“He escaped.”

  Cait’s sharp voice rang in the throne room, startling Midhir and the two witches as they stepped through the large doors.

  The Empress was sitting upon her throne. She leaned forward, glancing at Midhir and the others. A relieved smile flashed across her lips for a moment before her stern expression returned, and her gaze turned to Cait.

  “Explain, Enforcer.”

  Cait was standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. Her hands were loosely joined behind her back. “After Princess Ilya’s resonance destroyed his hand, he ran away. I chased him through the mansion, into the gardens north of the main building. There were too many who were taken, and they were immediately hostile.” She looked at the ground. “They allowed him to pass but engaged in battle with me.”

  His chest tightened as he walked across the throne room. So the man with that over the top helmet had escaped once more. Once more he was out there somewhere.

  “Was the district not surrounded by the army?” Arwen piped up, her hands clenched around her dress. “He couldn’t have slipped past them, could he?”

  “No.” The Empress stood up. “Thank you, Cait. Please go and see a healer, then make sure to rest.”

  “Your Majesty,” Cait bowed, then quickly turned around and headed out of the throne room. She only hesitated as she passed by Midhir. Her whisper reached him as she hurried away. “I’m glad you’re ok…”

  She marched outside, and let the heavy doors slam close behind her. As soon as they did, his mother raised her chin, her ice-cold glare landing on Circe. “Explain yourself, Circe. Where did you take my son?”

  The Crimson Witch’s lips curled up. “To the border between Eldoria and Calador, to see how far his condition had progressed.”

  His mother flinched. “Have you lost your mind after all these years?!” She exclaimed. “The border – where the desert spreads! What if-“

  “My mind is sharp as ever, old friend.” Circe’s voice cut through the air. “You, however, seem to have forgotten your place, Empress. The child is safe, for now.” She raised her chin, glancing at the throne with a pitying look. “His eye is not his own – and it hadn’t been since the disaster fifteen years ago. I blocked his sight – his true sight, when you asked me to all those years ago. You should have heeded my warning, friend.”

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  “I wasn’t about to toss an orphaned child away!” Celyn shouted.

  “No. But you made him prince and sent him where it all started.” She walked past Midhir, lowering her voice. “What were you thinking, Celyn?!”

  “Of my city, my nation and my people!” She shouted, her expression twisted with anger. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? But the man had to be stopped, and Midhir knew him!”

  Circe breathed in to speak – to tell her off further.

  “I have one year before Circe’s spell wears off.” He spoke up, prompting both of them to fall into silence. “Putting that aside, mom, the leader of the cultists escaped, right? We need to find him before he can make it out of An’Larion.” Now wasn’t the time to worry about how long Circe’s spell would last, or why his mother had taken such a big risk knowingly. The cultists had proven how dangerous they were time and again. They couldn’t be allowed to continue operating.

  “He did, yes.” His mother spoke after a moment of silence. The anger and hurt in her expression disappeared. “I don’t understand how he evaded Cait so easily, or why the mist spared him from the attention of the taken ones.”

  “The mist spares no one,” Circe interjected. “No one.” She repeated herself sternly. “Either your enforcer is lying, or she saw something that was not truly there.”

  Cait wouldn’t lie. “This same man escaped Bareon once before as well.” Midhir said with a cold voice. He had escaped into the Old Growth and survived. He had somehow rallied the cultists behind him after the massacre at the foot of the monument and attacked the thirteenth district in An’Larion. “I loathe to admit it, but he is somewhat resourceful.”

  “He’s dangerous.” Arwen spoke up sheepishly. “Elder, do not underestimate him.”

  Circe’s lips parted. “I see.” Arwen’s words seemed to surprise her, though she quickly hid that behind a faint smile. “In that case, I shall aid you – the Veil is thinning. More and more powerful creatures are able to pass through, and I fear it will only worsen. We cannot allow misguided groups of people led by a madman to do any further harm to it.” Her gaze turned to the Empress. “Let us talk, friend.”

  His mother’s tense shoulders relaxed as she smiled. “Indeed. Eldoria owes you, Circe.”

  The Witch chuckled. “Not for the first time, nor the first nation to do so.” She glanced at Arwen. “Find yourself a new staff, my dear. I fear adversity still awaits.”

  “Midhir,” His mother spoke up. “We’ll talk later, once this is resolved. Make sure to get some rest.”

  “Yeah.” He muttered. This was their cue to leave. Neither the Empress nor the Witch wanted them present for their conversation. “Come on,” he gently pulled Arwen out of the throne room.

  As soon as he left the presence of some of the two most powerful people he had ever met, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. His shoulders finally relaxed, and he leaned against a wall, pressing his palms against his eyes.

  “Are you alright?” Arwen sheepishly asked.

  “Yeah, no, I’m fine,” he staggered, trying to reorganise his thoughts. “It’s been exhausting.” It felt like he had last slept weeks ago.

  Arwen nodded in understanding. “You should try and rest some.”

  “In a bit,” Midhir opened his eyes and stepped away from the wall. “I’ll show you to the armoury first. Come on.” The Crimson Witch’s warning was fresh in his mind. There was no time for respite.