Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Thalia

When Bastien and I enter the hall, my attention goes to the dais at the far end of the room. It holds a massive wooden table with seven chairs to a side and a chair on each end. A quick head count confirms thirteen members seated around the table, and they appear to be in an active meeting with one woman in the middle talking.

The rest of the room resembles a church, of sorts. Row after row of pews fill the remainder of the space with an aisle down the middle. It could easily accommodate citizens gathering to discuss items of concern with the Conclave, or perhaps reflection and prayer to the gods, although formal religious services are not a thing here.

“Conclave members,” Bastien calls out in his deep, rumbling voice, the words echoing through the large hall. All heads whip our way, the members with their backs to us turning around in their chairs. “I present to you, Princess Thalia Clairmont, recently returned from the First Dimension.”

I study the faces of the Conclave. I recognize some of them, but others I do not. They look from Bastien to me, their expressions dubious.

I realize they can’t really see me with my hat on, so I remove it and toss it on a pew. Almost all jaws drop wide open, and their discombobulation gives me the courage to stride down the aisle toward them.

They scramble from their chairs, rising in deference to me. They’re dressed in the formal white and blue robes of the Conclave, each with their raven’s feather prominently displayed.

An older man I don’t recognize looks to Bastien, still behind me. “What is the meaning of this, Commandant Dunne?”

“I’m sure you’re curious as to why I’m back,” I answer the man whose regard snaps to me. “But the better question is, why was I sent away in the first place?”

The man’s gaze drops, the ice in my voice making my displeasure clear. I reach the bottom of the dais, and an older woman steps out from her chair. I recognize her—Laina Mercea—Chief of the Conclave.

I have no clue of her age, but her face is lined with wrinkles and her hair, worn in a pixie cut, is snow-white with streaks of iron gray.

At the edge of the dais, she holds out her hands to me, smiling warmly. “Welcome home, child. Come join us so that we may be reacquainted with one another. I know I speak on behalf of the entire Conclave when I say we are so very glad to have you back with us.”

I walk confidently up the three steps, ignoring Laina and her outstretched hands. “How can I be welcomed back when I can tell by the looks on your faces you never intended for me to be standing here right now?”

Laina’s hands drop, and she glances briefly at Bastien. I can’t see him, but I feel his presence behind me. Her expression begs him for an explanation, one that will get her out of the hot seat.

“I had a visit not long ago from a demigod named Maddox, sent on behalf of the gods Onyx and Veda,” Bastien says to the group. There are gasps among the Conclave, and they look to one another in shock. I know through my studies there have been stories of the gods making themselves known in some form or fashion over the millennia, but it’s only legend. “Maddox told me it was time to bring Thalia home.”

“And you took his word for it?” Laina asks incredulously. “She was safe and protected there, and you didn’t seek our counsel before bringing her back.”

“She was neither safe nor protected,” Bastien replies curtly, taking the dais steps in one long stretch and dropping something into Laina’s hand. “He had taken her ring from her.”

It was the simple gold band with a black oval stone that I’d worn every day of my life in Wyoming and for the first time, I realize it’s not on my hand. My false memories had me believing it was a gift from my parents, and I never wanted to remove it as it made me feel close to them. I realize now that was probably nothing more than a compulsion, and it clearly had a protection spell imbued in its dark stone.

No wait… that’s not right. I think back to that moment before Bastien sent me through the veil and he had fiddled with my engagement ring. He had turned the pink diamond into a simple black stone, or rather, maybe he merely glamoured it. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, and then it no longer mattered as I was sucked out of this dimension. Regardless, it’s no longer on my finger as its job is done. It’s no longer protecting me, and it certainly isn’t an engagement ring anymore.

He further explains to the Conclave, and I guess to me, since this is the first time I’m hearing why Bastien came for me, an incredible tale of strange and perilous happenings in the First Dimension, including the death of Kymaris, queen of the Underworld, and a new god of Life named Zora.

Bastien’s expression is unyielding when he finishes. “I don’t need to explain myself for trusting Maddox with the news he brought to me. It should be enough that you trust me as commandant of this army. The fact that Thalia was unprotected without her ring meant there was no time to discuss with the Conclave the merits of retrieving her. And you should be grateful I acted without your counsel, for Kieran and I arrived just as three erchras were poised to kill her.”

Laina’s face crumbles at this news, and her shoulders hunch. “Well, yes, then… you acted appropriately.”

“You,” I seethe, my anger hotter than ever, “did not act appropriately when you conspired to send me away without my permission.”

Laina flushes guiltily. “Your Highness—”

“Stop,” I order, and her mouth snaps shut. “I don’t want to hear your reasoning. I don’t want your apologies, because I don’t believe you’re sorry for what you did. You not only betrayed me, but you disrespected me by not following the wishes of your sovereign.”

“Your Highness,” a man says from across the table. He wrings his hands nervously, and I recognize him as one of the Clairmont Conclave members who fled the palace with us all those years ago after my parents were killed. “You were young… not but twenty, and you were burdened with grief and fear. We knew you didn’t want to leave, but there were thirteen of us on the Conclave who felt we needed to protect you from yourself.”

“There were fourteen of you who made the decision,” I reply flatly, indicating I’ve not forgotten that Bastien sided with them. “I understand your rationale, but I don’t accept it. For those transgressions, you’ve lost my trust. However, we are at war, and I know that I need this Conclave’s help to regain Kestevayne. For now, I am putting aside punishment until I can get a better handle on what’s going on.”

Several of the members pale. I myself have no clue if there will be true punishment, or even if I have the power to carry it out. It’s been proven that the Conclave were not above disregarding my wishes, and they could do so again. They certainly were able to enlist Bastien in their treachery, and he commands an army.

As such, I have to play this firmly, but safely.

The room is silent, and I’m not sure if I’ve rendered them mute with fear or if perhaps they’re plotting how to gain control. “However,” I continue, “I am here now—apparently at the behest of the gods—with the sole intention of working with the Conclave to help win Kestevayne back for its people.”

My last words seem to cut through the tension, and Laina lets out an audible sigh of relief. She smiles anxiously. “Well, let’s all take a seat, shall we? We will bring you up to date on our progress.”

The Conclave members shuffle to their chairs. I move to one on the end, hoping it will establish my authority. I grit my teeth when Bastien sits at the other end of the table, which makes him look like my equal.

To help solidify the notion I can be in charge, I begin by ignoring him and addressing the Chief of the Conclave. “Laina, why don’t you start by explaining why I don’t recognize some of the members sitting at this table. You are thirteen strong, as it should be, but this is not the Clairmont Conclave who fled the palace with me.”

“It’s been a hard seven years,” Laina says, grief heavy in her voice. “We attempted to engage Ferelith directly in battle those first few years, and the Conclave were always at the forefront to lend their magics. We suffered losses.”

“I’m truly sorry,” I reply, not because I should say it but because I’m genuinely regretful that anyone loyal to Kestevayne lost their lives in the efforts to regain my throne.

“Your Highness, unfortunately—” Laina starts, but I cut her off.

“Everyone recognizes I am from the Royal House of Clairmont, and I fully understand it is everyone’s intention to put me back on the throne in Kestevayne. With that being said, let’s dispense with formalities. Please, just call me Thalia.”

“Of course, Your… I mean, Thalia…” Laina stumbles on the words.

I risk a glance down at Bastien to see what he thinks of my actions so far, but his expression is as blank as fresh parchment.

Laina draws my attention back to her. “Thalia, much has happened since you left. Ferelith has settled into Kestevayne, and from there, she’s conquered the cities of Marenathe, Bell Tower, and Ciarta, and she’s currently marching on Salema.”

My heart sinks. That’s almost half of the major cities in Vyronas. While my people are currently spread out among the south lands, I know them well enough to know they would’ve never let those people fend for themselves against Ferelith. “How many have we lost over the last seven years?”

Bastien answers, and my gaze moves to him down the long table. “We’ve lost over half our forces helping to defend those cities. We currently have a battalion in Salema, but reports are grim.”

I don’t press for details. I’ll get them later. I need to know every vile thing Ferelith has done. I need to offer up prayers for the departed souls and figure out how to help the families left behind.

“Who is joining us in the fight?” I ask, turning to Laina.

She looks to Bastien in deference to see if he wants to answer, but he settles back in his chair, one hand resting on the table, and merely watches.

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Sorin, the D’Amuris, the Groucutt, the Baudin, and the Foss. They’ve all issued firm pledges to your throne and have their own royal armies in place, supplemented with Clairmont troops. Once a month, they send representatives here to discuss updates and strategies.”

Bastien remains silent, which I find interesting. This is information he should be relaying, but I expect he knows that anything he does infuriates me.

“And what of Ferelith?” I ask, because this is really what it all boils down to. How formidable is she now, after seven years of conquering Vyronas? “We didn’t know much about her when I was sent away. Surely, you’ve had time to figure out her history, her motives. Has anyone tried to negotiate?”

Laina shakes her head grimly, a silent clue that nothing she’s about to say will be good. She proceeds to tell me more than I ever wanted to know about the evil sorceress who sits on my throne.

Through scouting reports and deep dives into records, the Conclave discovered that Ferelith was born to migrant farmers and raised right here in the south lands of Vyronas. Her name was Julia back then, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary her first few years of life.

But interviews with old neighbors and estranged family members revealed that as she grew older, she seemed a little “off.” Her parents couldn’t be interviewed as they died mysteriously when Julia was thirteen, and she lived alone on the farm thereafter. Traveling vendors would barter with her, and she often requested potion ingredients that indicated some questionable gray magic was brewing.

Another traveler reported stopping at her small homestead one night seeking to buy a meal, only to be turned away by Julia. She had a guest already with her, a strange man in dark cloaks and a hood pulled low to conceal his face. The traveler had no choice but to move on, but as he was leaving the farm, he noticed a pile of dead chickens in various stages of decay, their heads missing.

The Conclave surmised that Julia was doing ritualistic blood sacrifices, and it was opined that the cloaked stranger was perhaps a Dark Fae helping her. Any fae would have the appropriate knowledge to teach blood magic, but the inherent evil in a Dark Fae would make them want to help her.

The why of Julia was a mystery, though, for no one could guess what turned someone evil. Perhaps she was born that way, or perhaps she summoned the wrong demon who turned her dark. Maybe she was insane. Whatever the reason, she spent decades building her power, recruiting her forces, and making plans to take over Vyronas.

When she attacked Kestevayne, she was no longer Julia but Ferelith, which means unbreakable in some ancient demon language. Her assault was a surprise, and the city was overrun with the power of her magic, decimating our army. Those who escaped were lucky to do so, and the rest of the story is not-so-ancient history.

Laina looks to Bastien to see if he wants to add anything, but he shakes his head. So she continues. “Some reports say that Ferelith traveled outside the veil to other dimensions to recruit soldiers. In exchange for blood oaths, she promised them lands and riches if they fought for her. She’s amassed an incredible legion of soldiers willing to die in her pursuit of domination, and their loyalty is strictly to her.”

“She’s more powerful than ever,” one of the Conclave members says, her voice fearful. “The reports are that she’s freely using blood magic, including live sacrifices of people, to increase her power.”

“Oh gods,” I murmur, my gaze drifting blankly to the table’s surface as I digest this. I knew she used blood magic, but I assumed, at the worst, it involved animals.

“She’s found a way to use these magics to control the mind through a dark compulsion. It’s how she’s been able to get some Houses to surrender, and to keep them compliant.”

“She’s cruel,” another Conclave member speaks and I focus on her. “She wantonly kills with no qualms. We heard she once incinerated a group of beggars outside the palace because their smell offended her.”

Suddenly, all the Conclave members speak, spouting the stories they’ve heard about Ferelith’s evil prowess. I try to take it all in.

“They say she sacrifices a newborn child at the end of each month to sustain her powers…”

“The darkness in her is so immense, her eyes have turned red…”

“She no longer has to eat and drink to live. Instead, she consumes the souls of those she kills…”

And on and on it goes. Overwhelmed, I just gape. Never have I heard such stories, and I can feel the fear radiating from the Conclave members. It’s contagious, and a shudder runs through me.

Can Ferelith be brought down? Truthfully, I don’t see how. I glance at Bastien, and his expression is no longer bland. Fire burns in his eyes as he listens to the Conclave members spouting their fears. He’s heard this all before, but it’s clear he’s as bothered by it as they are.

The only difference is, Bastien isn’t afraid.

He’s furious.

“What’s our current plan?” I ask, glancing around the table, still unwilling to give Bastien his due as commandant.

But it’s Bastien who replies. “We spent the first few years trying to retake Kestevayne, and several after that trying to prevent her from leaving Kestevayne to advance on the rest of our world. In the years since, we’ve spent helping defend others. Currently, we strike at her forces as we can, trying to whittle down their numbers. But, in all honesty, we need to cut the head off the snake, or this war will never end.”

Many Conclave members murmur their agreement. Leaning back in my chair, I ponder my next move. My parents would want me to lead my citizens to take back their homeland. They would expect me to be at the helm. I have to firmly establish control at this point if I’m to be effective in the coming weeks and months.

Most importantly, I’m not going to let Bastien or the Conclave gain an ounce of control over my life… ever again. I slide my chair out and rise, placing my hands on the table.

“What you have told me is daunting. But one thing my parents taught me is that nothing is insurmountable. We will take back Kestevayne, and we will put an end to that miserable creature sitting on my throne. But to do that, you need me. As heir to the Royal House of Clairmont, I alone hold the seat of power to our magic. It is the best weapon you have and something you never once gave me an ounce of credit for possessing.”

Pausing for effect, I study each person in turn. Every Conclave member nods in agreement. Bastien leans forward in his chair, his arms on the table, and stares at me intently.

Satisfied I have their attention, I continue. “At this point, I wish to remind you that as the Conclave, you are here to advise me. But I will make the decisions. I will have every member’s agreement right now, or you will no longer sit at this table.”

I leave it hanging what might happen if they aren’t sitting at this table. One by one, each Conclave member stands and agrees to my demands. All except Bastien, but then again, he isn’t a Conclave member. This brings me to my next point.

“In order to effectively lead, I need to have faith in those who are advising me. This Conclave broke my trust by orchestrating my banishment behind my back, no matter how good its intentions were. However, I’ve decided to let you earn it back.”

Murmurs of relief float around the table.

“However,” I say, bringing my attention to Bastien, who stares right back at me impassively. “Commandant Dunne, your betrayal was far worse than what the Conclave committed. If there was one person in this world I should have been able to trust, it was you.” I feel my voice quaver slightly with a wave of hurt, but I shake it off. Bastien’s jaw clenches, and that muscle starts ticking. “For this, I am immediately relieving you of your duty as commandant of the royal army. You are no longer welcome to sit in on this Conclave. You should remove yourself from this hall immediately.”

Gasps echo around the table, and I even hear one of the members blurt out, “She can’t do that. We need him.”

But I maintain my steely regard aimed at Bastien, even though it’s a bit disconcerting that his expression never changes. Nor does his body position. I thought I would feel immense satisfaction at the end of my speech, but I’m not getting the thrilling rush I expected as he stares back dispassionately.

If anything, my decision now isn’t setting so well with my conscience as I take in the discontent this has caused among the Conclave. While I have every right to relieve him of his duties, I failed to remember he’s been leading this war since I left, and they—and the citizens—trust him with their lives.

But it’s too late to take it back. I certainly can’t be seen as wishy-washy with the Conclave. Besides, there’s simply no way I’ll be able to believe in him again and moreover, I can’t bear his cold indifference. It hurts too much, and I need a bit of self-preservation if I’m to be strong for my people.

The hall quiets, and several seconds of heavy silence hangs in the air. Then Bastien casually pushes out his chair and rises. My spine stiffens, ready to stare him down until he leaves.

He starts down the side of the table that borders the dais steps—I assume to make his exit—but he continues marching toward me.

“I beg everyone’s pardon,” he says as he takes me by the arm. “If you’ll excuse us for just a minute, we’ll be right back.”

And with that, Bastien forcefully drags me from the dais and down the aisle toward the doors. I’m too astonished to put up a fight as he pulls me along, but about three paces from the exit, my senses return and I yank against him. Trying to dig in, I do nothing more than slide as my boots skid across the slick, wooden floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.

Bastien doesn’t reply—he just ushers me right out the door. Once we’re out of sight of the Conclave, I really put up a fight, tugging hard in an attempt to free my arm. I’m no more than a nuisance to him, and Bastien never misses a step. He spins, bends, and puts his shoulder to my stomach, easily hauling me over his shoulder. I grunt as it knocks the air out of me.

Bastien eats up the ground with his long legs, heading away from Conclave Hall while I pound on his back and yell at him to put me down. Lifting my head, I note several astonished people watching the scene unfold, and I’m mortified.

“Put me down right now, you big oaf,” I demand, keeping my voice low to not draw further attention. “You’re making a scene.”

He ignores me, and I struggle in earnest, believing that crashing to the ground would be far preferable.

Bastien slaps me hard on my butt, and I yelp. “Behave yourself,” he says darkly, and there is promise to do more than a spanking if I don’t yield.

That does nothing but fuel my anger. I pound on his back and flail my legs, hoping to shake myself loose from his grip, but I make no progress. He’s just too strong and big to battle against.

When I pause to peek up again, I realize we have returned to his home. He opens the door with his free hand and strides straight to the bedroom where he throws me down on the bed with excessive force.

I sit up, wheezing until I catch my breath again.

Watching Bastien suspiciously, I wait for him to launch into a tirade. Instead, he calmly moves to the corner and sits in one of the wooden chairs. He leans back casually, stretching his long legs, and I’m struck by how beautiful he is.

Beautiful, but still cold, hard, and unemotional.

“You made quite an impression on the Conclave,” he says neutrally.

I gape at him. That’s all he has to say?

I refuse to be baited, so I keep my mouth shut.

And I wait and wait and wait for him to say something. But he stares with those penetrating eyes that look like icicles, and I feel like they’re stabbing me just as painfully.

Exasperated, I push off the bed. “I don’t know what your game is, Bastien, but you are done here. You are finished. You heard me relieve you of your duties, and there is no way I am going to allow you to remain involved. I don’t trust you anymore, so you will only be a hindrance to me.”

“The gods know all of that to be a lie,” Bastien replies smoothly. “You are not doing this for the betterment of your rule, or because you don’t trust me. You’re doing this to punish me for sending you away. If you’re going to be a ruler, at least learn to be honest in your decrees.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sputter, but Bastien has hit close to the truth. Shame floods me.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” he asks quietly, so quietly, a shiver runs up my spine when I hear the barely contained rage underneath the whisper.

Jolting from the chair, Bastien charges across the room toward me, fury blazing in his eyes. I try to scramble backward, but he’s on me before I can move two inches. Grabbing me by the scruff of my shirt, he spins me toward the door and marches me into the kitchen. I don’t even think to pull away or halt the progress because I’m scared into inaction. Propelling me right up to the window over the sink, he points with his free hand.

“Look at that house across the street,” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Do you see that little boy on the front step?”

Focusing, I spot a darling child maybe six or seven years old. He has the brightest red hair I’ve ever seen with a spray of freckles dusting his nose. He’s reading a book on his lap, face full of concentration. And that’s when I realize he only has one leg. His brown pants are ragged, one side frayed at the bottom hem that hangs a few inches above his ankle, and the other rolled into a wide cuff that sits just below where the knee joint should be. A pair of crudely carved crutches rest beside him.

“Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about.” Bastien’s voice is low and rumbling, like he has a volcano of pent-up rage inside that’s about to burst free. My hair stands on end as tears well up with both sorrow for the boy and fear for what Bastien might do. “That is what has been happening the last seven years. Every day. Bloodshed, death, and maiming. His name is Sam, and he lost his leg because he dared to have the temerity to kick one of Ferelith’s soldiers. Want to know why he kicked him?”

The violence emanating from him chills me to the bone. I’m absolutely certain I do not want to know, but Bastien continues, dipping his head. With his mouth near my ear, his voice is soft but menacing. “It was because the soldier had slit Sam’s mother’s throat. Prior to that, he’d raped her. Sam fought the soldier the only way he knew how, by kicking him with his little leg.”

Monstrous tears form as I watch the little boy reading his book on the porch step. “I got there just as the soldier was bringing his sword down, and I was too late to stop Sam from losing his leg.”

A strangled sound wrenches from my throat and wet grief flows freely down my cheeks. Oh gods, the pain that poor child went through. But Bastien isn’t finished.

His voice drops even lower, a tremor of restrained fury. “I murdered that man with my bare hands. I strangled him, and I took my time about it.”

“That was justice, not murder,” I whisper. I dare to look up at him, realizing that Bastien suffered too.

He glowers at me, using his hold on my shirt to pull me in closer. “I have more blood and sweat invested in this war than you will ever have, Princess.” My title is issued with the utmost disdain, not because of my station but because I was not acting as a princess at Conclave Hall. “While you were tucked safely away on your little horse farm in Wyoming, completely oblivious to this carnage, I defended our citizens with my life. I watched my father die to avenge your parents and your honor. You may sit on the throne and rule one day, but for now, the army follows my command. The Conclave looks to me for strength and encouragement. It’s what the House of Dunne has done for Kestevayne for centuries.

“For the last seven years, I have been leading the fight for your country, not because I wanted to, but because I love these people as much as you do. Now, you can make all the proclamations you want, but I am not stepping down as commandant, nor am I withdrawing from this fight.”

Bastien releases his grip on me, and I stumble. I glare at him, but it’s without heat. He seems to have run out of steam, and I watch the rage recede before it flickers into sadness. Shifting toward the window, I stand silently, eyes on little Sam as he reads his book.

Stepping away, Bastien says, “I’m going back to Conclave Hall. We have work to do. I suggest you leave your bitterness toward me out of your decision-making and put your energies into helping your people. Trust me, after we win this war, you’ll have plenty of time to hate me.”

He pivots and storms out of the house.