The King Trials 2: Beyond.
~The Faces of Perfidy~

I arouse first, before sun and time. The first thing I feel is my barren throat, suffocatingly dry. Ungluing my eyelids, I notice a hazy object on the round, rustic bedside table. Strange because I do not remember putting anything there the night before.

I heave myself upright, clearing my vision with each eye-flutter.

And now, I see.

A smile kisses my lips. My daggers.

Awash with childlike insecurity, a pinching blush rises in my cheeks, warmed with the self-aware realisation that Kelan had returned them, but it must have been whilst I slumbered. But I suppose I have been asleep for a very long time, long before the King Trials. Ignorant to ancient perils and oblivious to the one’s unravelling, including the dormant one within my veins.

I have been asleep too long. I need to wake up.

So I rise. I begin to pack my belongings, preparing for our impending departure. I slide into my clothing—much looser than before—fastening my leather corsage over a fitted chemise, then lacing up my boots before strapping on my thigh holsters. I saunter over to the table and pick up both daggers, inspecting them both, one my father’s and the other is the first dagger I ever held after I completed my training. But father always said that a true master never stops learning, which is why I carry it still.

I take up my long coat and shrug it on, leaving it fully open, the ends brushing against my boots.

I lick my lips, desperate for moisture. I need water.

I swivel around and move to the saddlebag that houses all my… valued items, the crown piece from the Sagetai’s Sanctuary, the one scroll—though I do not see the one I had handwritten—and there it is. The canteen bottle with a slightly tarnished coat, I take it out and shuffle out of the tent, pushing past the heavy flap.

I’m greeted by an atmospheric wonder, the bespeckled sky burgeons with a sweet amethyst, eddying with midnight blue and whorls of washed-out pink, morning stars blinking awake, shining like twinkling petals. The tranquil surroundings clean away any residues of dread, banishing lingering anguish, at least for a moment, a moment of gratitude. My gaze coasts over the still encampment, I think about going to Primus Kelan’s tent, to thank him for returning my daggers, any excuse to see him really but I decide against it. Instead, I venture into the forest, embarking on a peaceful walk to the creek, hoods of black shadow hang in the groves.

I plunge into the over-arching vault of leaf and limb. Aged trees with creaking branches stretched from a crinkly floor to the berries that lay ripening under the lush dome, feeble light caress the lichen-encrusted bark.

I inhale a breath, drawing in the pulpy smell of the forest, former pain hushed to a murmur. Wandering through a foliage-draped asylum, the resounding silence makes me feel like I’m the only one. Huge roots spread-eagle the ground, organic smell arises in waves of floral fragrances.

When I reach the waters, I uncap the canteen and bend at the brink. I lower—a branch snaps—I cease all movement. Every sense on high alert. A twig crunches, once then two more times, crackling sounds echo from multiple places, then rustling leaves of hoary bough disturbed sound from above.

I elongate slowly, revolving as I turn my gaze to the sky.

Shuffling noises beckon from deep in the interior, deadened by the cunningly woven web of leaves. It could be scuttling mares or feline creatures slinking through the undergrowth, but it feels like it something else, many, perilous alternatives.

Time and dreadful experiences have sharpened my senses to beware of the unexpected—

I whisk around. I catch my heart before it can flee from its cage, hand pressed on my chest.

“Reinsbure,” I utter in one exhale.

He smiles ruefully. “Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

I smile back, it wobbles. “I was rather on edge.” I swivel and resume to collect the water, submerging my hand in the icy torrent.

“You have been through much. It is understandable.”

Is it possible for someone to speak benign words but sound menacing all the same? Not insincere but oddly intimidating like he knows more, referring to a greater ambit.

“We all have.” I stand up and bring the canteen to my lips, practically inhaling the water.

My gaze drops to his hand, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword.

Replenished, my thirst; semi-satiated. I pause.

Why are you here?

“Are you well?” I ask, screwing the lid back on. “You seem faintly… tense.”

He glimpses the sky before he swivels, his back towards me, pacing pensively.

“It is not well,” he admits without encouragement. “It has not been well for eras.”

Alarm rings a warning. “What do you mean?”

“It is immoral, what they have done, what they all have done,” he says vaguely, his tone eroded by animosity. “The Avangard is more than a specialised military force. It was founded as a peace initiative to stave off foreign threats, but also to accommodate alien relations with other dominions. It was all lies.”

I stifle the jolt of panic. “What was?”

His thoughts stoke his anger. “The Avangard was used as a weapon for self-seeking powerheads, High King after High King. We bled and spilled blood to empower the Crown. And for what? Prop up their rule while Urium goes into ruin, spelt by the destruction of division and dissention.”

Resentment worsens within him, growing like a tumour. I can feel the matured loathing, something he has harboured for a long time but also well-hidden. I know because Seliah was the same, hiding her ire with a nod and smile, offering the impression of contentment.

“If you loathe the Crown, why do you serve?”

“Because I am honour-bound,” he gushes out, words filling the leafy void. “I swore an oath to protect Urium, but we have been protecting it from the wrong thing. The true peril was always within. A foe can seek to destroy an empire, but it can rebuild again, a foe that crumbles an empire from the inside can never rise again.”

A synapse fires in my brain. I remember those words.

Paraphrasing, but I only heard one other person speak it.

“Where did you hear that saying?”

“A proverb,” he dismisses curtly.

“Tell me, why are you telling me all of this?”

He smiles at me again, but this one is cold, devoid of anything. “Because you asked me.”

“Reinsbure?” Unacquainted and unfond of this sombre version of him. “Why are you here?”

His eyes shimmer. “I took an oath. And I will do all I must to uphold it. As you would?”

I nod carefully, unsure of what I’m agreeing to. “On my life.” Feeling it necessary to add, I say, “But never at the detriment of moral integrity.”

He chaffs at my sentiment. “You have a warrior’s spirit, but you lack one vital thing. The strength to sacrifice. In battle there will always be casualties. Peace is won through war.”

Crackling sounds erupt all around me. The canteen escapes my grasp. Silhouettes flash around, darting from place to place, too fast for my eyes to catch. I retreat from Reinsbure, turning away from the creek.

Out of nowhere, beings plummet from the sky.

My eyes shoot up. Figures leap off branches, falling from tall heights to land nimbly on their feet. They swiftly form a blockade around me. I notice their uniform, form-fitting and layered like trained assassins but I know their colours, a dark silver like star shadow and a virescent green.

Siracus.

Two of them step away from each other to let Reinsbure stroll inside the ring.

A harrowing reckoning rouses my anger, a fresh swell of rage in my chest. “You are a traitor.”

“I am a loyalist,” he proclaims. “I am loyal to Urium, and I am not the only one who shares the radial belief that radical actions need to be taken for the good of the realm. A change in leadership.”

My eyes peruse the hooded assailants, their faces covered by skull-like masks. All of them armed with dual Sircan daggers, the equivalent length of a short sword, one in each hand. Except for two of them who have crossbows levelled at my chest.

My eyes freeze. “Radical actions.” I feel myself slacken, disbelief draining me. “Avangard scum,” I spit out, quoting. This is all too confusing, but making sense in some aspects. “The reveller in the Nivalis tavern, he claimed that Avangard soldiers were pillaging villages. But if that were true, Nivalis would declare war. Which is why the Adons were led to believe that it was the work of terror factions. But really, the work of imposters.”

But why?

Reinsbure says nothing, but his lips draw back in a snarl.

I glance at the surrounding assailants. “So, this is your grand plan? Kill us purebloods, the prospects for the throne in the hopes of what? The Domuses have other sons and there are others of legitimate royal blood.”

Reinsbure laughs, a condescending act. “For a Valwa, you are rather slow. You and the other purebloods were a crucial distraction to divert attention; amass troops, deploy them in strategic positions. High King Urus and even the High Tribunal thought it was their shrewd idea to initiate the King Trials, he does not know that his strings were being pulled.”

My eyes lock on him. “Your treason will wound your Primus. He had great faith in you.”

“I am doing this because of him!” He raises his hand to align with his temple.

Shock detonates my eyes. My gaze anxiously bounces between the crossbow carriers. I inch backwards. “So is this your meaning of the greater good for Urium. Our blood?”

Wordlessly, he flicks up his fingers.

One of them lets their arrow fly, and it hurtles at me. I jerk my shoulder back and I feel the current of its speed skim across my cheek, zipping past me to slam into a nearby tree, avoiding the others. I snap forward to a launch a high kick behind me, sending an assailant sprawling. I whip out a dagger, flinging it with an expert aim as it notches itself into the throat of one of the crossbow bearers.

I boost myself into the air, spinning laterally to evade the hail of arrows. I land back and sidestep to dodge an overhead strike. In one superfluid movement, I steal his weapons, forcing him in front of me, crossing the blades before his face, using him as a body shield as inbound shafts embed themselves in his torso. He collapses to the ground, riddled with arrows.

I brandish the long daggers—light and well-balanced. Three arrows assail me and I slash them all off their trajectory. Blurs rush at me and I endure a blaze of blades, steel glinting everywhere, the clamour of shrieking metal reverberating. I slam my boot into one of their groins, driving him back. I duck and a whoosh swoops over my head.

I hear a shrilly scream—mine—pain lacerates my arm, pushing me backwards. I flick a glimpse; sleeve torn; a seeping lesion sliced into my skin. Focus. Focus.

I power through my internal weakness, flowing with the dual weapons, parrying their attacks. I lunge to strike one of them, but something restrains me—hesitating. A fragility easily exploited because the next thing I know my body crashes into a trunk—electric agony branches across my back like lightening. I gasp at the burst, slumped against the tree, large flakes of bark fall.

“Finish her,” Reinsbure orders. “Then end the rest of them.”

The horde of assailants creep towards me, weapons drawn.

“You do—not want to do that,” I force out. I wince as I straighten, glimpsing the moving darkness. “Because shadows speak, live and they also protect, and he is everywhere.”

Primus Kelan emerges behind them and with a powerful arc of his sword, he decapitates three of the assailants with one strike, blood spurting out of their necks in a grotesque spray of gore. He unleashes a ruthless onslaught, he himself, the storm like a Nivalis tempest, blazing through all in his path. The edge of his blade cleaves into the temple of another. My stomach lurches.

I rise.

Kelan’s arrival demands their attention as he takes them all. Unlike me, he does not fight to defend; he fights to kill. Blood whips out and splashes on the leaf-carpeted ground, swinging his blade with deadly precision. Reinsbure breaks into a sprint, making a brazen seepage.

I cut him off, training both blade tips on his forehead.

I slant my head to the side. “Oh, I apologise.” Sarcasm drowns my words. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

On reflex, he pulls out his sword with a metallic hum, stopping halfway.

“Oh, I dare you,” I urge. Anger heats my blood. “Give me a reason.”

He yanks it out completely. “Though you could, you will not kill me.”

I nod brokenly. “You are right. I will not.” Still nodding. I glance behind me and Kelan’s fingers strike the back of the neck of the last one like an acupuncture—he drops like a boulder. Corpses at his feet, carnage surrounds him. “But he will.”

Kelan’s eyes lift from the bodies to glower at Reinsbure, a look that can snuff out the sun. His blade slick with blood, he tilts his head downward and marches at us in a rampage. I give Reinsbure one last look before I spin out of the way and Kelan rams into him, thrusting him to the ground with a bone-crippling thud.

Fury overtakes his face, physically battling with the chaos of his rage, trembling with anger. He turns his blade and holds it to his throat.

“Why?”

One word that holds insurmountable weight.

Reinsbure releases his sword and lays his hands beside his head. “I will not fight you.”

“As if you could stand a chance. Why!” Rage bellowing in his voice. “Why did you betray the Crown, the Avangard? Me!”

“I did it for them all!” he screams back into his face, a vein popping in his forehead, red-faced. “I did what I felt was true! Necessary actions had to be taken, arguably vile, but I would do them all again to ensure Urium’s prosperity and not to be subjected to the ambitions of corrupt leaders. Our people made victims of other’s avarice. Their mistakes, but it is the people who suffer for it—we who pay the price in blood.”

“And what was your reason for wanting to take the purebloods lives—Aurora’s life!”

“You know why!” he barks back. “Arguably vile things but I would do them all again, for Urium, for the Avangard and for you.” He pressures himself to a chuck a disgusted look at me. “She, like many things, is a threat that needs to be exterminated.”

Kelan bellows a mighty roar, raising his sword over him before he runs him through, the blade disappears into his chest like the armour plating is nothing. Reinsbure’s shoulders jolt up before he claps back down.

“I trusted you.” He twists the blade—Reinsbure gags. “I made you my own.” The blade sinks deeper—he gurgles on his own blood, mouth pooling. “You were my brother!”

Kelan rips out the sword and impales him again and again—blood squirts on his face. I look away, the back of my hand slaps my mouth, bile burns the back of my throat. Kelan does not stop; he unbridles his outrage… and his hurt.

“Kelan.” Barely audible. I raise my voice. “Kelan, stop!”

I toss away the dual weapons and race to him. I tug him away and he allows me, abandoning his sword, still inside of him; Reinsbure emits one last sound, a smothered groan trickling out of his mouth.

Frenzy furies in his eyes. Kelan drops to a lunge, breathing hard. I move to stand in front of him, falling to my knees. He goes cold with fury, resentment clouding his eyes.

I merge with him. After an eternity, Kelan’s arms tighten round my waist bone-crushingly, bending to bury his face in my neck. He clutches onto me as if to make a promise that he will never let go. Not again. Not ever. We both remain as we are for several short-lived moments but our woeful circumstance implore us to separate.

We draw apart glacially. I gaze into his vacant eyes, his face impossibly still.

“Kelan,” I whisper.

My hand lifts, fingers grazing his cheek. His eyes clamp shut, compressing before he tears them open, recoiling from me. He spurts to his feet and I rise to follow.

“I immobilised one of them.” His voice is as lively as a crypt, a cavernous echo in a catacomb.

“Do you recognise their colours?” Kelan asks, turning to make a straight arrow to one of them, carelessly walking through the slaughter. “Their uniform?”

A pang of guilt stabs my gut. “Yes.”

He stops at one of the bodies. This one is still alive. He lays rock-stiff on the ground, paralyzed. Kelan lowers himself on his haunches and wrenches off his mask to reveal strained eyes, his irises a luminous green.

Kelan’s face curdles into a dangerously foul look. “And do you know who they belong to?”

“Siracus,” I say lowly. Distraught. I nearly stagger back, swept over by dismay. “A den of elite assassins that… belong to the Emikrol Empire.”

He observes him with morbid calculation. “I will ask my questions and you will answer. I know of the tutelage of the Siracus, how you are taught to resist interrogation tactics and even torture.”

Kelan scans around him before he leans over and snatches a random long dagger. He examines the blade thoughtfully, as if assessing the craftmanship. “But I can be very…. Persuasive.”

He looks back at him and something horrific flares in his eyes, terror-inducing.

His arm twitches—a flash of silver. I whirl around and an echoing scream that summons instant sympathy ensues. His howls only mount with every second, reaching a new level of pain.

“I assume Reinsbure was your source of intelligence to locate where we would be since I recently changed our routes back to Urium,” he says nonchalantly, over his dire screams. “I do not care for your orders. I want to know why, what is Emikrol’s objective?”

More dreadful screams follow.

“Speak!”

Eventually, he surrenders to the pain, divulging what he knows. “To right the wrong of history! The Qhar line should have never taken absolute power.” Pain and blood garbles his words. I fear turning around. “But we had to wait, gather strength until Emikrol was the most powerful Empire in all of Urium—”

“What is Emikrol planning!”

“War,” he answers excruciatingly. “To put an Emikrollian on the throne. The entire Empire supports Regnum Ethane, the worthy line to rule. When last moon comes, Emikrollian forces will invade Rasvian, Lanksha and Tettenmia.”

Gripped by a rude awakening, it squeezes a gasp out of me.

“The triple frontier.”

I spin around and I baulk at the unrecognisable face of Kelan’s torture subject. His face bursting with swollen bumps, incisions made everywhere, pouring out blood, his flesh horrifically marred in a matter of moments. I hardly remember what he looked like before.

I shake off my revulsion. “The three fronts of the Pantheon,” I say. “The borders of the High King’s dominion.”

In rapid motion, Kelan finishes him off.

A miasma of despair prevails.

He never admitted to the truth because he was succumbing to the pain. But because he knew what has been done is irreversible. How long have they been planning this? Reinsbure mentioned that the King Trials was a mere ‘distraction’ but it cannot be, no-one could have foresaw the death of the Dophan…. unless….no…. he would never. Though at this point, what I do know?

“We need to leave,” Kelan says, wrenching me from my thoughts. He rushes back to a dead Reinsbure and without hesitation, he stomps on his corpse and grabs the grip of his sword, ripping it out.

It is difficult. But we need to be clearheaded.

I raise a faltering hand. “No.” I aim it at him. “We cannot leave just yet.”

“Why?” His pearly, moon-like skin besmirched with dotted blood. “We cannot relay what we have witnessed to the rest of the convoy because I cannot trust my own—” he wavers, making a verbal retreat, he says, “Reinsbure was corrupted, there is no telling who else is. Not to mention that dammed Ethane—” he spews a slur of profane curses. “If the entire Empire Empire is backing up Regnum Ethane’s claim to the throne that means they seek to make Vince, High King.”

I try to swallow, but this massive lump has lodged itself in my throat, refusing to move.

I nod rigidly. “Yes, but we will not get far on foot nor on our own. And I am certain we cannot send a portal message to warn the Crown, it is too sensitive to be entrusted to vulnerable channels. The last moon is in less than two days from now.”

Kelan sheathes his sword. He curses loudly before spinning around, hands ploughing through his damp hair. I turn from him and scan for my dagger. Once I locate it, I hurry in its direction, tiptoeing through the body-strewn ground. Amid the noise of fervour, silence pervades in my mind; infinitely small, infinitely large; trapped in it.

I unplug my dagger and return it to its scabbard. My eyes fill its sockets. “We can send a portal message.” I face Kelan and inner turmoil exposes itself in his eyes. “If… Siracus or Emikrollian forces have descended, it may not be safe to travel locally, ports may be monitored. But I know someone—a Captain—we can trust to take us from here straight to the Pantheon, the question is where?”

He visibly tries to calm himself. His chest throbs, seconds from imploding.

“We can go find cut through the Tent-city, find a medeis to send a message to this Captain,” he says, thinking out loud. “You are right, we cannot risk convening at a port which is why they will need to retrieve us at Yellowcliff, we can go through the RedGlade to reach there by the noontide tomorrow.”

He finally meets my gaze. “Are you sure, whoever they are, that they will come?”

“Yes,” I say, walking up to him with haste. “Because they always have.”

Finding my answer sufficient, he turns to leave but I seize his bicep; he stares at my hand.

“We cannot leave just yet,” I say, surprise creeping into my tone. “We may not know who is guilty, but the purebloods are innocent in this case, and I will not desert them.” He looks back at me, his glare bores into me with the delicacy of a blunt blade. “The Herems and the Duce need to be relocated, we need horses, not to mention. Among my belongings, there is something I cannot part with.”

He nods brusquely. I release him. We make our way to the encampment, conspiring and planning a flaccid strategy as we go. Once we arrive, we instantly collide with Avangard soldiers patrolling the permitter.

I bristle.

Kelan maintains his stoic calm. They nod to him and he nods back. A sickening feeling: not knowing who to trust. I cannot imagine how it must feel for Kelan, soldiers that he had trained and chose as his personal squadron to be possibly linked to this unspeakable perfidy.

Kelan follows me into my tent. I dash to my bundled baggage, hauling up my saddlebag, I pitch it at him, and he catches it with tight eyes.

“Go, take what you need, and a horse. I will warn the others and send them your way.”

He snaps a nod. We vacate the tent and split on exit. I slink between the tents and I make it to nearest one, which is Treyton. I rush inside and he acknowledges me with an uninterested look whilst casually packing his belongings.

“Hera,” he says, his tone bored.

“Listen to me.”

The urgency in my voice halts his actions. I proceed to relay a brief telling of what had happened, a synopsis of what we believe that has been happening for cycles, and how Emikrol has been the instigator of all the anarchy in Urium and beyond.

Treyton’s eyes widen comically, wisps of hair stray from the low tail of his tied hair.

Feverishly, he grabs one of his bags and straps it over his shoulder. “Then what we are waiting for, we need to leave.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, not we, Primus Kelan and I are going alone. You and the other Herems need to take the Duce to safety and transport him to where we will relocate the High King and Queen to, their second castle in Amiyen, a fortress surrounded by a moat, they will all be safe there until we call on reinforcements.”

He nods wildly and moves to collect his mace readily.

He and I depart, but the moment we emerge on the other side….

“Off in a hurry, are we?”

I look to my right at Vince standing in the centre of the pathway, his arms folded behind his back with an eerie smirk, it’s embodies his usual calm and conceitedness but this time it’s different because now I know why it is.

“Go,” I mutter to Treyton. My gaze fastening on Vince.

“And leave you with him?”

“Now.”

He turns left and sprints away.

Not only will this serve as a diversion, but a chance to extract information from him.

“Where are you off to?” He feigns an offended look. “I am a tad bit wounded that I was not invited.”

“You are treacherous,” I expel, constricting my eyes, concentrating all my despise into one look. “You spoke of honour but where is the honour in being a traitor? An enemy of Urium.”

“Enemy?” He laughs off the name call. “I am its redeemer,” he declares, outstretching his arms expansively in perceived glory. “I have salvaged Urium from the devastation of its former rulers. You said it yourself, the current reign and our predecessors have failed us miserably, and all suffered because of it. Which is why Emikrol burdened itself with the righteous deed of correcting history’s mistake. The Qhar line should have never been.”

Adrenaline wearing off, I feel the burning lesion in my arm. I douse the pain with apathy.

“The Dophan, Alejendio…Aljay belonged to that line. How could—” raw horror snatches my breath. Vince’s eyes darken with a knowing look. My blood turns to ice. “You did not.” The words slip out. “How—how could you have killed him?”

“It was not easy,” he says with a small shrug. “I loved him as if he were my brother. But he was not. No-one was more pained by his death than I, that he perished at my hand, but father said it needed to be done. The Dophan’s death was the inciting incident we needed. So, I killed him with the one thing he least expected. Friendship. Dear Hera. Betrayal does not come from your enemies.”

His thought-provoking words rattle my brain.

“You are horrid.” Terror strangles my voice. “So what? You did all of this for power? You assert that our predecessors were deprave, but you are no better. They dealt with malicious forces without realising the consequences. You do and yet you continue still. You are no less than the son of an Ethane.”

His face rots into a frighteningly fetid look. “Do not seek to impugn my character, I sacrificed so others would not have to. Peace is won through war. You can blind yourself to that truth but at the end we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, compromise so that in the future we do not have to, kill so that many more can live.”

Anger ripples through me. “What comprises?”

He scoffs, and his face eases, his smirk returning. “Is this the part where I confess my evil plan of world dominion?” From his rear, the hooded Hitsches stalk towards us. “I told you, the concept of good and evil is for children. It is all a matter of perspective.”

He glances at each side as the Hitsches silently sidle his flank.

“How did you kill the Dophan?”

His mouth sets in a hard line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Over a long period of time. A slow acting poison that killed him off slowly. As the only heir, he had a dozen tasters, armed protection for every second, but there were only a few moments where he was vulnerable enough for me to administer the toxin.”

I inhale a sharp breath. His escapades from the castle, when the Dophan would flee to reunite with his princess, and where Vince was conveniently there not to just chaperone but to be the peril that he pretended to protect him from.

Vince’s eyes creep down my body. “You see, the toxin can be delivered in versatile means, injected, ingested, by the use of foods… drinks and even delectable broths.”

Terror’s talons scrapes my spine.

“You… poisoned me?”

His gaze wavers. “Not with the same toxin, something much more potent, I do not know what, it was supplied by an ally, a paranoid ally, one who spoke of the rise of a powerful being. One that would be a hinderance to our future plans.”

I choke on the deluge of daunt. “The threshold opens from both sides… you are working with Vilnus….”

“We all make compromises and Vilnus was ours,” he admits. “We needed to garner strength to stand against the stronghold of both the Avangard and the Vanguard, mustering strength over the cycles, and now we have it.”

He was the one who did this to me. Vilnus may be the origins but he would have never succeeded without him. The malignancy that festers in my core was his doing, a result of complying with Vilnus’s requests. That means they have been in correspondence this entire time, using the Hitsches as a tool of communication.

My foolishness brings about shame to my Regnum; prized for its wisdom. Whereas I have spurned it with my stupidity.

He dares a few steps forward. “Urium was at a breaking point, and we gave it the push it needed.”

My mind reminds of the attack on Umtera, the high-grade weaponry in the possession of common nomads.

“Emikrol was the one who incited the insurrection.” My eyes flash to the Hitsches who throw their hoods back. “You equipped the terror factions with arms, with the means to inflict utter mayhem.”

“We merely lit the match,” he says as if diminish the measure of their culpability. “The people fanned the flames of discord, echoing the hatred for the current reign. Urium needs a change in leadership, and I know you feel the same as well.”

“Not this way!” I yell, fury coils my stomach. “You, the author of my pain, the catalyst of the realm’s ruin. You have but condemned us all, you fool! You believe yourself to be a saviour? Doing the malevolent bidding of the Ulris, repeating the very horror that led us to be where we are now.”

I laugh manically. “You thought yourself noble, worthy? But you are just a pawn. Vilnus has been using you as a staging area to launch his assault. You think yourself a King? You are just a seat-warmer until he comes at the Eternal Eclipse. Vilnus preyed on the Emikrol’s affinity for war and an Ethane’s desire for power. You are the very thing that you claim you wish to destroy.”

He malfunctions for a millisecond, his face caught between a wince and a smile.

“I think it was clear, Valwa,” he says with an unsteady voice. “You know nothing, and still, you do not. I tell you this because I want you to make a choice. I have confessed what I have done and who I truly am, and what I am capable of doing, boundless conviction to serve all people, and I am willing to pay the price because no-one else will.”

My fingers tremble, my hands snap into fists, my palms begin to feel warm.

“Yes, I….” he struggles to force out the words. “I poisoned you, Vilnus said it was like a reactive serum that it would only awaken if you were this… powerful being, and I did it never comprehending that it was you. How was I supposed to know? Besides, I did it before I came to… fall for you. I did not want to, but I did.”

Because that makes it better?

The heat in my palms mounts. Suddenly, growing vibrations disrupt the earth beneath my feet, the sound of galloping hooves clopping behind me.

“Which is why I give you a chance to be on the right side of history. You know how immoral our predecessors were, even now. High King Urus occupied his forces on foreign soil to colonise other lands whilst his own is in upheaval. Greed is the true poison.”

I peer off my shoulder to glimpse Kelan riding towards me, saddle bags strapped to the flanks of the stallion. I look back at Vilnus and his attention slithered from me to Kelan, his face mutating into a horrendous look and it’s like I am looking at someone else entirely.

“Choose to be beside me or be against me, at least you know my darkest truths and the reason behind them,” he says to me, but his eyes are on Kelan at my rear. His gaze reverts to me. “There are only two choices, with me or against me.”

A surplus of power sears through me, invigorating my muscles with fleeting verve.

“I would never choose to ally myself with someone who kills when they think it is expedient, who slays his own because he believes it is expedient, justifying horrific acts under the illusion of the greater good. Where is the good in what you have done? All under the guise of feeding ulterior motives.”

“Then you have chosen to be against me.” A vortex of wrath swirls in his gaze. “And as such you will be treated as one.”

Anthia lunges, but Vince thoughtlessly snatches her back.

“No,” he says confusedly, as if unsure of himself, the confident air around him dissolves. He looks at Aries. “Capture her.” Then he turns around as if cannot bear to watch what will unfold.

I release my fingers; golden light emanates from my palms like a blaze flaring from a torch.

Aries rushes at me. Panicking, I glance at my hands and I flip my arms open, slamming them back close in a thunderclap, releasing a belligerent force that propels all three of them off their feet, surrounding tents billow, some even slant—knocked on its side, Vince and the Hitsches land back on the ground with a roll, groaning painfully.

I whip around and race to Kelan who extends his arm to me. I grip his forearm and with joint momentum; he swings me up onto the back of the horse; I wrap my arms around him as he jerks on the rein, rotating the horse until we shoot down, dashing through the pathway.

The wind rakes through my hair. “The Duce and the Herems?”

“Gone,” he responds curtly. “On route to Amiyen.”

“Aurora.” The wind carries Vince’s ferocity in his voice even from the growing distance.

Something decays inside of me.

“Aurora!”

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