“I doubt that’s the reassurance you think it is…”

  The raven’s words lingered in her mind.

  * * *

  The Emperor sat back on his throne, his sharp gaze lingering beyond Midhir, lost in thought for a while. His jaw was tight, his hands resting on the armrests of the throne.

  After what felt like several minutes, he finally spoke. “Dismissed.”

  Midhir bowed deeply before turning around and marched to the gates.

  “Midhir.” His father’s voice reached his ears.

  His heart sank as he stopped mid-step and turned around.

  The emperor stepped down his throne. His boots clicked on the smoothed obsidian, and his cloak wiped the floor behind him as he approached. His expression was cold and emotionless as always, but he thought he saw a glimpse of a smile – a hint of emotion.

  “How is your mother?” His voice was low, devoid of its usual commanding tone.

  Midhir’s lips parted as he staggered. “She’s fine.” He averted his gaze. “These are difficult times for all of us, but she’s as powerful as always.” Considering all that had been happening lately, the empress had been working incredibly hard.

  The Emperor scowled. “I’m not talking about the Empress, Midhir. I’m talking about your mother. How is she?”

  “I don’t know.” It took effort to push the words out. How was his mother? He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen her – her true self, feelings and emotions and all – since Circe took him to the border of Calador. The few moments before that was all he saw of her. “Worried.” He finally replied. “Frightened. Angry.” He clenched his fists. “Everything she sacrificed for was almost lost.” An’Larion was almost lost. The mist nearly took over.

  The Emperor’s lips formed a thin line. “I see.”

  “How about you, father?” His own courage surprised even himself. “How are you?”

  His father’s gaze turned cold. “Everything I sacrificed for is threatened.” There was a tinge of anger in his voice. “You did well to capture that man. Their leader is lost to them – they will make mistakes.” He raised his chin. “And when they do, I will squash them like the cockroaches they are.”

  The burning hatred in his voice caused Midhir to recoil.

  “However,” the Emperor took a deep breath as he turned around and walked towards the throne. “We have other matters to attend to as we wait. You and the rest of Solus staff and students were not called here for no reason. Two days from now, an ambassador from the Theocracy of the Sunlit Summit. They will stop here for three days before continuing on their journey to An’Larion – and their meeting with the Empress.”

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  Midhir scowled. The Theocracy was well known for not sending any of their priests and priestesses on diplomatic missions. “What for? Is something going on?”

  His father climbed the stairs to his throne, then lowered himself between the armrests. “I assume it has to do with the Kingdom of Calador, and the reports about the desert.” He leaned back as his gaze lingered on Midhir. His fingers caressed the simple, yet thick grey ring on his right hand as his thoughts seemed to trail off. “Make sure you and those who accompanied you are well informed of their roles here. The Honour Guard’s captain will give them their tasks. They are to follow their orders. To the letter.”

  Midhir bowed. “Understood.” He turned around and marched towards the doors. The doors were heavy, yet silent as he pushed them open, and they slowly closed behind him as soon as he left the Obsidian Hall.

  “Where are the Solus students that arrived with the first convoy?” he asked one of the guards.

  “The quarters on the eastern side of the Keep on the third floor were prepared for them.” The guard quickly replied, his cold gaze never once turning towards Midhir.

  “Thank you.” He marched off, first crossing to the eastern section, then up the stairs. His thoughts raced. Why was the Theocracy of the Sunlit Summit sending an ambassador? It was a country ruled by religion – its preferred way of diplomacy was proselytising. Nearly all of their contact with the rest of the world was done by their travelling priests, who roamed the world, converted people to their religion, and then convinced their countries to put up churches and cathedrals in the name of the Daughter and the Sun.

  His expression soured. There was even a small church in Lunum, and he’d already seen the larger one in Bareon. Olisar housed a cathedral, and so did An’Larion, though the capital city was a bit of an outlier – there were temples and cathedrals dedicated to nearly all faiths there.

  An ambassador from the Theocracy could mean only a few things – either they were worried about Calador, the desert, or were here to demand more temples and cathedrals for their faith.

  “Oh, there he is. Midhir!” A voice called out to him. His mind returned to the present as he turned around.

  Arwen and Alistair were sitting by one of the hearths in a common area he was passing by. They both seemed tired. “I was looking for you,” he breathed out as he approached them.

  “And us for you.” Alistair replied with a scowl. “There’s something odd, have you noticed?” He asked, tapping his own left ear. “Crystals – augments, they’re difficult to activate.”

  “No, I haven’t tried.” He folded his arms. “Listen-“

  “No, please.” Arwen cut him off, her voice filled with worry. “It’s not about the crystals and augments – it’s about the flow of spiritual power here. I’ve been noticing it since this morning, but it’s especially bad here. It almost feels like the natural flow of power is suppressed.” She joined her hands on her lap, nervously pressing her thumb against her palm. “It’s weird. It’s wrong.”

  Midhir raised his eyebrows. “Could be because of the pylons – the Northern Wall is less than four hours away from here by foot – that’s not too vast of a distance, and the pylons hold and control incredibly large amounts of power. It’s not unusual for them to disrupt the flow of power – that’s why we didn’t come via airship, remember?” Half-truths made the best and most easily believed lies, after all.

  Arwen pursed her lips. “I don’t know. They’re still so far away. It feels so stifled and suppressed here. It’s uncomfortable.”

  “She’s not wrong, Midhir.” Alistair added. “It does feel odd, I had to try a few times just to summon my weapon from my holding gem. This can’t be just because of the pylons, could it?”

  Midhir’s expression darkened. “It’s possible. Don’t underestimate how much power they’re capable of manipulating.” They were made specifically to defend against attacks from the north. And there was a single country up there that could even attempt to attack Eldoria. “Putting that aside,” he breathed out. “Help me round up everyone from Solus, the captain of the Honour Guard will assign everyone tasks.”

  Arwen and Alistair shared a glance. “Sure,” Arwen finally spoke with a low voice. She stood up, then walked away towards the quarters they were given.

  “What was that about?” Alistair’s words startled Midhir. “You and I both know the Northern Wall can’t be causing this.”

  Half-truths were powerful, but only when they were told sparingly, to people who didn’t know as much as the Orlein Heir did. Midhir’s cold gaze landed on Alistair. “I have no other answer I can offer, Alistair.”

  The truth was not for him to know.