The End of Innocence: Book 3 of the Kinstone series
Chapter 29: Stirrings

Lana and Mistral sit some distance from their fathers. They all had gathered in House Drakthul’s home in northern France, hidden deep within the forests. Lana peers over a small balcony, overlooking her father as he and the master of House Laevatain spoke with Viktor Titalos, lord of his namesake’s house, who had been invited to speak of the their supposed “princess”.

It has been over a month since they learned the girl, whom they met nearly a year ago, was in fact the heir to their ancient home. There are not enough words to describe the audacity, let alone the sheer amount of disgust, they felt at the mere idea of her ruling over them.

Her, Aria Edge, a girl whose very existence is a tremendous insult to them. How dare she be the daughter of Countess Rivenfeld, a woman who is still highly-revered within the Court, and this little girl somehow managed to weasel her way into the woman’s life.

The girl even possesses an Uldulvan wolf, the very thing their families have been hoping and praying would return to them. It was said that once the wolves returned, it meant they were judged worthy enough to return to their rightful home. What makes that girl so special? She cares not for Dewloura.

She is the last of a house whom their own ancestors often belittled and only saw as a source of the few remaining wolves left in the city. Shyair was a pathetic house, so small and insignificant. While they were the sister house to the true rulers of the empire, they often would have to nerve to step in and curb House Nethune.

In some ways the girl truly is the very embodiment of her ancestors, quiet, observant, and whose affinity towards her wolf is undeniable. It’s still inconceivable and unfathomable that the words of subjugation failed to break her hold over it. The very idea of it “bonding” with her is enough to twist her stomach.

Lana wished desperately to end this insult and embarrassment once and for all. But that was the purpose of the meeting between the surviving houses of Dewloura.

“Viktor please listen to reason,” spoke Lana’s father, “the child is the last of a house long bereft of lordship. Up until this news that girl was of no consequence to us. Even with the news, she has done nothing to restore the empire or our ancestral home.”

Viktor paces around the chamber, arms folded over his chest. “Her Highness is but a child I agree, but she has no wish for throne at this time.” He then stops for a moment and leans over, placing his hands onto the large table, “Surely the news of the attempt on her life must have stirred something within you? I rushed to her, praying that I was there in time to prevent a tragedy from occurring.”

A scoff echoes in the chamber, “You and Helaron both vanished from the Court that night,” chimes Mistral’s father. “You, for your family’s long misplaced loyalty and devotion to the smallest of the Great Houses and Helaron…because of his infatuation with the girl’s mother. What utter drivel and you both call yourselves Men of the Court. The two of you are an embarrassment.”

Viktor pans over to Eneius, “Judge me as you wish, but I stand with the girl, for it is the station of my house to serve her. Have either of you attempted, even once, to talk to her? She has been in contact with me over the course of last month, seeking my council for whatever questions she has. I found her to possess a keen mind and wondrous heart. I say this merely not as her humble servant but as someone she has come to see as a friend.”

Almarec’s hand twists tightly around his sword, “Need I also mention that it was her very ancestor who caused the fall of the city? That single act forced all of our families to flee west. Few of us survived as the city began to disappear. Now I shall admit we have regained some measure of the power we once wielded, but without our home Viktor, we cannot reclaim it all.”

Viktor pulls back from the table, eyes glimpsing the growing frustration of his colleague. What he spoke was true. It was Shyair whose final princess caused the city to fall and become sealed away from the world.

He shook his head, “Your ancestors knew as well as mine that Nethune had charted us on course which would have damned us all. The wolves had vanished and the few remaining huddled around their chosen guardians. Now if you are claiming Shyair to be traitors to the empire, I must remind you of their position to act as the counter to Nethune.”

While smaller in size, they were at times able to wield equal if not greater influence than their cousins. This is why they were beloved by many. He remembered his grandfather telling him of when Shyair had taken it place on the throne. It was a time of peace and no one wanted for anything.

Dewloura was extremely prosperous given its location at a critical trade route and its position along the Black Sea. Many journeyed to the city seeking fortune, often arriving to easily find some form of employment within the first few days.

Militarily it stood mightier than most of its era given the magical prowess and technological developments, many of which her Highness would be awestruck to find not uncommon for the modern era. But that all changed during the reign of the final two kings of Nethune, who recklessly squandered the riches in such of higher ambition and power.

Almarec leaned back into his seat, twisting the end of his scabbard into the marble-flooring. His family once led some of the finest armies the world ever bore eyes upon. They outshone any modern military, even the might of the United States paled in comparison. Not even Mongol hordes or the overwhelming power of the Ottomans, could even hope to scratch their armor.

He panned over to Eneius, whose family’s renown for the arcane arts was unparalleled save for the craftiness and cleverness of Shyair. The lord of Drakthul recalled tales of tournaments where sons of Shyair fought alongside their sisters against the children of Laevatain, often able to outwit their contemporaries. From what he himself had learned of Rivenfeld’s daughter, she too possessed this innate ability for cleverness.

He grumbled, shaking himself free of flattering the child. While it is true Shyair was the counter to Nethune’s ambitions and served as the empire’s conscience, this still didn’t exclude for other actions or beliefs. There was reason why they were despised by his ancestors and those of Eneius, their own lack of ambition.

They bred and commanded the last remaining wolves within the city, which by this fact alone granted them whatever they desired and if they had sent a call to action, the lesser houses would have rallied to them without question and with absolute glee.

But no…they chose to remain in the background, waiting and watching, making sure that empire did not steer too far off course. Filthy foxes.

Eneius leans back and crossed his legs. Ever since the child’s lineage had been revealed, a certain…glee arose within him. He knew what his counterpart had recalled a glimmer of respect for the Shyair magi and their knowledge of the mystical arts. It was true they had many gifts and talents, which his own house, on the few if not rare occasion, tutoring a few of the children.

They were also known for their martial prowess, having some of the most highly trained and skilled knights in the entirety of the city. Their members included extremely well-trained swordsmen, with an odd report of a young girl who seemed to wield a sword of foreign design, yet held the distinct hallmarks of their house’s smiths.

According to the report, she was able to effortlessly weave herself between guards, leaping from man to man, and off of the walls in a manner unknown to the military, or even the assassin guilds.

He also recalled hearing his grandmother telling of the same girl she went to school with. She fought the girl one day, yet was defeated by her. His grandmother bore a begrudging respect for her. Yet after the Fall, the girl mysteriously disappeared and was not counted among the survivors.

This did not however excuse them for remaining mostly isolated and distantly removed from courtly duties, opting to only maintain a laughably small presence near the imperial palace. They loved their seclusion, choosing the far off wooded districts, preferring nature over civilization, what nonsense.

He turns to Viktor, “I take it then you are refusing our offer?”

The master of House Titalos glares at him, “I have already sworn my allegiance to the child. You would think I forsake that oath? I much rather have the furies of Greece rip me limb from limb than betray Her Highness.”

He then steps away from the table, “My family has long tried to keep you both from tearing each other apart, and for that I believe we have been successful. But neither of you wish to forge a relationship with the child.”

He peers up into the floor above, “Not to mention your daughters attacked her without provocation, and on the assumption to drive her away from her mother and to steal her bonded. You should be ashamed of yourselves.” Viktor then turns and exits out of the room.

Almarec sighs angrily, jabbing the tip of his sword into the floor, “Blind fool. How can he still follow a house whose only member is a witless child?”

Eneius folds a leg over his knee, “She is not as ‘witless’ as you believe her to be. I have heard the Loreians have taken a great liking to the girl; even the caretaker of her library is one of their masters, a sphinx if the rumors are true.”

The head of Drakthul peers over to him, “A sphinx you say? That will prove bothersome.”

His compatriot taps his knuckles, “She is well-defended, well-trained, a match for either of our kin, despite her young age.”

Almarec growls, slamming his sword into the floor, “This is utter nonsense. I will not accept her, not at all. But…given how the Court has seemingly sided with her, there is nothing we can do about her.”

“I agree with you my friend,” Eneius sighs, “we must bide our time, as we have always done. Surely the wolves will return and with them our rightful rulers.”

“You both sit here and are willing to do nothing but talk.”

Both men lean forward as their daughters appear near the table, with Lana slamming her hands onto the table. “That girl is an insult to us all. We have waited a month since hearing this farce of an announcement. And still you have done nothing to remedy this.”

Mistral crosses her arms, “You should have marched upon her home and demand her abdication. That girl is not worthy of her claim. She knows nothing of our customs or shares in our love for our homeland.”

Lana’s father rose from his seat, “Be that as it may, the both of you are showing absolute disrespect in the presence of your fathers. You were punished severely last summer for attacking the girl while in the corridors of the Court. Do not make this even harder for yourselves.”

The girl rolls her eyes, “Father, stop being so afraid of the Court. Our families have played nice with them for centuries. For over a thousand years, they bowed to us; our mere presence on the battlefield was enough for them cower and run. But now…now we are nothing more than one of them.”

Mistral scowls at her father, “We've had enough of this never-ending scheming. We intend to take care of this problem ourselves, if you are too cowardly to do anything about this then we will.” Both girls then started for the door, only to stop by their fathers.

“You will do nothing without our permission,” ordered the master of Laevatain, grabbing her hand.

His daughter glares at him, “Do not stop us Father, we will end this charade with or without your help,” ripping it away from him.

He stood motionless as the pair continues on their way.

“We will need to gather allies if we are to eliminate her and claim her wolf,” spoke Lana.

Mistral holds her hand to her chin, “I know of a one person who will be more than happy to help us,” grinning darkly, “one who holds a personal grudge against her. I think you know the one.”

Her friend grins equally as dark, “That I do. She will be perfect for this.” The two then exit the room, unchallenged by their fathers.

Both men stand in the chamber motionless and speechless. Each know their daughters are correct about the girl and that something has to be done.

Almarec leans back into his seat, hand gripping tightly to the hilt of his sword. His frustration growing with each passing moment. Eneius stood against a chair, fingers twisting around his long yet thin beard. Neither able to move.

“How pathetic is it to allow one’s own children to push aside their parents?”

Both men then turn to see a man walking into the chamber.

“Regulus Cromwell,” growls the lord of Drakthul, slamming his sword into the tiling, finally shattering the stone, “you dare chastise me in my own home?”

The man slowly steps towards the table, folding his arms, “I merely speak the truth my old friends. You have allowed yourselves to become lax in your decision-making. Fifty years ago you would have acted immediately and snuffed out this child before she could pose a threat to you. Now your daughters are willing to do what is necessary while you remain here in the dark.”

Eneius turns, narrowing his gaze towards him, “Why are you here?”

Regulus stops at the table, “Why, I am here to aid you my friends in restoring your birthrights to you. I know you all wish to go back to where you truly belong.”

Almarec rose from his chair, “What are you saying? Do you possess such a way?”

Regulus bows his head, “That I do or at least shall quite soon. Just leave those details to me.”

The master magus crosses his arms, “You are saying that you can restore us to Dewloura?”

He smiles, “That I can. I know the both of your families have long grown tired of living out here France, far from where your true homes and places lie. Both of your houses stood nearly proud and strong as the kings of old.”

Again both men stand silent as they listen to him, his words sounding sickeningly sweet, but ring full of truth.

“My, how the continent trembled as your armies marched across the land,” continues Regulus, but then looks to them. “Yet, here you are now, driven back to a mere shattered shell of your former selves. Your ancestors would ashamed at how far you have fallen, clinging desperately to what remains of your prestige.”

Drakthul rounds the table, sword now gripped in his left hand, ready to be drawn, “Did you come here to help us or insult us?”

Regulus smirks, “Why both, which appears to have worked, for I have your undivided attention.”

The sword master stops abruptly, hand wavering over the hilt. Eneius looks at Cromwell intrigued, “What are you proposing?”

He turns the magus, “I have a dear friend who is more than willing to help us unseal the kingdom. Do you not wish to return home? I am offering the chance to restore you to your former glory.”

“What of the girl?”

His smirk grows into a smile, “She will not trouble you much longer, but your daughters will need your help. If this is to succeed.”

Almarec steps closer, “Why are you helping us? You were the one to inform us of the child’s lineage, surely the child holds some value to you.”

He takes a step away from the table, “I am but a mere servant of Dewloura, having long awaited its return.”

The magus stares at him incredulously. Cromwell has long been known to be a schemer who has managed to surpass even himself. Often being able to out-maneuver him on many occasion.

“If what you say is true,” speaking slowly, “what do you require of us?”

He turns to him, “As I stated, I will handle the details. In fact, I have already acquired a critical piece that shall bring us what we all desire. All I require is your support. And with it, Dewloura shall be restored to us all."

He then steps back from the table, “So what say you? Do you wish to remain here, sitting in squalor or join me and together shall restore the world to its proper masters?”

Both men looked to each other, their eyes speaking a long and somber discussion. It was a hard truth for each of them. While it was true they had restored much of their former power and prestige, it still could not parallel to what their ancestors were capable of. Even this home, as grand and ostentatious as it was, stands laughably inadequate when compared to their ancestral abodes.

Almarec places the tip of his sword onto the floor, “Very well Regulus. You have our support. What shall you have us do?”

He smiles, “Excellent. As stated many times, leave the details to me. However I would suggest that you hurry after your children. They are going to need your help.”

Both men look to each other and nod, running for their daughters.

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