Airlean Tales S2E10: Homeward

Halcyon moved to the guildmaster’s study and shut the door behind him with finality. Nicolina, who sat behind the desk, did not bother to even look up.

“You could learn to knock,” she said. “Like Fairwen.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re never sorry. You share that with Caelute.” Nicolina sighed. “What is it, Yuden? Finished your talk with the crown prince?”

Halcyon wasted no time.

“Guildmaster, is there any way you can find someone else for this mission?”

“Someone else?”

“Someone more fitting. The prince said that you recommended me.”

Nicolina laid down her quill and folded her hands together. “That depends,” she said softly. “What reason are you giving for withdrawal?”

Halcyon met her gaze unflinchingly. “I’m no good with politics. Karis is a fitting choice for a delegation party. Smooth with words, quick-thinking. I’m the guy you send to smash things.”

“You’re not a brute, Yuden. And you won’t be doing any talking; that’s on the crown prince.”

“You never know. Everyone in a delegation will be under scrutiny.”

Nicolina blinked slowly. Halcyon fought the urge to squirm under her owlish grey eyes, which always seemed to know and carry far too much.

“Do you really want this, Yuden?” she eventually said. “Caelute will be in foreign territory for months.”

“She can take care of herself.”

“But won’t you miss her?”

Halcyon did not reply. Nicolina relented slightly, turning to shuffle some papers on her desk.

“You don’t even deny it anymore,” she noted. “You’ve come a long way, Yuden.”

“Don’t use an emotional appeal, Guildmaster. I’m talking practicalities.”

“Are you?”

He looked away.

“Everyone has something they want to hide. I know that full well. And it’s not my place to push. You’ve been one of the Guild’s greatest assets, and it’s my job to support you, not inhibit you.” Her hands paused. “But I know what it looks like to run from something, Yuden. And whether you like it or not, it will always catch up with you.”

Halcyon’s jaw twitched, but he was unwilling to give. No matter if Nicolina’s words cut through him like a sword.

Nicolina clocked his expression and shook her head. “Well, if you’ve made up your mind, I won’t force you. I’ll recommend someone else.”

“Thank you,” Halcyon said tersely.

“On one condition.”

He nodded, waiting.

“You tell Caelute yourself that you’re not going,” Nicolina said.

That was puzzling. Karis must’ve gathered as much from how he’d spoken to the crown prince. She would hardly be surprised to hear his final decision. She wasn’t even the leader of this expedition; why would Halcyon be obliged to tell her anything?

But there was a resoluteness behind Nicolina’s eyes, a surety that would not budge.

“Alright,” said Halcyon. “I’ll tell her.”

It wouldn’t be difficult. He would visit her home, share his resolution, and depart. He would watch the caravan set sail for Atlantis. He would miss her like breathing in the long days ahead, but she would return.

And missing her was better than the alternative.

Before he lost his nerve, Halcyon visited Karis’s house.

His thoughts grew cluttered as he approached the rustic, pristine house with a gabled roof and flowers dotting the windsill. He always felt out of place in this idyllic sector of Mythaven, a charcoal smudge on a clean sheet of paper. He tried to shake off the discomfort and rapped smartly on the door. The iron handle turned, and slowly, the door shifted open.

“Karis,” Halcyon said readily, “I’ve spoken with the Guildmaster, and when it comes to the delegation, we think—”

But then his words trailed off, lost.

Because the woman who answered the door was not Karis.

She looked similar. Very similar. Her flower-pink hair had a paler, platinum tone to it, and the edges of her face were beginning to dimple. Her eyes were not the stunning blood-red that Halcyon knew, but a limpid, beautiful pearl color. She smiled warmly at Halcyon like she knew him, and opened the door further.

“What a handsome young man,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“Ah,” said Halcyon. He hadn’t rehearsed this encounter. “Uh. You must be…”

“Clara Sylvester Caelute.”

Karis’s mother. Suddenly nervous, Halcyon quickly bowed.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “I’m here to speak to Karis regarding—regarding Guild matters.”

Why wasn’t his tongue working properly? He was a fool. So what if he was speaking with Karis’s mother—that changed nothing. There was no logical reason why he would feel this need to make a good impression.

Clara’s smile widened. “You must be Halcyon Yuden. My daughter speaks of you often.” She waved him inside and disappeared through the doorway.

Fighting the childish, intense urge to demand what kind of things did she say, Halcyon followed.

Though small, the Caelute house was beautifully kept. Polished floors were dressed with patterned rugs, chestnut shelves were tidy and regularly dusted, immaculate pottery was displayed in a glass cabinet. On his way in, Halcyon caught a glimpse of a tidy bedroom that housed a violin and a beautiful harp, decorated with brocaded white silk. He had a feeling he knew who that room belonged to.

“My daughter is out at the moment, but she should return shortly,” said Clara. “Would you like any tea? Fresh batch of green just brewed.”

“No, but thank you,” Halcyon said. “I won’t be long.”

“Water? Coffee? Ale or wine?”

“I—uh.”

“Have a seat, at least,” said Clara, gesturing to the central table dressed with doilies and an embroidered runner. “I’ve got some scones in the oven, they should be just out.”

“Oh,” said Halcyon, his legs automatically moving to sit. He shouldn’t. He wasn’t staying long. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She set a cup and saucer in front of him, then a teapot hugged by a bird-patterned cozy. “Please, don’t call me ma’am. I’ll feel terribly old.”

“Ah. Then…”

“‘Mother-in-law’ will do.”

Halcyon, who had chosen that unfortunate moment to sip at the tea, coughed violently. Clara released a soft, trilling laugh and slid him a handkerchief.

“Oh, my apologies, Lord Halcyon. You just looked so nervous, I couldn’t help but tease.”

Halcyon surreptitiously dabbed at any traces of tea that had been accidentally spewed on the table. Now he really wondered what kind of things Karis had said about him.

Clara had turned to her oven—a shiny, magitech thing, no doubt a gift from her daughter, with gilded flowers painted along the sides. She withdrew a tray of piping hot scones, serving them on a decorative platter with clotted cream and speckled blue frostberry jam. They looked too nice to eat.

“Now, what can I do for you?” she asked, sitting across from him and folding her teacup in her long, elegant hands. “Is it secret Guild business? For Karis’s ears only?”

He didn’t move to take a scone. “Not particularly. Just discussions about the upcoming delegation to Atlantis.”

“Oh, Atlantis! How wonderful to hear from them again. Do you think the other nations survived as well?”

“Not sure.” When her face drew down in disappointment, he found himself hurrying to speak. “But I believe they would’ve put up a fight.” Frankly, the hardened northern clans of Drâkvul, the desert walkers of Zuhad, the imperial army of Yuerai—they were all far hardier than Airleans ever had been.

“Karis shall have to tell me all about it. How is life as a Hunter? She tells me dreadfully little.”

Halcyon thought of all the towering, shrieking beasts, all the flashing storms of mana, all the times he found Karis gravely wounded, blood soaking her silken scarf and her snow-white tunic.

“Um,” he said.

Clara’s ever-present smile turned wry. “I know she doesn’t want to worry me. Is it that bad?”

“It’s, uh, very…she’s very…she can fight well.” He cursed his stiff mouth.

Noticing that he hadn’t moved, Clara pushed a scone onto his plate. “Perhaps I’m better off not knowing. Oh, that wild girl. I’m relieved that you’ll be going with her.”

“Ah,” Halcyon said.

“She’s just like her father, always rushing off into danger. Needs a friend with a good head on their shoulders.” She nudged the scone closer to him. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk some sense into her. Get her to—I don’t know, slow down a little bit?”

Halcyon’s fingers curled tightly. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m the last person you should ask.”

Her smile dimmed. “Is that so? I heard the rumors that the two of you were sometimes at odds…but I found myself hoping that there could be a sense of comraderie beneath it all.”

She thought that he hated Karis? No, no, quite the opposite. If he closed his eyes and imagined the onslaught of the Storm, but without her soft and fearless smile beating back the night, without the quicksilver glint of her rapier…

He swallowed. “The reason isn’t what you think, ma’am. Karis is one of the most gifted manacrafters I’ve ever seen. There’s no one else in the guild I trust more. If she were to leave the Hunters’ ranks, it would be a tremendous loss.”

Clara thumbed the handle of her teacup, unreadable.

“I understand your struggle,” Halcyon said. “At least rest in the knowledge that your daughter has made a commendable decision.”

Clara’s finger stopped. “Commendable,” she murmured. “Commendations. That’s what this country gives you in exchange for your casket.”

Silence. Words were stolen from Halcyon’s tongue.

“Fighting took my husband without warning, and left only commendations in his place,” Clara continued. “But a golden plaque could not tuck his daughter into bed. An engraved medal could not laugh with her during the holidays, or hold her when she cried.” She exhaled. “And now, it continues. She brings home golden plaques and engraved medals, frequent as tribute—commendations upon commendations—when all I want is for her to bring herself.”

The scone was getting cold on Halcyon’s plate, yet he found he could not move.

“Whenever she embarks on a particularly difficult excursion,” Clara said softly, “Guildmaster Cotton has her update her letter of will and leave with me, just in case. Whenever she is off fighting beasts and dragons and what-name-you…I wonder if this will be the day I must open that letter. I wonder if she will never again step through the threshold with that beautiful smile of hers. I wonder if…her stone will join her father’s beneath the tree in our garden. If her grave will be just as empty.”

She lifted her eyes. The gloom on her face quickly passed over, replaced by a smile too easy to be genuine.

“I was hoping I could win you over, Lord Halcyon,” she said cheerfully, “but I understand if it is not possible.”

“We are on the same side,” Halcyon’s mouth said before his mind registered it. “Karis is…I won’t let…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll…do everything in my power to keep her from injury.”

“I know you mean well. But in the end, there is so little a mortal human can do against beasts of legend.” Clara looked out the window, where the afternoon sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. “We both know that Hunters scarcely live a long life.”

They sat in silence as a breeze brushed through the open shutters and sifted the lace curtains.

“Thank you for indulging an old lady’s musings, Lord Halcyon,” Clara said, moving to stand. “Please enjoy the tea.”

“Ma’am,” Halcyon said abruptly. His tongue caught when she stopped and looked right at him. “I—I care for her. Your daughter. I’ll…see that she always returns to you safely.”

A warm smile shone on her face like candlelight. “Oh, kind sir, please make no such promises,” she said. “You must have a family who wishes to see you home, too.”

Not really, Halcyon thought.

“Unless, of course,” Clara said, “you meant you’d like to marry her and settle down with some adorable children. In which case, I would love nothing more! You have my hearty blessing!”

He had—what? Wait. What?

There was a faint clicking sound as the front door disengaged its lock. Clara passed him a wink as she stood.

“Don’t worry,” she said with great amusement. “Karis will come ‘round, I’m sure. She’s always talking about you, at any rate.”

“She—is?” was all Halcyon could manage before the door flung open and Karis Caelute burst into the house, arms full with market baskets.

“Mother,” Karis said with a nod. Then her eyes landed on Halcyon. In a near-comical display of surprise, she jumped, a blush scattering over her pale cheeks. “Halcyon! What are you—why are you here?”

Halcyon decided that had been rather cute.

“Why, hello, daughter dearest,” said Clara. A beautiful and utterly conniving smile had fully spread over her face. “You didn’t tell me that your fellow Hunter was this handsome.”

The blush deepened as Karis cleared her throat. “Yes, well. That’s not an entirely appropriate comment to make in public, Mother.”

“I never knew a man who turned down a kind word.”

Said man had vaulted up from the dining table and rushed to Karis’s side to help with her bags, which were brimming with goods: oranges and figs, salted jerky, fleecy yarn, dried apothecary herbs. Fares for the long journey ahead, no doubt. Karis passed him a look that was equal parts grateful—thank you for the assistance—and accusatory—what by the stars are you doing in my house?

“I’m, I’m here to share some news from the Guild,” he said by way of explanation.

“So you called on the house unannounced?” she whispered back.

“I didn’t mean to impose.”

“It’s no imposition.” She glanced back at Clara, who was humming cheerfully as she tidied the table. “It’s just—I bet my mother has given you the run around. You must be exhausted.”

“No, it’s been a pleasure.”

Karis gave him an odd look. “Really? She said nothing peculiar to you?”

“Like what?”

“Like—like things about—” Her blush returned, staining her cheeks like tulip petals. “I don’t know. Never mind.”

“Courting? Marriage? Grandchildren?”

She hit him on the arm. “She did!”

“Don’t hit the guest, Karis,” Clara chided. “He came all this way just to tell you something very special in private.”

“Mother, please.”

“What? It’s true.”

“For Guild business, Mother, nothing more. Perhaps we should move this conversation to a more private venue, Yuden?”

Halcyon felt quite a bit like a shield pulled between opposing volleys of flying arrows. “That…sounds fine.”

“If you need privacy, you can show him to your room,” Clara said.

Karis flinched. “That wouldn’t be proper, Mother.”

“Why not? Would something untoward take place?”

“Of course not!” The fetching blush was returning to Karis’s cheeks. “How—how about the garden? It’s just out back.”

“Hmm, the garden,” Clara hummed. “How romantic.”

“Mama!”

Halcyon had never heard Karis so indignant and flustered. Mothers, it appeared, always had a way of breaking down one’s composure. And with a mother like Clara, he could hardly blame her.

Clara’s laugh trilled as Karis seized him by the hand and pulled him out the back door.

The garden of the Caelute residence looked every bit what one might expect from a storybook fairy garden. Colorful blossoms sprouted among vibrant shrubbery, decorating a path of pink and grey cobbled pebbles. Luminous stones in glass jars hung like firefly lanterns from wooden trellises. It spoke of great love and care—and a natural talent for flower mana, likely from Clara.

“That woman can be so—so vexing,” Karis said. She paced to and fro with a scowl, which lost some effect from her swiping a scone on her way out. She was now munching petulantly at it like an irate chipmunk. “Does she have nothing better to do than try to set me up with a husband?”

The idea of Karis being set up with any faceless man who passed by the house bothered Halcyon inexplicably, but he set it aside.

“Anyways.” Karis’s face softened as she turned to him. “Thank you for indulging her with your company. I think—I think she gets a bit lonely. We’ve no want for money, as you know, so she spends her days teaching music at the midtown orphanages.” Her mouth tightened. “Though perhaps that has only strengthened her incessant desire for grandchildren.”

“Still, it’s admirable,” Halcyon offered. “Was she also your teacher?”

“Yes. Well, for the pianoforte, harp, and guitar. For violin and flute, I sought a private tutor.” At his look, she tilted her head. “What?”

“I didn’t realized you played so many instruments.”

“It’s my hobby,” she said, as if this explained everything. As if everybody pursued their hobbies like a second profession. He wondered if it was even relaxing for her.

Then again, he was one to talk.

“Now I doubt you braved the fussing of my mother for leisure,” Karis said. “What news from the Guild?”

Halcyon paused to gather himself for a moment. He wasn’t certain how Karis would react. Perhaps she would care; perhaps she wouldn’t. Either way, Nicolina was right. She deserved to hear it from his mouth.

“I won’t be joining you on the delegation,” he eventually said.

Karis’s expression did not shift. “Why not?”

“Does the decision surprise you? You know more than anyone else that I’m not…particularly sociable.”

“Nicolina didn’t make this decision,” she observed. “You did.”

“It would be better for everyone involved if I didn’t go. I can promise you that much.”

“And what if I were to tell you that there could be a traitor within the delegation? That His Highness’s life is at stake?”

A traitor? “That can’t be true,” Halcyon said numbly.

“You would know the murmurings of the underworld better than I.” Karis tilted her head. “Does it not speak sense to you? The crown prince, essentially the acting regent, will be away from his kingdom for an extended period of time in an attempt to forge it stronger through alliance. Yet that leaves a vacuum of power in his absence. The nobility has long been dissatisfied with the royal family and may wish to usurp it. To that effect, would it not be in their best interests to keep the crown prince away from Airlea…permanently?”

“They would assassinate him?”

“They could assassinate him,” Karis corrected, “but it is a distinct possibility. A wide spread of the nobility has been invited. All of them could be plotting something.” She cleared her throat lightly and looked away. “I would feel much better with a friendly blade to watch His Highness’s back with me, Yuden. I can scarcely take all watches of the night myself.”

She would be guarding the prince personally, and in the process, placing her life at risk daily. Not just from outsiders, but within the Airlean delegation itself.

I’ll do everything in my power to keep her from injury, he’d said. To her mother, who would be watching the door every day, anxious for her return.

Wretched mouth. He should have known by now not to make promises.

Karis was watching him hopefully. He swallowed and nodded vaguely in her direction.

“Alright,” he said.

She blinked. “You’ll go?”

“I’ll go.”

The resulting smile was as soft and mesmerizing as the sunset and made his skin tingle with the life of it. If he could bottle that smile, it could cure diseases, he was certain.

“I’m glad to have you,” she said. Then, like the lightning of a storm, her smile promptly vanished. “I mean, we are. Glad to have you. We’re glad to have you.”

He wanted to take amusement in her bashful mood, but he was unable to. The weight of his decision pressed at him and darkened his thoughts. He lifted his head to where the last flecks of sunlight were slipping below the horizon, thinking of the smell of the sea, the power of the waves, the thriving city that lay in its depths.

He was going home.

Wesley Geppett pulled the door shut with his foot, heaving a sigh. It was well past dusk, and his workshop was quiet, the hearth at low embers. The only evidence of the hard day’s work was the old, refurbished starshooter that lay on his working table—a good shell for testing the prototype firing cylinder within.

He nearly jumped at a flicker of movement from the corner of the workshop, but his leaping heart quickly settled. Azalea Fairwen was curled in the chair just below the window. She was sitting ramrod-straight, her face stiff and pale, hands clasped together over her knees.

Wes set down the box on his working table, which released a symphony of metal as it clattered. “Finally come to see me?” he said.

He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. She’d been openly avoiding him—staying away from the workshop, ignoring the notes he left her, even refusing to answer when he knocked at her door. He told himself she was afraid, overwhelmed, needed time. It did little to tame the sting of rejection.

Azalea’s lip trembled for a moment. “Are, are you well?” she asked.

The sound of her voice, gentle and wispy like a cloud, was disturbingly quick at curbing his temper. Immediately he wanted to pat her on the head or fold her in his arms, neither of which was appropriate given that he was supposed to be angry.

“I’m alright,” he said evenly.

“The prince is leading a delegation to Atlantis. I’m attending to him. I’ll be away for a few months.”

His fingers stopped where they had curled around a charcoal pencil. “I see,” he said.

Azalea sucked in a deep breath, as if readying herself for the frontlines. “I couldn’t leave things unsaid. I’m very sorry for not seeing you earlier. I, I wanted to sort out what to say to you. But now I know.”

That alarmed him. Was she going to withdraw from his life completely? Had the past week only been a prelude for a permanent future? They had been through so much together; the thought of never seeing her again was unbearable.

She barreled on before he could ask. “Wes—that night at the ball—I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have. It was an awful thing to take advantage of your kindness and, and I’ve been regretting it all week, I can’t imagine how terrible it’s made you feel.”

Wes heard the rustle of cloth, and he turned to find Azalea on her knees, head pressed down to the floor.

“’Zalie,” he said, aghast. “Get up.”

Her hand darted briefly under her cloak and then pushed out a wrapped milk bun like a sacrificial offering. “You don’t have to forgive me. I just wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry. You—you mean so much to me, and—and if you’d rather not be friends anymore, o-of course, that is p-perfectly sensible—”

“’Zalie, please, don’t kneel.”

Her hand continued pushing out milk buns. One, two, three more. It was equally sad and adorable. “I only wish—I could make things right—I’m so sorry—”

“’Zalie!”

This time, Wes knelt to draw her up by the arms, milk buns scattering around his feet as he accidentally kicked them. She stared at him, wide-eyed and teary.

“I don’t want your apologies,” he said. Every syllable was deliberate, betrayed only by the slight tremor of emotion in his voice. “Because I’m not sorry for what happened.”

She paled even further, which he hadn’t thought possible. “You mean—”

“I’m in love with you.”

There. It was out. Four years after his fledgling feelings had first spread their wings. Four years since Azalea had first raised her hand high in the Academy classroom, unashamed and uncaring of the nobles glaring her way. That was when he knew she had integrity. That was when it had all started.

Whatever Azalea had expected, it certainly hadn’t been a confession. Her mouth opened and closed silently, then settled into an odd, watery line.

“I’ve loved you for years,” Wes said fiercely—because by the Asters, now that it was out, it would all go out. “Your kindness and your strength and—and everything about the way you bring warmth and life into a room. I tried a few times to tell you, but it seemed you couldn’t possibly feel the same way, until that night at the ball—”

“What!” Azalea exclaimed. Where her face had paled was now blooming in full color, pink as tulips. “You never—I don’t remember ever hearing that.”

Wes’s jaw dropped. “I asked you to dinner, just the two of us, and we sat on the terrace of Rab’s Cookery with the candles and I told you I loved you!”

“Oh—oh.”

He saw from her face that she finally remembered that moment. Under the guise of celebrating a successful exam season, Wes had invited her out to a candlelight dinner that was supposed to feel private and romantic. Which it had, to him. When he’d worked up the nerve to finally spit out those fateful words—I love you—she’d smiled at him with such brilliant purity, and for a moment, hope had thrashed wildly in his chest.

Then her next words had brought it all crashing down.

“I’m so proud of you!”

Bewildered, Wes’s grip had slackened, and his cutlery had fallen out of his hands with a dull clang.

Unaware, Azalea had continued beaming. “I know how hard this must have been for you,” she’d said. “You’ve told me that trusting people is very difficult, especially with the awful way your family’s treated you. To think that you’ve grown to be able to love somebody—oh, Wes, I’m so proud, and so thankful!”

She had thought he’d meant platonic love, human love, selfless love—the kind that came so easily to her. She could not have been more incorrect.

Now, Azalea blushed to a fierce red. “I didn’t realize you meant—that you were in love with me,” she stammered, twisting her hands together.

“Before that I gave you that accessory at the night market that was supposed to be gifted to a lover—and before that, I told you that you were the girl I liked—” Wes laughed and raked a hand through his hair. “At that point, I was certain that you were pretending to be ignorant to spare my feelings.”

“No,” Azalea said emphatically. “I just never thought you could love me!”

“What? Why?”

“Because I—I don’t know!” He heard the tears starting to dot her voice again, but she was glaring at him with determination. “Because you always deserved the most wonderful person ever, because you are the most wonderful person ever!”

“You’re far too charitable with me,” he said roughly, “and why wouldn’t that person be you?”

“Oh, Wes,” she blurted, “the city says I’m a Hunter and a hero, but I’m just a farm girl!”

“And the city says I’m a scion of a high house, but I’m just a tinkerer!” One of his hands raised to catch her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “I’m your Wes. That’s all. No one especially grand or important.”

She sniffled. Her hand raised, and he thought she would push him away—but she only pressed it over the back of his hand, covering him with velvet warmth.

“That’s a lie,” she mumbled. “You’re very important and your father will be very cross if you choose me.”

“So let me fight for you. And fight for me.” He paused, his throat tightening as she brushed a thumb over his knuckles with affection. “If you love me back, I mean. Do you?”

She laughed airily and turned her head to kiss his palm, which sent a spark up his veins. “I do. Oh, Asters, I mustn’t, but I love you.”

How could he describe the feeling of that moment? He could probably try for a decade and still come up short. The joy, the satisfaction, the sheer disbelief after spending over a year convincing himself this was impossible. It was like a watery breeze in the desert, like the summer sun after a winter storm. Wes laughed and caught Azalea up by the waist, swinging her in a tight circle as she squeaked.

“We’ll sort it out,” he promised. He leaned his head against hers, relishing the closeness, how her soft breath fanned over his nose. His heart thrummed like a plucked string. “I can’t let you go now, ’Zalie. I hope you know that.”

She made a cute little noise that sounded both bashful and happy. “I’m yours,” she promised, and curled her fingers in his collar. “And you’re—you’re mine. Not Lady Charlene’s, or, or anyone else’s.”

A grin pulled at his mouth. Oh, he’d never thought she’d return his feelings, much less be jealous over him. That was a welcome surprise.

“This was awful timing,” she mumbled. “I’m going to miss you terribly.”

“You’re the one who kissed me.”

“I did, and I’d do it again.”

Exhilaration had him swooping down and kissing her on the nose. Was he dreaming? Before tonight, he couldn’t fathom being so happy.

“You should go,” he said reluctantly. “Get as much rest as you can before the voyage.”

“It’s not for another week.”

“Even so. Stock up before you’re on the sea.”

Azalea tiptoed and shyly kissed him on the cheek in reply, setting his face ablaze. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll be by tomorrow.” She scooped up the milk buns scattered on the floor and set them on his work table, then turned to the door.

“And ’Zalie?”

She turned back, her eyes shining with emotion.

“I’m going to Atlantis too.”

She stumbled. “You what—”

Night over Mythaven was usually warm, the mana lamps floating over the city casting a rusty orange glow, but with curtains drawn over the stained glass windows, the throne room had none of it. There was only the cold pinpricks of chandelier light from overhead, cast by thumb-sized ingots of borealite, a rare mana quartz that illuminated only the wealthiest of homes.

Sethis knelt at the thronal dias, waiting in the empty chill. The king’s throne was supposed to be a magnificent sight, cast in carved knotted stone and dressed with midnight silk, but the shadow sprawled over it barely stirred.

“A rat, fleeing the sinking ship.” King Asher’s voice was raspy but resonant. “Very well. Find a prosperous life elsewhere. Do not come back.”

“I will return,” Sethis said firmly. “This expedition will only strengthen Airlea. I’m certain of it.”

Asher chuckled lowly. “How could it? You will only bring poison back with you.”

Sethis stiffened. “Poison? Airlea’s greatest strength once lay with its allies—”

“Atlantis saw to its own downfall and nearly destroyed itself from the inside out. Or did you forget that much?”

“Some would say the same of Airlea,” Sethis said icily. “See how our kingdom has decayed in your indolence.”

The king was silent for a moment. Then he laughed—a detached, eerie noise that should have sounded warm, but only felt hollow. “Very well. You understand nothing, but do what you will. When the truth reveals itself, do not cry to me, child.”

A raw, bitter anger flared its ugly head. “If you despise Atlantis so, then why would you arrange a match with one of the senators?” Sethis demanded tightly. “You know that Mother never would have wanted such a thing.”

“The only thing greater than avoiding a curse is making sure that it is on your side.” The king pounded his scepter against the tile. “Go. I tire of this.”

“You tire of everything,” Sethis said. “It appears to be the only thing you know how to do.”

He knew his words were growing sharper, more ungainly, but he did not care. He turned, itching to leave the desolate throne room, which was feeling more like a tomb by the moment.

His father spoke before he could open the door.

“Within their grand library, there is a Keeper born with the gift of futuresight.” The king raised his head. “Take it from me, boy. Do not look into your own fate.”

“Is that what you did?”

The king said nothing. Sethis bit back his frustration. This was the last he would see of his father for quite some time. It would be better not to leave any regrets.

“Many people love you, Father,” he said. “I wish you would remember that.”

“And do you, child?”

“I wish it were easier to.”

The king did not reply. There was nothing left to say. Sethis stepped out of the throne room and set his face towards the ocean, where Atlantis called.

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