LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II
VAIGON CITADEL
W EEKS HAVE PASSED SINCE I last heard from Ivella. I have sent countless letters in different forms of apologies and each one has gone unanswered. The last I have seen of her was that final day in Gordanta before she left for home with Roaner.
Now, it is the week of Summer Solstice, and Stravan is arriving soon, just hours now until his arrival.
We have sent search parties out in quest of Lorsius. We are approaching more than two months since he has been heard from or seen. Neither Amias’s father, Axynth, nor my mother know where he has gone to. The Duchesses of Partalos informed us that he never set foot on our Eastern Court after he left Gordanta.
To make matters worse, Lorsius never set a Right Hand in place, which now leaves everything up to myself and my brothers. There may be many tasks to be completed that belonged to Lorsius, but most of the matters should be left up to only myself, Roaner, Amias, and Morano to solve. My mother has her own duties as the Highest Lady in Vaigon, yet no matter what, I would never allow everything to be held over her head. She would argue I have my own duties as well while taking over everything Lorsius has left behind, and she has picked up after him many times before. Only an imprudent son would throw such taxing work on their mother.
* * *
It is unusual for a High King from an outside realm to be welcomed without both the High King and High Queen of the realm he is visiting. Today, Stravan is welcomed by a High Prince and his Leaders.
“I say wear it; you should be the one wearing it.” Morano says from beside me.
We are looking at the crowns—Lorsius’s and mine. Both crowns sit on the white velvet cushions, beaming under the sun shining through from the glass ceilings.
The crowns are pure Black Tourmaline, the bits of golds and oranges in the Tourmaline brighten as the sun catches them.
“I will not put his on. I will wear mine and no others.”
“Oh, come Laven. Wear it, try it on.” Amias antagonizes.
“No,” I reach out and touch my own crown. “I will wear Lorsius’s crown when he is dead.”
Roaner’s head tilts. “That could be arranged.”
“Again, no.” I chuckle. “If we are to kill Lorsius it will only be done out of needing a perfect reason to do so.”
“There have been perfect reasons to do so.” Morano says.
“Yes, but not to the people.” I remind him.
Roaner, Amias, and Morano all have their own crowns placed upon their heads.
Their crowns are all alike—similar to the intricacy of my own but in white gold, with shorter peaks circling around. Their crowns each hold a single Black Tourmaline stone in the center.
I place my crown upon my head, leaving Lorsius’s in its place.
* * *
We stand outside on the Welcoming Grounds. Stravan is arriving here along with his children, the Dragons. Our Welcoming Grounds are vast in green land before the trees in the woods hover far in the distance, and through those woods is the path that leads directly here. Stravan will not need that path, but he will need this acreage for the Dragons to land.
“And how long is he to stay?” My mother asks.
Her long box braids are upheld in plaits that secure her tiara on her head. Leisurely, she adjusts the sleeves of her white gown that splays out across the ground behind her.
“Until after Summer Solstice, possibly longer.” I am unsure myself. “We shall see.”
“Straighten your spine, Morano.” Ma gently speaks as she sends him a glare. Nothing but a pure mother look is being sent to him.
Instantaneously he stands up straighter.
My mother smiles before looking ahead and waiting for the sight of wings in the sky.
When I met Morano, Amias, and Roaner we were very young. All of us were born on the same year but different months. When we turned eight and ten I decided to give them position within my Circle I had yet to develop, and when I decided this, they moved into the palace.
My mother and father became their parental figures, especially for Morano and Roaner who did not have true stability with family before we took them in.
Morano no longer associates with his family and Roaner only has his mother.
Roaner’s father was slain while protecting him and his mother, they were under attack by a group of men during their travel from Galitan to here. There are plenty of things that happened that day that I could never fathom having to witness at such a young age.
I look at Roaner now and my mother places a hand upon his shoulder before gently squeezing. A habitual loving gesture she always gives.
“Laven, where has Maivena been?” My mother asks. “Her placement at Vuamsati Academy is still open and I have not been told that it has been filled.”
Amias releases a deep chuckle and Axynth looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, Ma. Did Laven not tell you of his debacle?” Morano speaks without a bit of remorse, a gruesome smirk is plastered on his face.
“And what debacle do you speak of?” Axynth asks.
“I will tell you later,” I lie.
“Yes, you will.” Both Axynth and my mother say at once.
“I absolutely hate you.” I snap at Morano through the bond.
He only laughs and looks ahead.
“He is coming.” Hua announces as she stares into the sky with beaming purple eyes.
One of Hua’s powers is that she can see what others cannot; especially what is coming.
My mother quickly walks toward Hua, fixing her tiara so the pear-shaped Black Tourmaline drapes perfectly down the middle of her forehead. Next, she corrects her cloak draping over her black leather armor.
The moment she moves back to her placement, strong gusts of wind from forces overhead compel us to stand steadily.
Seeing the Dragons so closely would seem frightening to some, I believe Amias is shitting himself as the four of them land in front of us. To me, they are more ethereal than I could have ever imagined the closer they appear.
The hooks of their long claws dig deep divots into the ground as they move forward.
Tuduran lowers his wing and Stravan comes smoothly down from his back, landing perfectly on his feet.
At my height, I am barely the size of their teeth, if anything, I am smaller than that.
Three of the Dragons bow before us, all but one. Nara, the beautifully white and iridescent Dragon. She is who Dyena used to ride.
Stravan looks back at Nara and she takes to the sky avoiding a bow. Tuduran takes off after her and so do the others.
I had thought that being in the presence of someone as Stravan to be fear-provoking, it is beyond that. Being in his presence is riveting, it makes me stand taller. He is hundreds of years old and contains power from the Orviantes, the originals before our time soar through his blood. This power I feel in him is the same power I have felt in myself as we both share blood from Orviantes.
“She is a stubborn child,” Stravan says in reference to Nara. “Just like her mother.” He watches the four of his children play in the clouds, nipping playfully at one another’s tails and wings. “Thank you for having me for Solstice.” He says turning toward us.
“You are welcome.” I nod. “We looked forward to your arrival.” Partially the truth. But I watch my thoughts around him, Stravan could barricade my mind at any given moment.
“Lady Apolla,” Stravan tilts his head to my mother. “And where is High King Lorsius?”
He looks between all of us, his bright blue eyes search.
“My son will be holding placement as High King until Lorsius’s arrival.”
I nearly gape at my mother, but I hold my posture.
We did not speak of this. Since when did she decide that I am High King while he is away? It has always been me picking up his slack while he is gone, but never taking his place.
“He should be home within time.” I add. “He sends his apologies for missing your arrival, we apprehend the severity of a High King or High Queen’s presence during a welcoming of another.” I attempt a casual lie since it is unknown as to where the hell Lorsius is.
“Theoretically, by your mother’s word, a High King is here. If I am honest, I am content that you are receiving me instead of Lorsius, he is known to be quite a pain. And I did not wish to meet such a colonizer as him.”
I know Morano and Amias are fighting their laughter. Stravan has been known for being brutally honest.
My mother only gives a smile and a nod. “Shall we go inside? Supper has been prepared upon your advent.”
“Yes, thank you.” Stravan nods.
My mother and I lead him in first and the rest fall in line behind us.
“I told you to wear the crown.” Morano teases.
Internally I begin to laugh. “And I told you I will wear it when he is dead.”
“How do we know he is not dead already?” Amias asks.
“Highly doubtful.” Roaner says. “Lorsius is too stubborn to die.”
“Yes, he is,” I dryly reply in agreement.
* * *
“How long do you plan to stay with us, Stravan?” My mother asks as she cuts into the roast on her plate. “You are welcomed to stay any length of time that you would like.”
“I would say nearly two weeks. The week I was to spend in Xenathi is no longer an option.” He swirls the red wine in his glass before taking a long sip.
“Oh, why is that?”
“A wedding I was invited to was called off.”
Amias begins to choke on his wine as I stare blankly ahead. I finish chewing and reach for the vessel of wine to pour more into my half full glass mazer.
I swallow deeply before speaking. “Whose wedding?”
“The Lord of Nadrexi and the General’s daughter of New Quamfasi—Ivella and Zevyk. I may still visit; I am not sure yet.”
“Trouble in nirvana?” Morano jokingly says down the bond.
“Roaner, did you know of this?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“And you did not care to tell me?”
“Ivella made me swear to keep it to myself, at least I upheld my end of the promise and you found out from him.”
Axynth speaks. “Did they explain why it was called off?”
“I asked my close acquaintance, Vorian—that little comedian—he said he could hear them arguing. I know nothing more than that.”
And just that fast, all of the wine in my mazer is gone, and I am reaching for more.
“I am sorry to hear that.” My mother says, her eyes softening.
“Not all marriages are meant to be. They are not mates anyhow.” He waves a hand dismissing their faulty engagement.
“Do you believe everyone that is a fated pair stays together?” I ask while pouring the last of the wine from the vessel.
A servant quickly replaces the vessel with one that is full, and I give a nod of thanks.
“Yes,” Stravan replies confidently. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a cloth before going on. “It is rare to marry someone other than who you are destined to be with. If you do not marry them, it is habitually because of radical matters and dissimilarities. Although, Ivella and Zevyk will realize where their fate lies sooner or later. It is doubtful that it is within one another.”
“What was their dispute about, Roaner?” Amias asks.
“Laven. She was caught trying to leave and Zevyk stopped her.”
Caught? “What do you mean caught? Why would she be caught leaving?”
Before Roaner can respond, Axynth speaks again, drawing my attention away from what was just spoken.
This bastard is keeping her from me.
“So, how may we aid you in finding Dyena?” Axynth asks Stravan.
“I would like to start with search parties, my Dragons will also search. If they suspect, we look wherever it is they may sense she could be.”
“And if you do not find her after the search parties?” I ask.
His eyes meet my own. “Then I roam your lands and look myself.”
“Romantic,” Morano speaks sarcastically, and I send him a sharp look.
“Dyena is far from romantic,” Stravan laughs. “She wants loyalty, and that is exactly what I will give her by never ending my search.”
After biting into more food, I propose the aid I need as well. “It is only customary that I ask a favor of my own.” I speak.
“We are allies now, what do you need?” He asks.
“There seems to be a war beckoning over our land. Someone is spreading a rabid disease over our people, turning them into carnivorous beings, ruthless even.”
“Yes,” Stravan nods. “Vorian was telling me of it. Whoever it is that created this most definitely wants power. Your realm is very strong and agile, your realm is also one of the largest, it is no wonder to me that this is where they began. Vorian explained that some of the rogues he fought were expert in fighting, and some were just fighting with the intent to ravage. What exactly is it that you would need from myself?”
“If the war is sure to begin, we would necessitate all of the help we can obtain,” I say. “Who knows how many others this person has allied with them? We would need your Warriors to fight alongside us. As well as training, thorough training. Lorsius did a poor job with his previous General. Now that Amias and Hua hold title as our Generals they are open to any further training you could provide. We do not have allyship through other nations within our realm so I would deem you to be our best choice.”
“I will speak with Vallehes and Penelope,” Stravan offers. “I will see if there is anything I can do to persuade them, nonetheless, they are most likely going to say no. But if war were to break, yes, you do have the stance of my Warriors with you.”
“Thank you. And I do not see it necessary to attempt at persuasion with New Quamfasi, they have made it vividly clear that they will not ally unless Lorsius has no part or is dead.”
“And I do not blame them,” Stravan begins, “yet, they may have no choice. War here means war there, either way, I am speaking with Vallehes and Penelope. I will not allow my closest friends to be ignorant to this. I will go to them while I am here and deliver word to you on their response.”
* * *
“I see you escaped your mother and my father before they could get their hands on you.” Amias chuckles as he sits in the courtyard with me, Morano, and Roaner.
“Yes, I did. Axynth is showing Stravan around the palace.”
Roaner reaches across the circled stone table to knock the ash from his cigar.
I look to Roaner. “Is he holding her from coming to me?”
“Yes.”
“Do I need to kill him?”
He smirks. “No,” He says as a swirl of smoke escapes his lips. “Ivella has attempted his murder and he learned a lesson.”
Good.
She should have followed through.
“She has not answered any of my letters. How is she coping with her powers?”
“She is doing well.” He says with uncertainty. “She is still learning them; it will take some time for her to wholly fathom and wield them, but, she is strong.”
Morano leans back in his chair looking up to the hanging candles over the courtyard. “Did anyone discover if someone in her family has the power of the Vaultais?” He asks.
“No, that is still uncertain. Her powers seem to only mimic that of a Vaultai.” Roaner shakes his head. “Her mother who raised her, Stelina, dug into the roots of all families who have the power of the Vaultais—she found nothing of Wolves wielding them. These powers are solely hereditary, only the Fae are still known to have a strong bloodline of it. Even the Sorcerers do not contain those powers any longer.” Roaner’s eyebrows raise as he speaks. “And we also know for certain that Ivella is not Fae.”
Abilities are ever-changing in our world. Dependent upon how far your lineage goes back is dependent upon the powers you have. Someone could receive abilities from an ancestor from hundreds of years ago that have not been in the family for centuries. Anything is possible.
“Maybe she will pop a pair of wings in due time.” Amias jokes and I roll my eyes at him.
“We should speak with Stravan of this, before he can go to Xenathi would be best.” I play with the small white gold hoop in my ear. “This earring, by the way, is the last time I allow all of you to convince me into doing something while we are drunk.” I point.
“Let us not get into what you do when drunk.” Roaner teases while simpering in my direction.
Morano half smiles, touching his ear. “I think it suits us rather well.”
Morano thought it would be a marvelous idea for all of us to get one ear pierced while drunk, and of course, we did it out of pure stupidity and peer pressure. Now we have a tiny, thick hoop in our left ears.
But he is correct. We do not look horrible with them in our ears.
“And it flatters your new haircut,” Amias nudges my shoulder.
“Enough of the haircut.” I hold up my hand. “All I did was get the sides and back trimmed closer to my head.” And the stylist left a bit of length on the top, not much, but a decent amount.
“You know the women love hair like that,” Morano chortles. “I identify what you were doing there.”
“I will put my cigar out with your skin if you do not shut your trap.”
He rolls his sleeve up and shoves his arm outward, and across the table. There is a grin plastered on his face as he grips the cigar between his teeth.
“Will we really not discuss it?” Amias asks, looking around the table.
I disregard what he is trying to aim our conversation for given I am already done speaking about that wretch I should have killed weeks ago.
“Laven,” Amias’s mien turns for annoyance. “Ivella is repudiating marriage with this man. We all comprehended it would not last anyhow! Go with Roaner to Nadrexi next week.”
“If I go to Nadrexi next week, I will commit another murder.” If I ever hear of him holding her hostage from me again, it will be his death.
Morano gives Amias an unsatisfied glare. “You rush things,” he says as he tosses back the liquor in his glass. “Let it burn, Laven. Let it burn until it utterly fucking explodes. Why do you think Amorni from Gordanta and I get along so well?” He winks an eye.
“Good Gods,” I shake my head and look toward Roaner.
“I do not like how he worded that, but yes.” Roaner nods in support. “However, not yet, not any time soon should you go to her.”
Morano boisterously laughs. “Wait until she finds out Laven has fucked half of Vaigon’s women.”
I sit here waiting to see if he will say another infuriating thing.
He raises his eyebrow waiting for my response.
“I am debating if I will slit your throat now or in your sleep.” I tell him.
“You whore,” he continues to torment me in his playful manner.
“All right,” I give in. “I have had sex with quite a few people. It meant nothing and there have been no ties devoted to any of the women, and I have never laid with any of them more than once.”
Morano’s head tilts. “That might be worse.”
“Can you count how many there are on your hands anymore?” Amias tags in after a large flare of smoke releases into the night air. “Or have you started to count with your toes as well?”
This time, I flick the ashes of my cigar at them, they hiss in pain and Roaner chuckles as he leans back in his chair.
The sounds of running feet jerk us away from our conversation and guards are rushing towards us.
“What is it?” I urgently demand.
“Your sister, my Lord. Levora,” he pants heavily. “Princess Levora is home.”
Roaner and I both look at one another and his cigar falls from his mouth and tumbles to the ground where dead flowers lie. “That is not possible.” He shakes his head.
“I can promise you, Your Grace, Levora is who stands outside of this courtyard right now.”
