“General Vaydrick…” The Crimson Witch raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms and tilted her head. “What a series of unfortunate events.”

  “That has nothing to do with Father’s orders!” Ilya’s voice was sharp. “You can’t just send a bunch of students to the northern wall, mother!” She shouted. Her expression twisted. “You can’t.” She repeated herself, glaring at their mother.

  “It has everything to do with your Emperor’s orders.” Circe walked past Ilya and walked up a few steps towards the throne. “Your military is stretched thin, your Lord Enforcer out for the count, and the rest of the enforcers simply can’t keep up with the disasters taking place all over your lands.”

  Midhir’s gaze snapped to his mother. Circe wasn’t wrong, Eldoria was suffering from natural disasters, unnatural events, and the constant attacks from those terrorists donning the symbol of the alchemists of old. Lord Aulorn’s ailment had only made things worse.

  “We live in difficult times,” The Empress closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Ilya, your father commanded. It will be done. It must be done.” She then turned towards Circe. “We will survive.”

  The Crimson Witch clicked her tongue. “You rule a beautiful city, Celyn. A beautiful city that’s slowly dying. A city that’s only a single disaster away from being devoured by the mist. Your son isn’t the only one whose affected by it.” She made a vague gesture towards the tinted windows. “You have not enough people to fix this. Olisar, Bareon, An’Larion, even the smaller villages that should have been safe – the Veil is being torn apart by forces hiding in plain sight.”

  Ilya clenched her fists. “We’ll stop them.”

  Circe ignored her words, and her fiery gaze filled with determination. Instead, her gaze turned to Midhir. “Heed my words, child. The Veil is a fragile thing. It is the only thing standing between this world, and the one beyond. If it’s torn apart beyond repair, everything you saw will spill on this side.” She raised her chin. “Do not allow those who have stolen the alchemists’ sigil to do any further harm to it. It will not survive much more damage.”

  His mother leaned forward on her throne, her hands gripping the armrests. Her knuckles were white with the force of her grip, her eyes narrow, and her shoulders tense. “How much damage can it survive?”

  Circe paused for a moment. She closed her eyes, tilted her head, and gently ran her fingers through the air as if she was pushing aside a curtain. “You cannot allow any spirit that passes through to remain here. Too much damage was done already. Consider yourselves at knife’s edge.”

  “So, none?” Ilya asked, drawing a sharp breath.

  Circe only shot her a meaningful glance before turning her attention back to Midhir. “I promised you one year. That promise is naught if the Veil is no more. Watch for the omens and sharpen your blade. Those who carry the sigil of the twelve part serpent must be stopped.”

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  * * *

  The Vermillion Keep bustled with activity as guards rallied to find all Solus staff and students currently in An’Larion. Scouts rode out to secure the route, while the chosen escorts prepared for the week-long journey.

  “Why aren’t we using an airship?” Willow asked as she nervously paced the room. She, Arwen and the newly recovered Alistair had gathered in his quarters. Willow’s words were the first thing to break the silence that settled after Midhir told them of the Emperor’s summons.

  “Airships don’t approach the Northern Wall. They can’t function near the pylons safely.” Alistair scowled as he spoke. He restlessly shook his leg and continuously ran his fingers over the creases of his trousers.

  “Oh.” Willow muttered. “And Derwen Hold is near the Northern Wall?”

  Midhir took a deep breath. “Yes. It’s a fortress at the foot of the mountain range separating Calador from Eldoria. It’s not very well known by the public, so it unsurprising that you hadn’t heard of it before.” After all, there was no reason for non-military personnel to ever go to Derwen Hold. In the public eye, it simply was one of the many strongholds of the Eldorian Empire.

  He turned his gaze to Arwen. The young witch had been silent up until now. “Have you chosen a weapon yet?”

  She shook her head. “I will,” she muttered quietly. Her voice trailed off as she avoided meeting their gazes.

  “I’ll help you out.” Willow immediately volunteered. “Come on, lets go.” She practically dragged Arwen out of the room and hurried towards the armoury.

  “Is there anything else we should know about?” Alistair asked after the door closed behind the two women.

  Midhir brushed his hair back. “We must stop the cultists.”

  “That was a given.” Alistair chuckled softly. “I meant about you.” He pointed at his own left eye. “The Northern Wall is lined with pylons – enough of them that they distort the spiritual power in the whole region. Will you be alright?”

  Midhir shrugged. “We’ll find out, I suppose.” Circe hadn’t given him a warning about that, so he hadn’t really thought about it until now.

  Alistair furrowed his brows and straightened his back. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?” He made a vague, annoyed motion towards him with his arms. “It’s your own life and sanity that’s at risk!”

  A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop himself. “It’s a summons, Alistair.” He lowered himself onto his bed and leaned forward. “From my father. From the Emperor himself. I don’t get to refuse. I hear, and I obey.”

  “Even if it ends up killing you?”

  “I hear, and I obey.” He repeated once more before standing back up and reaching for his blade put up against the wall by the door. “I should get better acquainted with this. Care for a spar?”

  Alistair looked away. “I understand.” He took a deep breath before shaking his head. “I’ll have to pass on that – I’m not well enough yet. But I’d like to watch, if you don’t mind. It looks like a beautiful and elegant weapon.”

  “That it is.” Midhir chuckled. “I’m far from elegant with it though.” He threw his cloak over his shoulders, took the weapon and attached its sheathe to his belt, then walked outside, only pausing for Alistair so he could catch up. They walked the short distance to the courtyard in uncomfortable silence.

  Was the young Orlein uncomfortable because of him? Was his status as prince causing this? Thoughts and questions he didn’t know how to mention or ask crowded his mind. How much of how they treated him was genuine, and how much of it was to remain in the good graces of the Ardagh House? Doubts tugged at his mind. He could feel a lump in his throat as he repeated their conversations, and their actions in his mind.

  “Highness,” A respectful, yet clear voice rang across the courtyard as soon as they stepped out into the open. “I hoped to see you again!” Arbiter Kaien exclaimed. “Spar with me!”