by Franc Ingram
"Our job is to support and guide you," Yael of Caledon said, his voice was soft and calm but there was a hardness to his stiff posture that irritated Lysander. "We can't do that without the facts."
"The fact is we were attacked from three sides, yetis, Elevated, and Failsea troops. We weren't able to handle the numbers and skill of the Elevated. We had to flee or risk losing everyone."
"Don't forget that a lack of communication and cooperation between the three kings led to unnecessary confusion, which got people killed."
Jonathan's grating tone set Lysander's ears on fire. The Darten man was determined to stay on Lysander's bad side. Lysander longed for the day when he cornered Jonathan in an empty hallway or a deserted stretch of road so the fight that was building between them could be settled.
It wasn't until he bumped into Leith that Lysander realized he'd been making his way toward Jonathan without thinking. Leith had calmly put himself in the way, the pleading look in his amber brown eyes enough to stay Lysander's hand.
"Mistakes made," Leith said looking at Lysander but talking to Jonathan, "and learned from." Leith guided Lysander back to his seat before turning to address the rest of The Court. "This ain't time for fighting. Time for planning."
"Plan for what, another embarrassing defeat?" Born questioned.
"Cornelius is stronger than ever, with even more allies. Ivar is fresh off a huge victory for himself." Lysander stood again, sidestepping Leith's restraining grasp. "They won't just count Caledonia and Sartis as the end of things. If we cower behind Evermore's walls they will take that weakness as an excuse to attack more vulnerable territory." To keep out of trouble, Lysander paced next to Tycho who stood toward the back of the room, casting a large shadow over the table. "We need to fight back, defend what's ours."
"How will you do that? You can't even agree amongst yourselves what course to take." Born reminded them.
Lysander couldn't help but glance at the empty seat next to Leith that was reserved for the absent Lorn. The boy had abandoned them in the heat of things, without a word. His betrayal stung at the time, now that others could use it against them it was infuriating. But as much as Lysander tried to hold on to his anger toward Lorn, guilt slid in and cooled it off.
Lorn's leaving was so painful because he did it without giving them a chance to talk about it. He'd damaged the trust that had formed so naturally between the Heirs. Their infighting was surface trouble, a rough patch they would get through, but Lorn took it a step too far. Still, Lysander understood exactly why Lorn had done it, even wished he'd had the courage to make the same choice.
Every night that Lysander went to bed without having expended an effort to find Oleana was a betrayal. She gave it all up for them and they kept on with their lives as if she were nothing. Even though Lysander hadn't spoken of it, leaving her in Cornelius' hands was eating him up inside. One look at Leith was enough to tell he felt the same.
"Lorn acted alone, not against. We agree risk worth it to get Oleana back."
"When Lorn and Oleana return, any rift between us will be sealed for good and no longer anything to be worried over." Lysander finished before the rebuttal could start.
Jonathan shook his head. "Selfishness. That's what drives the three of you. That's what got your men killed in Caledonia. You three couldn't see past your own problems for two seconds and here we are again, focused on what you guys want while the rest of us struggle to keep out of harm's way."
"What do you think we should do since you have all the answers?" Lysander asked. He regretted it as soon as it came out. Jonathan held tight to his reaction but the slight upturn around the edges of his thin mouth revealed how Lysander gave the Darten man exactly what he wanted.
"Well first off, if this city is truly to be the seat of power we need to shore up its defenses, our three kings need a safe haven to rule from, and no more of leading battles and risking your lives." Jonathan rubbed at his narrow chin as if trying to pull his thoughts together, but Lysander noticed his eyes were steady staring at Leith. Jonathan knew exactly what he wanted to say, had been planning it for some time. "After our kings are safe, then we move on to other capital cities in Darten, Arismas, and Caledon. Once we have a solid infrastructure then we can go on the offensive. Cut Ivar and Cornelius out at the root."
"Isn't it likely that Cornelius and the others will attack more coastal cities?" Yael cut in. "We need to protect them before more of our people are shipped off to that island to be slaves."
Lysander spun around to face Yael. "What? What does that mean?"
Yael dropped his gaze. He started rubbing the table nervously. "Various reports say natives of Caledonia and Sartis are being piled onto some of the Gaeth ships, presumably headed for a life of slave labor."
Lysander slammed his fist against the table. "My people are being sent off to be slaves and no one bothered to tell me?"
"You were busy tending to your father. We didn't want to disturb you." It was the first nice thing Jonathan had said all day.
"You could have let us know." Tycho stepped forward, his arms folded across his chest.
"Dirty move," Leith agreed.
"Our priority should be rescuing those people," Lysander insisted.
"No, that's unacceptable," Born yelled. "We have three realms to defend. We can't waste resources on saving a few."
"Waste," Lysander said softly, needing to repeat the word to make sure he heard correctly. "Since when is saving lives a waste of resources? Not to mention Emmaray and her Elevated are a creditable threat to all. We take her out we end the slavery and cut off a major ally for Cornelius." Lysander threw his hands up exasperated. "What part of that is a waste?"
"Priorities must be kept straight," Born insisted. "Jonathan is right, defense must be considered first."
"With Ivar fresh off his victory in Caledon he is sure to move for disputed territory in Darten," Jonathan offered. "Whatever resources we can spare from defending Evermore should be sent there in anticipation of an attack."
Born scanned the faces of his fellow Court members. "The Court can agree to that."
"And if your kings don't?" Lysander asked.
Born's eyes narrowed. Yael cleared his throat. The tension in the room was thick enough to taste, like a bitter pill that had to be swallowed. "Do you really wish to challenge our ruling so soon after such a public and humiliating defeat?" Born growled, his tone cold and flat, giving Lysander a chill.
His automatic answer would have been yes, unequivocally yes, but Lysander knew he didn't rule alone, so he held his tongue. He clenched his jaw tight enough to make the muscles twitch. He looked to Tycho and Leith for direction, begged them to give him any sign that it was okay to say what he really wanted to say.
Leith waved his hand as if trying to erase Born's words from the air. "Not the time..." Suddenly, Leith stiffened, the next word still half-formed on his lips.
A familiar warmth spread along Lysander's forearm. A sense of relief flooded through him so profound he had to blink back a tear from his eye. "They're back," he whispered, too afraid to say it aloud for fear that it was a figment of his imagination.
Leith nodded, rubbing the glowing mark on his own arm. Leith was already moving for the door. The former thief swung the door open so hard it cracked against the wall with a loud thud. Then he took off running, forcing Lysander to run full out to catch up.
Being a tracker naturally, Leith often relied on his ability to pinpoint the other heirs over longer distances, leaving Lysander to follow. The Tower was so big that even after six months of calling it home the other two Heirs often complained of getting lost in its many twists and turns. Not Leith. He mapped out the many nooks and crannies of Solon, and he could find his way around The Tower effortlessly.
Leith maneuvered like he'd lived there all his life, knew it better than he knew his own body. Lysander followed without hesitation trusting his fellow king to lead him straight. They went down the main hall that led to the Audience Roo
m where they were crowned. Then they passed the dining room where the three kings had spent many long nights discussing plans and enjoying meals together.
Leith swung around a tight corner like he was on rails. Lysander failed to prove as agile, bumping his shoulder against the wall. He was grateful for Leith's steady hand up. They shot up a flight of steps startling a Darten guard on his way down. They shot down a hallway and around two more turns before reaching the back entrance of The Tower with its single wood and brass door. Two members of the archery squad Lysander had sent after Lorn were holding it open, letting cold air in. Lysander spotted Lorn, his hands full with a much-welcomed bundle. Oleana was swaddled in a thick gray blanket, but Lysander recognized her by just the curve of her jawline and the mutilated remains of her hair.
"Thank The Twelve," Lysander said, sliding to a halt in front of them. He wrapped the two of them in a hug before he could stop himself. He wasn't much for such displays but seeing the two them was just too much for him to keep contained. He didn't know whether to shout or cry. Maybe a bit of both.
When he saw that more were coming in, Lysander pulled Lorn out of the way by his shoulder. The tallest archer was supported by his comrade, a man with blond hair down to his shoulders, tied in an unruly ponytail. Leith took the man's other side, taking the brunt of his weight.
"Get you to docs."
Lysander took Oleana from Lorn's arms, adjusting her unconscious form gently, letting her head rest against his shoulder.
"I'll lead," Leith offered. He turned and moved down the hall.
Lorn nodded as if he was on a delay, barely seeming to notice that Oleana wasn't in his grasp any more. He shambled forward, shuffling his feet across the floor as if they were too heavy to pick up.
Lysander had a million questions, but the boy was clearly too worn out to be able to answer them. He turned to see who else might be coming in to join them. Lysander remembered how many were sent out after Lorn and noticed that a couple bodies were missing.
"Paxis and Silver got caught up. We waited as long as we could for them," the injured man said, noticing Lysander's rearward gaze. The words sounded pained, as if he were avoiding explaining what really happened, but Lysander didn't push it. He was happy to have Lorn and Oleana back. That was enough. He needed to hold onto the joy.
00100000
With Ivar celebrating his victory and the Heirs running home scared, Cornelius took advantage of the time he had to return to his temporary domicile and gather his thoughts. There, he could plan for the next attack.
He knew he couldn't take long in Failsea. He didn't want to give the enemy time to heal after such a humiliating loss, but Cornelius needed to check on his son and his other prize. He needed to look over any communications he may have gotten from Mount Elmire and the factory.
His little campaign with Ivar took out a big chunk out of his resources. The fiasco at Evermore and the monstrosity of the wall were the start of his problems. Then there were the skirmishes he had to squelch with the combined troops of Arismas and Caledon while trying to move supplies across those lands. Now, after months of getting his yetis in line from afar, they were actually close to being back on track.
When Cornelius caught sight of the front door of the keep, he went rigid. There were signs of a struggle, discarded arrows scattered everywhere. The door was damaged, burn marks traveling up the ancient wood creating splits that were large enough that Cornelius could see the hall behind it. Half a dozen guards were stationed in front of it. They weren't just out there on boring guard duty, these men looked tense, jumpy, as if waiting for the next attack.
"What's this?" Cornelius boomed, making each of them jump.
"My Lord, we're sorry we didn't..." the leader stammered. He automatically took a defensive position in front of his men as if he was expecting Cornelius to lash out at them. "We had him, but then others managed to sneak in and take them both. We were stretched thin with everyone conscripted to join the fight in Caledonia. I'm sorry."
The rushed mumble of words only made Cornelius want to shake the man until something sensible came out. Instead he pushed past the underlings searching for someone he could trust to be on top of whatever went down in his absence.
Ian, Seth's younger, slightly less effective brother, was on the top floor pacing the halls in front of the cold room. A chill ran through Cornelius that had nothing to do with the forced cold. Ian was wound up, his mind so distracted he didn't see Cornelius approach. The yeti was picking at his fangs, which was a nervous habit of his. Cornelius wanted answers, but more importantly he wanted in that room to check on Tannin.
Cornelius brushed past the yeti, startling him. "Master, I'm sorry. There was an incident. We captured the Master of Skies on his way here, alone." Cornelius half listened as he opened the unlocked door noticing immediately the temperature was much warmer than it should have been. His eyes cut over to where Tannin was, and his heart sank.
Instead of being completely encased in ice, his son was part in, part out. His head, neck, one shoulder, and an arm dangled loosely, bloodless. Cornelius rushed to his side grabbing his son's hand in his.
"A group snuck in and freed the Heir, then they came for Oleana. Whatever they did to free her left Tannin melting. I didn't know what to do. I tried packing ice around him as best I could and sent a messenger to you as soon as I found him. But the room just kept getting warmer. I'm sorry. Is he okay?"
Cornelius hated the buzzing of Ian's voice in his ear. He needed to concentrate. He swung back as hard as he could, knocking the yeti off his feet and into the next wall, grateful for the new-found silence.
He cradled his son's hand, lifted his head to relieve it of the awkward angle it was hanging. There was no heartbeat at Tannin's neck, but that meant little since the ice slowed all his processes down to a crawl. Then Cornelius saw the blood. It was trapped behind the ice, but still pooling out of his son's chest, pulled by gravity. All the delicate work that six months of freezing had done, coupled with monthly energy infusions from Cornelius, undone by a reckless child searching for his mother.
"No!" Cornelius howled, his voice cutting through the rock around them. Ian whimpered in fear, curled up in the spot Cornelius had thrown him. Cornelius clawed at the ice, sending shards of it flying everywhere. Maybe he could patch him up, then put him back. He held on to the fragile thread of hope with desperate vigor.
Once Tannin was free, Cornelius saw just how much blood his son had lost. How gray and dead the skin around his wounds looked. Cornelius lowered him to the floor ripping the soaked bandages off, exposing the frost bite underneath.
"Go get some more bandages. Go get...," Words failed Cornelius. He didn't know what, something...anything. Then Cornelius yelled at his son, tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. "Please don't leave me with these fools!" Cornelius wept against his son's lifeless face. His desperation was a vise squeezing his chest. "Please don't leave me." He rocked back and forth holding his son, knowing he was gone but unable to accept it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE RETURN
After some much-needed rest, and some even more appreciated food, Lorn went looking for the others. He munched on a sourdough pretzel stuffed with cheese. He'd had them put on the menu as soon as he realized he could make requests. The satisfying treat was something he'd experienced for the first time in Solon and The Tower cooks did them justice. He could eat a dozen of them and still crave more.
Lorn made his way back to the medical wing of The Tower. He didn't have to think about where his brothers would be. If there was nothing else pressing on their agenda, they would be at Oleana's side. Lorn felt pulled to be there also. It wasn't just the fact that she was his mother, but also because she was one of them and they'd been without her for too long.
The medical suite she was in was guarded by two Rangers, joining the two there for Nadir. All of them were hand-picked by Tycho, as if any danger would make it far enough inside The Tower to come across them in the first place. Lorn
nodded to them as he passed. Leith and Lysander both turned, weapons in hand, ready to fight.
"Relax, it's just me," Lorn threw up his hands in mock surrender.
Lorn's eyes were drawn to Oleana's bed as the others relaxed and took their seats. The tension in the room was palpable. A sour smell clung to the air, faint but noticeable enough to be annoying. The fact that she hadn't woke up yet was disturbing. The last thing she said was his name back at the Failsea keep. Since then, Oleana had lingered in the deep sleep that she was in now. The healers of Evermore poured over her, giving her every test that they could think of only to come up empty as to why she wasn't waking, saying that she would arise when she was ready. That was a day ago. Lorn didn't think he or the others could wait much longer before losing their minds from worry.
"Any change?" he asked, between the last bits of his pretzel.
"None." Lysander said, his normally flat tone filled with concern. The pinched look on his face spoke of an ache too hard to bear. "See you're back to your old self," he added looking at the rapidly vanishing food in Lorn's hands. "When you came in and didn't immediately ask for food I was worried."
Leith cracked a half smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and brightened his brown eyes. Lysander forced on his diplomatic placid face as if he were being serious.
"Very funny. I don't eat that much."
"Ha, that's not what the kitchen staff says," Lysander said, trying to turn their attention to move jovial things. "You're their favorite. I know you know them all by name because you see them seven times a day."
Leith nodded, "Your leavin’ left 'em tore up. Didn't know what to do with 'emselves."
Lorn briefly entertained the thought of throwing his last little corner of pretzel at Lysander, but stuffed it into his mouth instead. He couldn't bring himself to waste good food. "Don't be jealous because I know how to treat others with dignity and respect, unlike the spoiled royal," he said taking his seat by his mother's bed. He pulled back her cover enough to expose her hand. Taking her slender brown hand in his, he noticed how warm and soft she felt, such a contrast to when he'd first found her in that ice prison.
