

This place has functioning commerce. Just across the street on one block alone, I see a butcher, a grocer, an apothecary, and a clothing store. At the end of a long street, a building stands taller and longer than the others. It has a domed roof with a spire, upon which sits a stone raven.

That would be Conclave Hall and I expect where I’ll be meeting later with the group of appointed advisors who sent me through the veil against my will. Whether they’ll keep their jobs after said meeting depends on their explanation for doing so.

I scan the area as we make our way through the settlement. Although this is my homeland, I’m disoriented by the juxtaposition between Wyoming and Vyronas. I suppose living seven years in the First Dimension has me accustomed to modern technology and convenience.

Not all dimensions are created equal, nor do they evolve the same. While the First Dimension chose the path of modernization with discoveries and developments, such as electricity, industrialization, and technology, Vyronas has remained almost provincial.

It doesn’t mean we’re cavemen.

Quite the contrary, actually.

While the buildings here in this makeshift town are rustic, this isn’t the norm. The city of Kestevayne has beautiful architecture created from stone, granite, marble, brick, and stucco. We have our conveniences, but much of it is powered by ley lines. We don’t have electricity, but our lighting, running water, heat, and cooling are powered by magic.

We had no need to develop motor vehicles or flight, as many citizens can bend distance, which is actually far better than the First Dimension modes of travel. Those with weaker magical abilities stay central to a city or travel via horse, especially if needing to transport cargo.

Vyronas is not the same size as the Earth realm. The entire land here is only about three hundred thousand square miles, a little larger than the state of Texas.

Bastien is across the street, moving down a sidewalk without looking back at us. He knows we’ll follow.

I get strange looks from passersby. I’ve been gone a long time, and I’m not sure how recognizable I am these days. I’m also dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt, my Stetson, and boots, which makes me an oddity. Vyronas receives visitors from other dimensions, so it’s not unusual to see foreigners, but I imagine given that this place is cloaked, it could be disconcerting.

Pants on women is not unusual here, but many Vyronasian women—particularly in the maiorn or royal castes—prefer to wear feminine dresses. Modesty isn’t a concern, and in warm weather, such garments tend to be gauzy, flowing, and often revealing. Some even mirror First Dimension fashions observed by visitors, but as I look around, most women are dressed practically. We are living in a time of war. Pants and tunics belted with leather strips indicate that life here is about work and survival.

The men, less fashion conscious, always dress in some sort of pants and shirts, although it can vary depending on their station. Working-class men tend to wear sturdy twill while the businessmen are more likely to wear more expensive and softer cuts of cloth. Those in the warrior caste usually wear a heavy denim-like material for their pants, often covered in leather for protection. Footwear is similar to military combat boots in the First Dimension. However, here they aren’t mass manufactured but rather created by the local cobbler, which truly produces a superior product. In the colder months, warriors wear shirts with leather overcoats, but in the hot summer, often only breast plates and arm guards are necessary.

Bastien leads us from what appears to be the town’s center of commerce, the outer streets lined with houses rustically built of wood, stone, and mortar with mostly thatched roofs. I’m shocked to see efforts have been made to create a sense of normalcy—windows outfitted with planters brimming with flowers, wreaths of welcome on doors, and even small gardens blooming along sidewalks.

This isn’t a stronghold at all. It’s an actual town that has been created for a people on the run, and it appears to be thriving.

“I can see you’re shocked,” Kieran observes.

That’s an understatement. “It’s lovely.”

“Don’t let it fool you into thinking all is okay.” His expression turns grave. “On the other side of town, we have dormitories that house soldiers here for training. They’re sent out to join other battalions actively battling Ferelith in the north and east. This is still very much a place created to maintain a war.”

My stomach pitches at the thought, as I had indeed gotten caught up in the glory of returning to a homeland I hadn’t realized I’d missed so dearly until my memories were given back. But this isn’t the same place I remember.

I need to accept that and adapt.

Without warning, Bastien turns into the yard of a small cottage built just like the others, except this one has no pretty garden, no curtains in the windows. He walks through the front door and leaves it open.

“I’ll take King to the stables,” Kieran says.

I jerk slightly. “You’re not coming in?”

“He doesn’t bite.” Kieran chuckles.

“I don’t know that anymore,” I mutter, giving up the reins to my horse.

“He’ll get you settled, then take you to Conclave Hall. I’ll see you later.”

Before I can argue—or beg Kieran to stay so I don’t have to deal with Bastien—he leads King away without looking back.

With a sigh, I glance at the open door and wonder what awaits me inside. It’s with heavy feet I move to enter the small house.

The first thing I notice is that it’s clean but bare. The kitchen area consists of a stove, sink, and worktable to the left, and the living area with a fireplace to the right has only a wooden chair and table.

Bastien moves to a closed door and opens it. “This is your bedroom.”

I move past him, taking in the small space with a large bed upon which lies a faded quilt and two pillows. Two wooden tables sit on either side with oil lamps, and a woven cloth rug stretches across the wooden floor. A small dresser is set against one wall.

It’s plain but cozy, and I’m completely fine with the accommodations. Seven years working a horse ranch has made it so I don’t need the trappings of a royal palace.

“That’s the bathroom,” Bastien says from behind me, and I jolt as I hadn’t realized he’d followed me into the bedroom. I turn and see him pointing to a closed door. “It has a tub and toilet, but there are hot springs within the cloak that you can go to. They’re good for sore muscles.”

My eyes narrow somewhat at his manner of speaking. It’s flat—which I’ve gotten used to—but it also sounds robotic, as if reciting a list of amenities he’d been programmed to deliver.

“Is this to be my house until the war is won?” I ask.

“No. This is my house. You will be my guest until the war is won.”

“I don’t think so,” I say emphatically. “I am not living under the same roof as you.”

Bastien’s expression hardens, his eyes practically glacial, which proves he can be provoked to some emotion. “You will,” he asserts imperiously, “and there will be no argument. I don’t like these arrangements any better than you, but you will be safest under my direct watch.”

I turn to him fully, my face hot with anger. “Safest? Was I safest with you when you betrayed me?”

He has the grace to flinch at the reminder, but I’m not finished. “I did my duty and returned. I will help the war effort, and I will reclaim the throne. But I’ll be damned if I am going to be subjected to your presence day and night. This is unacceptable.”

Bastien schools his features, his tone flat, almost disinterested. “I’m not going to argue with you. The decision is made.”

I take a deep breath to continue my argument, but Bastien cuts me off by the simple maneuver of turning his back and walking out of the room.

“I’m not staying here,” I say as I scramble after him.

He walks right out of the cottage, and I have no choice but to follow, because I need answers more than I need to sulk. I close the door behind me and without thought, throw magic at it to latch it from the inside.

“Where are we going?” I demand as I catch up to Bastien on the sidewalk where he heads for the town center.

“Conclave Hall,” he replies without slowing. “I expect you want your questions answered, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Imagine you’ll want to slap a few of them like you did me,” he says nonchalantly.

“I was thinking the gallows,” I mutter as I manage to keep pace at his side.

I’m not sure, but I think I hear a snort of amusement, likely impossible given this man I no longer know at all seems devoid of heart or soul.

Besides, I wasn’t joking. I’m furious with the Conclave—they betrayed me as much as Bastien did. My feelings for them are only tempered by the fact that I didn’t love them the way I loved Bastien.

The Conclave consists of thirteen members of the Scrinia line. It’s a magical number, and every royal house has one who serves to advise, educate, and train in the uses of magic, governance of the people, and diplomacy with other regions.

The history of our realm is well-known and documented. The Scrinia were the original inhabitants, evolved from daemon druids who possessed the knowledge and meteor stone necessary to create Vyronas. Those original daemons were born of unions between Light and Dark Fae—immortal fallen angels, all cast from Heaven for betraying God. The daemons were powerful immortals themselves with varying degrees of magic that could be inherited by either parent or both. Often, they had a light or dark aura surrounding their forms, which would indicate whether they tended to lean toward their Light or Dark Fae parent.

But thousands of years of evolution changed the original inhabitants. Today’s daemon druids really can’t even be considered daemon anymore and are only referred to as Scrinia. Over the centuries, their lines have mated with humans, watering down the inherent immortality and magic they possessed, although they can be exceptionally long-lived.

The loss of their fae-inherited magic was not a big deal as they did have the foresight to create the ley lines, and over time created spells to bolster and enhance the magic that permeates this land. I could even liken it to the never-ending power of a nuclear reactor, but far less dangerous.

The Conclave are most important, though, for their knowledge of our past. They are the historians who record events important to our way of life, preserving spells and penning books to help future generations. Our enlightenment comes from the Conclave, so they are important.

Fortunate for them, I suppose, as we’ll need them to win the war against Ferelith. At the time I left, she was using blood magic, which is supreme in power and highly lethal. I have to assume that’s still the case.

We have only our ingenuity to use the magics provided by the ley lines to fight her, and it might not be enough. I will need the Conclave to dive deep into this problem. At the time I was sent to the First Dimension, we were in the early throes of war and didn’t know much about Ferelith, her history, or her motives. I’m eager to see what’s been discovered in my absence.

Approaching the large hall, I tip my head back to look at the stone raven, a symbol of wisdom and cunning. It’s always represented the Conclave, and every member wears a black raven’s feather pinned to their garment, or sometimes the women wear them in their hair. It used to bring me comfort… the symbolism.

But as we ascend the steps, I don’t feel comfort at all. Something strikes me as I look around the busy streets.

“How many people live in this stronghold?” I ask.

Halting, Bastien turns to look at me. It’s an innocuous question, and for the first time since he’s reentered my life, he doesn’t seem tense. “Roughly two thousand, give or take. Over half are soldiers. And it’s a town, not a stronghold. It can’t defend against Ferelith if she were to venture this far from Kestevayne to strike.”

“And there are others like this?”

Bastien nods, glances out toward the edge of town to the rolling hills beyond. “Several spread out in the south lands. Some in the west. We felt it best to not bring the army together until we were ready to advance on Kestevayne. Easier to hide too.”

“And so all you’ve been doing is hiding the last seven years?”

While my question was not meant as criticism but merely to sate my curiosity regarding my time away, Bastien’s eyes flicker with anger. “Our soldiers here train and go out to join other battalions to actively fight against Ferelith. We hide this place to protect the citizens. But if you have a better idea, Princess… by all means, let’s hear it.”

I should apologize to defuse the situation, but I have nothing to be sorry for. I deserve to have my questions addressed.

Rather than argue with him, I say, “I’ll let you know my ideas after I’ve had a chance to talk to the Conclave.”

Bastien offers a curt nod, takes another step forward, but then glances back. “This town was named Clairmont, in honor of your family.”

I have no clue why he tells me this. To make me feel better? To have something nice to say?

Sadly, I feel nothing at this news. They named this town after monarchs who are dead and a princess who was banished. It’s almost perfidy in a sense.

I don’t reply as we walk silently into the building.