Behind are the officer quarters—larger pavilions surrounded by guards. There is no pomp or luxury here, no silken tents. As is the way of life at the rift.
“Not much has changed.”
“That we can see. Who knows what schemes live beneath our noses.” Sadness marks Telor’s face.
He must be thinking of Braylon. I’ve avoided mention of it until now, giving him space to mourn quietly. “That was not a mortal versus elven issue, Ailis. That was a son who was tired of waiting for his turn at power. He saw an opportunity and he took it.” I add more quietly, “I know what that betrayal feels like.”
“He always was ambitious. Perhaps he was right in his desires, if not his methods.” He shakes his head. “I have toiled for days now how to tell Erwynn. Braylon and I did not see eye to eye on many things, but he was our only son. I fear she will not believe it.”
“Lyndel is not even a half-day’s ride from here. Do you wish to see her and share the news?”
“That is better left for another time. And besides, we have too much to focus on. If Braylon found soldiers willing to help murder their lord, what will we find in there?” He nods toward the mortal camp.
“The thought has crossed my mind too.” These soldiers chose to join the rift army the day they came of age, knowing they would spend their lives protecting Islor. It is the trade-off for never standing on a stage on Presenting Day. But how many joined not for honor but solely so they never serve as tributaries? How many have lost loved ones to cruel keepers?
And now our neighboring army has offered a weapon and a promise, and perhaps hope to those who have wished for a different way of life for so long.
“I do not understand how these mortals can be so eager to tear apart Islor like this.”
“One can love their realm but still see the weaknesses and beg for change. And they are not the only ones with a hand in Islor’s demise. I would argue their cause is far more noble than what the eastern lords have been scheming, for power.” Romeria’s letter with news about Adley and the others was surprising, but not unexpected.
“You have always looked kindly on the mortal plight.” He sighs. “It does feel like Islor has been brought to its knees to atone for its many sins, though.”
My mind drifts to the past. “There was once a bard who visited the castle, years ago. His name was Phynys. A strong voice, entertaining lyrics. By the time he finished his performance, my mother’s stomach would hurt from laughing so much.” I smile, remembering the sound of it. It wasn’t melodic or demure. The queen laughed as a drunken sailor might—loud and boisterous and with her whole body. “But he was also skilled at card tricks. One day, he dragged out a table and began building a house made from a deck of cards. It was tall and wobbly, and it teetered this way and that, and Phynys kept going and going. We knew that eventually it would fall, that a house of cards can only stand for so long. And it did. One piece tipped and the entire thing collapsed, scattering to the floor.
“More and more, I see Islor as that shaky house of cards that has reached the point of collapse we knew would come.”
“You sound as though you are accepting defeat.”
“Far from it. I simply see more clearly now. The Islor of yesterday is no more, and the Islor of tomorrow will only exist with help from Romeria and the nymphs, regardless of what new challenges come with it.” Some, I have not been willing to admit to yet.
The group of twenty on horseback is closing in. A female rides at the center of the entourage, Lyndel’s crest across her breastplate, the rift commander’s stripe of feathers in her helm. Her golden arms are slender but ripple with muscle. “That is not Bragvam.” A beast of a man who rivaled Horik’s size and the commanding officer of the rift army as far as we knew.
“No, it is not. That is Gaellar.” Telor purses his lips. “Which does not bode well for Bragvam.”
The legionaries move into position, forming a perimeter around me as the soldiers reach us, their attention darting between us and the winged iridescent beast above.
“Lord Telor.” Gaellar drops from her horse and bows. “We were not expecting you, and certainly not from that direction.” Hazel eyes that match the color of her lengthy hair flash to me, noting the emblem on my breastplate. No one here has likely seen the mark of Ulysede yet, but an unfamiliar crest on a soldier’s armor is always cause for concern. If she recognizes who I am, she says nothing.
“What happened to Bragvam?” Telor asks.