Chapter One
It starts as a spark. Small, insignificant. Nothing more than a ball of light, balancing in the air. But then, when manipulated by both nimble fingers and simple thoughts - made to twist and bend until it grows - it can become almost anything.
Lhreyan sits with his back cold against the stone of his chair, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he focuses on melding the ice with his magic.
As one of his only true skills he knows, and has told himself constantly, that he needs to perfect it almost every day; preferably before his mother discovers his prolonged absence from the mandatory sparring lessons that he has, to practice something that she doesn’t exactly approve of.
The spark that he’s only just managed to create, flares when his concentration fluctuates at the thought of his mother, and he grits his teeth, clenching his hands until it finally dissipates over the ice.
Nothing much happens besides a small rise in the structure, but it’s not exactly the body of movement that he’d envisioned to move instead, and though he’d actually expected something like that on his third try, it still disappoints him.
He sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair, waving another over the ice until it melts back into water. Tiredness always seems to overcome him whenever he exercises his magic for far too much and for too long, but with the Wars going on still, what else can he do to be useful toward his people and to his soldiers, than to just learn more spells and more strategic illusions to fight back?
And so, again. He begins to build up his magic, melding it through by carefully placing the correct thoughts in his mind and hoping that, this time, it’ll finally work and actually do what he wants it to; if only to have something to show at least, if his mother does eventually discover that he’s here in his temple and not learning to slice a sword through a faerie-sized stick as he should be right now.
The doors to his chambers slide open before he’s a chance to even do anything at all, however, and he sighs again, bitterly now, when he realizes just who it is disturbing him this time:
“Will you ever learn to knock?”
The doors slide shut again and, though Badir doesn’t exactly look sheepish at breaking that particular rule, the slightly pinkish tinge on his blue neck betrays his embarrassment, “Sorry,” He mumbles, entering the room without invitation anyway, which again, breaks another rule and completely ignores the point of knocking in the first place as well, “Mother’s - I ... I was told to come collect you.”
“‘Collect’ me?” Lhreyan asks, raising an eyebrow in amusement and smiling at the face that Badir makes at him for it.
“Yes. Now, will you please just come along? I’ve wasted enough time trying to find you in your precious temple.”
Lhreyan doesn’t quite roll his eyes but the need to definitely arises and he frowns instead, leaning forward to stand up slowly, closing the book that he refers to with a snap and clicking the lock in place - lifting it under his arm to carry,
“You won’t actually be needing that, brother.” Lhreyan pauses, giving him a look that clearly implies how stupid he thinks he is, “Don’t look at me like that, you know when I’m lying, so know now that I’m not and come on.”
Lhreyan scoffs, “And what, then, would mother want, if not my knowledge on my - ”
“It’s not mother who calls.” Badir says impatiently, his wings perking up now as he bounces on the balls of his feet in a habit of nervousness, lifting them until Lhreyan can see them; quivering in something that’s not quite anger exactly but - “Now will you come?”
Both Lhreyan’s eyebrows now rise and he shakes his head at him, dropping the book onto his usual seat and pushing past his younger brother, “If you insist.”
Badir follows him out, eyeing Lhreyan’s hands warily and very obviously pondering over whether or not he’s just caught his brother practicing with his rumoured-black magic, but not saying a word about it - for which Lhreyan is grateful for. Not many do that,
“So. How go the ambushing plans Mother insisted the men take heed to?” He asks him eventually as they walk. Starting conversation.”
Badir jumps when the silence is breached and then shrugs sullenly after slowly thinking on the question,
“How would I know?” He asks with a scowl, “Helmeran is in charge of our battling, is he not. Not I.” Lhreyan smiles at him then, widening it when he then, petulantly, adds on, “He makes all the important calls.”
Laughing instead now, Lhreyan pats him on the shoulder, “Careful now, Badir. Your jealousy is showing.”
His grip is easily shrugged off with a grunt, but Badir’s smiling just as wide as he is anyway, and Lhreyan can’t even find it in himself to shudder when his fingers brush wings on accident; not when they’re joking like this again.
Laughter’s been too rare around these parts for too long and after having lived in a kingdom that’s been overcome by grief for over two months now, it feels good to do it again.
Grief. Lhreyan closes his eyes at the thought of that emotion, and he supposes that, perhaps, it should probably have different meaning for him now; after having seen what had happened all those weeks ago - where all those people that had been living in the outlying villages, had been massacred both brutally and mercilessly.
Where they had been killed by those both wild and cannibalizing savages.
Any that had survived that attack on their land had fled from their homes to stay that way, but had then been killed and eaten by the animals that tended to scavenge in the grass. Families, friends, parents and children; all lost in a matter of minutes and for a kingdom as large as theirs, the loss was still momentous and all of them had grieved for weeks.
The word, grief. It should mean something to him now, and yet still, thinking of it only tends to bring him back toward the topic of his father instead and on that particular thought, he’d rather not.
“Why am I being summoned then, if Mother isn’t the one ‘calling’?”
“The Queen is ill, as you know - ”
“She is?”
“Lhreyan.”
It’s almost fascinating, really, how someone as brash and sensitive as Badir can never seem to stop allowing himself opportunity to be teased by his older brothers, “Well. You’d better hope it’s not another child, then. You’ll no longer be our little baby brother.”
They pass a servant as he says that and she gives them a strange look - her lilac wings fluttering as she works - and her clear bemusement causes Badir duck his head with another scowl, “I’m no baby.”
Lhreyan nods with a grin, “Of course not.” And then he gestures that Badir continue with his hand, interrupting him before he’s even spoken, just in case the next sentence he pouts out ruins the good mood that they’re both in, “Anyway. You were saying?”
Badir frowns at him when Lhreyan’s hand waves in his face but he still repeats himself, regardless of Lhreyan’s uninterested tone, “As the Queen is ill, as I know that you know, it falls to you, the eldest, to make decisions affecting us and our people.”
They turn a corner just as Lhreyan shakes his head at him, “Again, Badir, you’ve got so much to learn. I don’t make decisions, I’m not the head of our army. Mother gave that ‘special’ position to her next child. The one that was actually born with wings.”
“No,” Badir agrees, ignoring the comment on Lhreyan’s birthing issues, “You are not. But Helmeran still looks to you for guidance on these sorts of things and you have always been Mother’s advisor whilst she rules. You were taught by father, too, and as neither of us have ever had that honour, besides you, we - ”
Lhreyan cuts him off before this conversation can become any more uncomfortable, “What does Helmeran need my guidance for? Strategy is more his forte. I’m looked to for matters of our people and our Kingdom.”
“Exactly. Helmeran needs - ”
“I think Lhreyan can ask me himself what I need. Don’t you, Badir,” At that drawling, bored tone from before them both, they stop in their tracks. Badir’s wings slowly droop as he looks up, almost guilty, to nod at Helmeran; Lhreyan doesn’t react himself, other than a simple jerk of his head in greeting, “’Meran.”
“Lhreyan.” And there we are. Always so hostile toward him: Will that ever change? Lhreyan sighs. Ah well. As Mira has always said to him since his adolescent years, you cannot please everyone.
Not even family.
“Come inside.”
Badir’s feet shuffle as he looks at Lhreyan, unsure of whether he should follow or not, and Lhreyan gives him a small smile in return, entering the Queen’s chamber after only a short pause. He doesn’t bother to look if Badir comes inside as well, knowing already that he will. After all, it’s not as common for him as it is for Lhreyan, to be left out of family meetings.
The curtains have already been shut in Mira’s chambers and the small fire in the corner only gives out so much light, but still, in its dimness, he can see already how pale she is. As per routine, he has already visited her today - this morning in fact - but under grass-woven sheets and laying instead of standing as she had been before, she lies there like she can’t bring herself to move anymore.
Ill. The word doesn’t seem to really justify how ill she looks, and the mild panic that Lhreyan’s always been good at suppressing, now decides to rise up through his throat; clogging it until he has to clear it with a cough.
Badir sits beside her straight away, looking over her gently, but at Helmeran’s look, he stands quickly and gestures that Lhreyan take that seat instead.
The offer’s declined - Lhreyan prefers to stand at the foot of the bed, really, far from wherever Mira’s hand can try to snatch at his, and certainly far from wherever she’s able to look him in the eye and make him promise things in sympathy toward her health - and so, looking a little frightened, Badir sits back down. A little slower and subdued this time.
“Did you poison her?” Lhreyan asks Helmeran eventually, lightly, swallowing past the dryness that sticks in the back of his throat, “She looks far worse now, than she did this morning.”
“Perhaps it’s your own presence.” Lhreyan resists the urge to snap at him for that, if only for Badir’s sake, and instead stands there; watching as the youngest of the three children brushes Mira’s limp hair from her light blue skin, sliding ice over her fevered forehead.
“Why have I been called here?” He asks, instead, slowly; rolling his tongue over his teeth.
“Mother is deteriorating.” Badir snaps, emphasizing just how obvious this answer seems to be to him, and the misdirected anger at Lhreyan for not thinking of it himself, “Her children should be here, with her, to - "
“Her health really isn’t as fragile as you’re assuming it to be Badir, I’ve seen her overcome far worse,”
Lhreyan growls back, ignoring the way Badir’s greyish wings curl up at the bite in his tone, “I’ve cast a spell over her anyway, to ensure that if - if, she does worsen fatally, I’ll be aware of it. And she has not, so ... I’ll ask again. Why am I here?”
Helmeran has already bristled at the mention of Lhreyan casting one of his spells over the Queen, but now, looking over at him properly to direct his last question toward the little-Prince-Regent, the only evidence that he can see of this is just the slight spike of his black wings; raised and ready to either fly or fight.
Lhreyan continues to look at him anyway - despite the obvious threat of anger - until he gains an answer, and when he finally does, Helmeran’s wings are actually shaking with suppressed rage, “How is your magic?” Alright then. Not the answer he’s asking for, exactly.
“Improving.” Lies. He’s barely managed to learn any combat spells, let alone any of the defensive sort, “Why?”
“Because you’ll be needing it to take care of the people here, is why.”
Oh, he was really starting to grow tired of that tone of his.
Lhreyan pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down, “And what will you be doing whilst I do, O protector of the people?” He asks, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms across his chest, “I doubt mother will agree with you pressing issues onto - ”
“Mother and I have already discussed this,” Helmeran says, and at that, Lhreyan’s teeth unconsciously grind together.
‘Discussed’. As per usual, things have been done and spoken of without him. He hates being kept in the dark, something that he should probably try to get used to over the rest of his life, because with this as a family, he seems to continuously be left there,
“I’ve need to leave Frystlein. Tomorrow morning, actually, at the soonest. There’s - this is no longer a simple matter of savages massacring our people and leaving to hide in the grass, Lhreyan. Not for us anyway and, certainly, not for our people. I - ”
“No. No, stop.” Lhreyan holds a hand up, gesturing that he close his mouth, which, surprisingly, he does,
“Are you ... are you saying to me that you wish to leave Frystlein? To actually leave this place? To leave our walls and to venture out there, into the wilderness? Where almost anything and everything is around three times our size, and where the savages await our every move? Where they take our food, ambush our men, and kill anyone in their sight! You wish to go out there and meet all of that?”
He doesn’t really receive a verbal answer other than a hiss of frustration, but the veins on Helmeran’s wings bulge as they flap once behind him, giving him just what he needs to know anyway. He’s being completely serious. “Why? Have you gone mad?”
Leaving here - it is practically suicide. Soldier’s leave here, yes, all the time in fact, but in bands, in sections, and still, they’re killed so easily. So easily that it’s as though that despite their many years of training, it’s nothing compared to what they must have faced out there.
For what possible reason could Helmeran have to want to leave here? Where he’s safe.
And Mira had agreed? She of all people, who is always warning Lhreyan away from the walls, telling him to stay away from the soldiers and to not be including in anything battle-like because of his lack of wings.
She, the overprotective Queen of Frystlein, has agreed to let her second son leave his home.
He’s clearly - very clearly - missing something here.
“My reasons.” Helmeran says as haughtily as he usually is, “I don’t need to tell you anything other than that, Lhreyan, and I only called you here to simply tell you to - ”
“Let me remind you of something,” Lhreyan says then, darkly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and clenching his fists over his chest. Right. There went his attempts at having a false pretence at being patient with him, to save them from arguing again, “There are three years between you and I, and three years is a lot of difference in age when it comes to responsibility and respect,”
“I am the Crown Prince of this Kingdom, I am the elder and I will be King after Mother’s step down - and, despite all this, I still accept all of your secret meetings with her, where you discuss both myself and the people, and I also accept how you are able to make the very decisions that I should be making, I accept all of this and am as patient as I can be with you, but if you ever assume to ‘summon’ me or to speak to me like that again, I will throw every single one of your words back into your throat while I grip it tight enough to make you weep.”
Helmeran looks at him, coolly, his wings flapping again in physical threat, so he adds, “And stop trying to threaten me, your wings are hardly something to boast of.”
Helmeran scoffs then, his lips curling as he bares his teeth at him, “And how would you know, you belligerent freak? You haven’t even got any to ‘boast’ of.”
Well that stings.
More than it should really, but it does - quite a lot. Lhreyan hides his hurt just as easily as he always does though, tilting his face up to show his either unimpressed or bitter smile at Helmeran’s childishness.
But then Badir decides to join in, straightening in his seat and admonishing his older brother with a growl, “’Meran.”
In contrast to the movement of Badir’s wings, Helmeran’s rise higher; a sure sign of aggression. Lhreyan closes his eyes in weariness at the sight of it - “The pixie started it, not me.” - before flashing them open again and looking over at his brother with disgust.
Though, he supposes that maybe he shouldn’t even be surprised really; it’s been a while, after all, since he’s been insulted in that particular manner. It was probably time to restart all of that again.
Pixie. Wingless. Freak. Half-breed.
All words that Lhreyan has heard used against him for most of his life, and words that he thinks that he should really be used to hearing by now, but knows that he’s really not whenever his heart pangs in his chest at the sound of someone calling them out after his retreating back.
Born without wings, born without purpose; useless and outcasted. Different in too many ways, and remaining that way all his life. But. He won’t really mind what he is if he’s honest - not as much as he usually does anyway - if his own brother didn’t always choose to rub it in his face consistently, ever since he had ever learnt that there are no other faeries like Lhreyan.
Faeries without wings are unheard of around here, and though there are words for them and curses mentioning them, it’s their rarity that tends to lead the people to isolate Lhreyan and to avoid him whenever he walks among them - as though having no wings is a type of disease that can be passed through simple touch.
He hates it.
Helmeran’s smug grunt draws his attention again, and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to glare at him, feeling insults of his own begin to rise. On the bed, however, Mira moans in pain, turning over in her sleep and frowning. Badir puts his hand over her forehead quickly, pressing gently enough to ease her brows back up and for her to relax again.
Lhreyan stares at her, and then at Helmeran. Seeing nothing worth fighting over anymore, suddenly, he turns on his heels and heads for the door, “Well. If I am to be here for nothing other than to be insulted, then I’ll take my leave, shall I.”
Badir stands to stop him when he opens the door, “Lhreyan - ”
“The pyxis has gone.”
Lhreyan freezes, his hand still on the doorknob, his fingers tracing over the buds from the flower that it used to be, “What?”
Helmeran’s feet scrape over the ground as he takes a few steps forward, “You heard me, Lhreyan. The pyxis. It’s been taken.”
“By who?” His hands are still tight over the door knob, gripping it until the juices still inside seep over his hand, turning the blue of his palms to a sticky green. He doesn’t turn around.
“Who do you think.”
Badir’s looking between the two of them, his hand gripping an elbow tight, “The savages?” Helmeran barely looks at him and Lhreyan finally turns, looking at him impassively, “Was the massacre just a diversion, then?” Badir continues, his voice shaking, “They were after our life source all this time?”
“Don’t be a fool Badir, there was no way they would have gotten past our defenses.” Helmeran spits, still looking at Lhreyan, still waiting for a reaction.
“But - I don’t understand. Who else would take it, if not the - ?”
“Another kingdom.” Lhreyan interrupts, his voice low in its realization and he sighs, looking away, “Yet another kingdom ... looking for War.”
Badir looks to Helmeran for confirmation but he only gets a curt nod just as his brother simply looks toward the Queen instead.
Always looking for her love, Lhreyan notices, looking for her encouragement. Always disappointed whenever it was given to Lhreyan instead.
Were the tables turned, perhaps it would even be Lhreyan who would tend to lash out in jealously at every turn, and it’s those thoughts that keep him in trying to be so patient with him. Because he understands.
He understands the need to demand just why he isn’t as loved or as needed as his elder brother is.
Although Lhreyan is continuously kept away from meetings and is given no other title in the kingdom other than his birthright as ‘Crown Prince’, and all three of them are constantly reminded that it is only because of his lack of wings that this is so. That if Lhreyan is to ever go into battle, he would be defenceless, and that the Queen only keeps him in the dark for his own protection.
But Lhreyan knows himself what the truth of this is. He had once demanded it of his own father himself, years ago, only to learn then that that man had not been his father after all. And that Lhreyan’s father, his true father, had been a human instead.
A mortal human man, still living somewhere out there now, eight times their size and trampling over their homes wherever he steps. Under spell and succumbed with love, Mira had morphed him into something smaller, into a faerie, to be with him - though he had had no wings to show this.
Just as Lhreyan does not.
Passion, lust - it all tends to lead to the same thing and eventually Lhreyan had been conceived. Tormented by others for having chosen a human, Mira had ignored the jibes given to her, but they had still affected her human. And one day, after a physical attack on his person, she’d forced herself to revoke her spell on him. Turning him human once again, melting his memories of her and their unborn child, and sending him away to live elsewhere.
Lhreyan had been born the day that she had met Ghyla - heir to the throne of Frystlein. His help with the pain had led her to love his kindness and, as he had told Lhreyan all those years ago, he had seen her then to be so unlike the many women that he had met before, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. And then, eventually, to be in love with her.
Helmeran had been born when Lhreyan had been three years of age, when he’d just been learning how to handle a sword, and he had been completely mesmerized by the sight of wings on his baby brother’s back; puzzled as to why he hadn’t any himself.
Both parents had assured him that he will grow them soon, once he grew older himself and matured enough for them to ‘burst through his skin’, but then Badir had been born with the same tiny wings and having two younger brothers with different bodily parts than him - not to mention that he was seeing other children running around with wings as well - Lhreyan very obviously began to feel a little abnormal when compared to others and by the time he turned ten, he began to demand answers.
Ghyla, now King of Frystlein after his father’s death in the War against the savages, had then decided to take Lhreyan aside and to disclose the secrets of his birth to him. Helmeran would have been almost around seven then, with Badir just turning three, and neither of them remember the screams and cries that Lhreyan had had that day, learning at such a young age that his family was not his family and the only bind he had with his brothers was with his mother’s blood. And not, with his father’s.
But Mira and Ghyla had explained all to him; that it changed nothing and eventually, though he’s always known the truth since that day, Lhreyan still sees Ghyla as his true father and loves him as such. Which is why, as per this, the word grief will always remain stuck with the mere mention of the King to him, because not even two months after revealing Lhreyan’s true heritage, Ghyla had lost his own life in the same War that had taken his father’s.
Leaving behind a grieving wife, who had then become Queen in his stead, a distraught Crown Prince and two younger princes who had not yet bonded with their father as much as they had with their mother. To them, they had not lost much in the way of a man in their family, but to Lhreyan he had lost his teacher and his friend. Ghyla may have had a temper, but he had never once shown it to his family, and only to his men had it ever been known.
Lhreyan, himself, had seen it only the once, when Ghyla had heard another insult his father’s name, but when Mira had taken him away from the fight, he had instantly calmed in her presence.
Lhreyan remembers thinking then, that he hoped that maybe one day, he could have a love like that. Because with his own temper being a little too easily spiked, he feared, and still fears now, that he may hurt his own family himself; once he marries in the future.
No one has been able to calm him before, not like he remembers Mira calming Ghyla all those years ago, and that one memory is one of the most prominent that he has of his father. The one that he always seems to remember when thinking of him.
The War however, of the savages and such, is another such topic that brings up the memory of the King - but this time, it is not because of his grief, but because he has no idea of what he should do now. What memory or teaching from Ghyla does he call up for this? What does he think now?
If the pyxis is gone, the very thing that both his father and grandfather have been protecting all this time, and it is not the savages who have taken it, then who do they look to now for answers?
Mira? An excellent Queen she may be, but she is not of the royal blood. She was not born into its household and only married into it instead. With Ghyla eleven years gone and dead, who - ?
“We look to you,” Lhreyan startles, looking up with a jerk and turning to stare at the bed. Mira’s eyes are not open, not really, but it’s clear that she was the one who had spoken, “We look to you now, my son.”
“Mother - ” Helmeran protests, shaking his head at her when she tries to sit up over the sheets.
“Coddle me and you’ll regret it, ’Meran, I may be ill but I am still the leader of our people.” Lhreyan smiles at her. “And don’t mock your brother through one of your ‘smiles’ Lhreyan.” He instantly drops the expression, “Lhreyan. You know what this means,”
He looks at her, trying not to betray the fact that he’s as lost in this as both of his brothers are, “Never, has the pyxis been taken from us. This kingdom - It must be found and it must be returned. We cannot survive long without it.”
“But how - ” Badir starts, looking between Lhreyan and his mother. He clears his throat, “Do we know who has taken it?”
Lhreyan turns to Helmeran, asking him with his eyes. He gets his answer, but it’s vaguer than he’d hoped it’d be, “We only know that they reside in the northern regions of this land. At least a day or two’s travel.”
“And how do we know this much already?” Lhreyan asks, verbally now, “Were they seen?”
Mira eases herself out of the sheets, leaning against the withering wood of her headboard; the petal of the daffodil that it had once been, now slowly rotting. They would have to replace it soon. Perhaps it dying is even what the cause of her sudden illness is, “No. The guard of the pyxis named it stolen an hour after the gates opened to allow for our troops to return from ambush. We were left this,”
She gestures to Helmeran and he turns, reaching into a sack and slowly pulling out a tiny, glittering curved dagger. It’s yellow in colour, clearly having been carved out from something that a human had left behind - something metal - and it is hand made. Beautiful really. In its own way, “It was left plunged into the wood of the pyxis’s pedestal. Nothing else, but this message.”
“Message?” Badir asks, looking at Lhreyan now, but still, clearly, talking to his mother, “A threat?”
“Yes.” Lhreyan answers, looking at Mira for confirmation and he receives a short - weary - nod, “A threat of War.”
“Mother knows the kingdom.” Helmeran says, “She recognizes the runes on the knife, she knows where it has come from. And she has sent me to retrieve the pyxis from them.”
“Not alone,” Mira reassures Lhreyan when he jerks his head toward her, narrowing his eyes, “I would never send one of my own, no matter how experienced, into an enemy’s kingdom unprotected. He’ll go with a band of men.”
She winces, pressing a hand to her head and gratefully takes the water from Badir, “I would go myself, you know that I would, but ... ” She sighs bitterly, looking down at herself, “And so Helmeran will go. We need the pyxis back, without it we cannot hope to fight back against whatever torrent of soldiers they send our way. We are already weak after the attack from the savages. We need our power back.”
Lhreyan swallows, looking toward Helmeran. He’s standing rigid now, his face set and determined, but there is a faint tremor to his left hand. His sword-hand. The hand that he usually keeps so steady for his fighting accuracy.
He’s afraid.
“Lhreyan. With ’Meran gone, it will be you who will train our armies to prepare for a - ”
“No.”
She freezes. “What?”
“No.” Lhreyan repeats, enunciating the word slowly, looking her in the eye, “I will not train your armies for this.”
Mira’s red eyes are glazed from her illness and as she stares at Lhreyan in shock over his statement, they almost seem to steam in anger, “You will do asked.” She growls at him, sitting up. Badir gapes at Lhreyan but his expression doesn’t change. He stands his ground.
“I will not.” He says firmly, “I will not allow Helmeran to walk into an enemy’s kingdom, young as he is. However, ‘protected’ he may be in doing so.”
Mira’s face softens at that, and she sighs again, “Lhreyan - ”
“I will go.”
“What?” Helmeran spits, staring at him, “You? You cannot even fly, what will you do if you’re caught? You’ll be a liability to the soldiers, not an assistance.”
“Helmeran.” Mira reprimands him sharply, glaring at him until he drops his head and closes his eyes, “Hear him first.” She then looks at Lhreyan, “All my life,” She starts and he turns away, gritting his teeth, “All my life Lhreyan, I have protected you and how you are. Your lack of wings, your loss of flight and power is detrimental toward your survival. If you leave these walls I cannot continue to prot - ”
“Mother. I - I love you, and I am grateful for all that you have done for me, but if I am to ever be King then I will need to learn to protect myself. The savages still live nearby and will be awaiting news on any bands of soldiers that leave from Frystlein to cut across their land. They will attack before Helmeran has even made it across to the kingdom that’s taken our pyxis. You all fight your battles through the sky, you fly your journeys.” Mira tilts her head, frowning now, though it’s in thought and not anger, at what he’s saying. “You fly, and I walk. I’ve no wings, and only my magic. I am more accustomed to traveling through the grass whilst you all prefer to fly above it.”
Helmeran scoffs, “Fine. Then my soldiers will walk there instead.”
“No.” Lhreyan shakes his head, curtly cutting his brother down, “You will still be noticed, regardless of whatever you try to do,” He pins his gaze back on his mother, meeting her eyes, “But. If I go - if I go alone, then I will have more of a chance of traveling unnoticed and surviving out there. Whereas Helmeran and his soldiers will be discovered in less than an hour beyond the walls and attacked. They’ll be weakened, or even, perhaps, killed.” Helmeran drops his arms from his chest, looking at Mira with a roll of his eyes, “You know that I’m right mother,” Her eyes burn into his but he holds the gaze coolly, “You know that you cannot protect me forever.”
There’s a pause. Badir looks like he wants to interrupt, to offer his help or to argue that there must be some other way, but the silence becomes gradually oppressive and he remains as quiet as the rest of them.
Eventually, reluctantly, Mira beckons Helmeran, “Get your brother a sword.” She tells him, and Lhreyan tries hard to hide how his chest swells at that, “He leaves tomorrow.” She presses a finger to Helmeran’s lips when he opens them to protest, “You will continue to train the armies until his return.”
She then looks at Lhreyan, “You. You will have four days to return. If you’ve not come back after that time, I’ll have no choice but to send my army toward that kingdom. To retrieve the pyxis and to fight the war that they so clearly want.” She sighs, “Our kingdom has seen enough damage. So if you can, convince them to stay at bay. Convince them that we can live peacefully.”
Lhreyan’s hands unclench, and he nods once, stepping forward to take the hand she reaches out for him, clasping his fingers between hers and squeezing, “I will.”
She closes her eyes and excuses her other two sons, choosing to speak with Lhreyan in private. For the first time in his entire life.
Private.
