Reyna shook her head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. Gideon and Kassian are with him.”
The elven ranger nodded, disturbed by the lack of news. “And Asher? Has he returned with Doran yet?”
“No,” Nathaniel answered this time. “Though I am keen to see both again.”
“There is little in the wilds that could trouble a pair like that,” Galanör reasoned. “Though I do not envy their task. I will count Russell Maybury as one of humanity’s best for all my long days on this earth.”
“The casualties in this war will live in our hearts for eternity,” Reyna uttered, before sipping her water.
Galanör shared the shadow that overcame the queen’s face, for he too thought of Adilandra Sevari in that moment and his heart sank all the further. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice on the verge of trembling. “Before you now, I would like to reiterate my condolences and beg not only for your forgiveness, but for the opportunity to serve you and, perhaps, elevate myself in your eyes once more.”
Reyna couldn’t hide the pain that stirred in her. “Galanör…”
“I was reckless,” he continued. “Queen Adilandra would never have entered the tower with so few if she hadn’t been trying to save me. I put her in that position.” Galanör slid off his stool and took a knee beside the fire. “I am so sorry, your Grace.”
Reyna reached out and lifted his head with a gentle finger under his jaw. “Faylen has recounted events for me. My mother commanded them to leave her. She knew exactly what she was doing. Like you, she chose her own path. Facing Alijah was inevitable.” Galanör made to speak but the queen hushed him. “I would not have you carry this guilt for eternity. My mother counted you as a good friend and an honourable elf. She was always proud to have fought by your side.
“So,” Reyna said, her tone firming up, “in regard to this debt you speak of: there is none. My court - the entire elven nation - would be a better place with Galanör Reveeri in service to it, but I would not have you assume such a position out of guilt or some presumed debt. If you wish to really serve us and our people, you must desire it in your heart.”
With tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, Galanör removed Stormweaver, his one and only scimitar, and planted it tip first in the ground. His grip firm and head lowered, he vowed in elvish, “I, Galanör of house Reveeri, pledge myself and my sword to the house of Galfrey, the bloodline of Sevari, and the kingdom of Ayda.”
Reyna gave the elf a broad grin and instructed him to rise. Then she told him to take his seat again and finish his food and drink. “I have no official position for you yet,” she went on to explain. “Though I do have one in mind. For now, however, I would like you to work alongside Faylen as you have been doing. She remains your superior; her word to be counted as my own.”
Galanör bowed his head again. “I understand, your Grace. And thank you for accepting me into your kingdom.”
“It is good to have you back in the fold,” the queen affirmed. “I promise you, no matter what is to come, I will never command you with the ill will of my father. He took advantage of your skills with a blade - perhaps it is us who should be asking for your forgiveness,” she posed.
“Never, your Grace,” Galanör assured.
“I am more interested in your mind, your perspective,” Reyna specified.
“You’ve certainly seen and done a lot,” Nathaniel pointed out.
Truly humbled, Galanör nodded in appreciation. “Thank you for the promise, your Grace.” The elf swallowed a mouthful of bread and cleared his throat, unsure whether this was the right environment to make his enquiry. “Has there ever been any word of your father, your Grace? Of King Elym?”
Reyna glanced at Nathaniel, though the meanings behind their expressions were known only to husband and wife. “Not long before The Ash War,” Reyna disclosed, “before King Vighon tasked us with investigating Valatos, we had some time to ourselves. I had been curious for some years as to what had become of him. It took time and a lot of leg work up and down the east coast, but we finally found him.”
“His journey out of Velia was simple,” Nathaniel began. “After Adilandra exiled him, he took to The Selk Road and headed north. It seems he didn’t stop until he passed through Longdale and into The Lonely Wastes, as far north as Illian goes.”
“It was the tales coming out of Longdale that ultimately led us to him,” Reyna continued. “They spoke of a man from the north - not something you hear people in Longdale talk of. They said he came every few months to trade fish for materials and supplies. This might not seem extraordinary, but they said he had been coming for thirty years and never aged a day.”
Galanör was enraptured by the tale. “Did you go to him?” he asked, forgetting any formality.
Again, husband and wife shared a look. “We made the journey,” Reyna answered. “Those frozen wilds are no easy place to survive so we could not stay long. I laid eyes on him, though he did not see me. His dwelling is a simple hut, not far from the shore. His existence is equally simple… and lonely. It cannot be an easy life to bear for an immortal,” she concluded.
“Such is his punishment,” Nathaniel reminded them. “He nearly steered the realm into war and genocide. He was lucky Adilandra only banished him.”
Galanör didn’t disagree, though he couldn’t help but notice some heartache where Reyna was concerned. Her relationship had never been good with Elym, but he was still her father and now her only living parent. He felt for her.
Eventually, the queen waved the topic away. “These days are dark enough without dwelling on the misdeeds of my father. Let us pretend, if only for a moment, that all is right in the world. Lighten the mood, Galanör, and tell us of Aenwyn. I want to know everything,” she added with an eager smile.
More than happy to, Galanör took them back to his arrival in Ilythyra, when Ellöria was the lady of the wood. For a time, the three of them were able to fall into conversation and talk like the old friends they were.
32
A Heart of Three
Illian boasted every kind of terrain Verda had to offer and every inch of it was magnificent in its own way. It had been appreciated by numerous races and their countless generations for millennia. For Inara Galfrey, however, there was no better place than the sky. It might be devoid of rolling hills, snow-capped mountains, and glorious forests but, in comparison, it was an oasis for those who could navigate it.
Athis bore his pain willingly for the opportunity to soar through the heavens. His wings hurt to be so extended and his joints ached with every flap, but it did not stop him from gaining height nor gliding on the currents. The effects of Malliath’s fangs and claws still lingered up and down the red dragon’s body, their sting keenly felt. Yet they did not get in the way of his delight - flying with Inara.
His head broke the wind, allowing her to take in their surroundings. Inara would have preferred to keep her sights on the sky and the clouds or even the distant horizon, but there was no avoiding the eyesore that marred The Moonlit Plains. The battlefield remained littered with the dead, their bodies either piled or ordered into rows.
Inara was taken back to the battle, back to her failure.
The entire realm had been put in jeopardy because she had failed to defeat her brother. Thinking of Alijah brought back their last moment together. He had stood over her, the victor. In the last two years of war he had never had such an opportunity to kill her as he did then. But he faltered. Or did he? she questioned. Perhaps he merely wanted her to see his victory in all its terrible glory.
We both know that is not the truth. Athis’s voice focused her immediately.
It isn’t? she responded innocently enough.
When you entered the realm of magic, Athis continued, we lost contact with each other. We should assume the same of Alijah and Malliath.
That proves nothing, Inara countered without thought.
Perhaps not, Athis admitted, though it certainly adds to Gideon’s theory. There might b
e something of your brother left in there, Inara. A part of him that, without Malliath, recognises you for who you are.
Inara hardened her heart and mind to the possibility. No, she simply rejected. He is the enemy; nothing more, nothing less. As the Guardian of the Realm, it is my duty to—
Kill him? Athis questioned incredulously.
Again, Inara hardened and pushed her emotions down. If I must, she declared.
I share the title of Guardian, Athis said delicately, yet I do not consider it my duty to kill anything. We are to hold back the darkness. We are to be the hope that carries the light. We are to stand for those who cannot. If Alijah needs our help, should we not try?
Inara looked down at The Rebellion’s camp, her sharp eyes running along the many wounded and dying. No, she replied firmly.
Athis turned his head to briefly lay a single blue eye on his companion. Your thoughts and feelings may be your own now, but I still know what lies in your heart. I know that you—
Inara blinked in confusion. The dragon’s voice had simply disappeared. She looked at her companion and tilted to one side to try and see his face. She couldn’t feel him in her mind.
Athis?
There was no reply. There was nothing at all. Though their bond had changed, she could always reach out and feel the edges of his consciousness. Not anymore. Her confusion was quickly replaced by panic.
Athis?
The dragon looked back at her, concern in his eyes, as he was clearly experiencing the same thing.
“I can’t hear you!” she shouted over the wind.
Athis growled in frustration and banked to the north, his head angling down to return them to the ground. All four of his claws beat down in the snow, his wings fanning the powder into the air around them. Inara climbed down and dashed to face her companion.
“What’s happening?” she questioned out loud.
Athis moved his head as if he was replying, but no words sounded in her mind. Inara reached out and touched his hard snout, desperate to connect with the dragon in some way.
Inara? his voice finally rang clear in her mind.
Yes! she exclaimed. I can hear you again!
That was unpleasant, Athis understated. I couldn’t sense you at all.
Inara could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she turned to look at the distant pit. It’s the tree.
Athis’s head bowed, his dismay clear to see. I do not wish to spend my final days in this world alone. His bleak statement turned Inara back to him. If I am to find my way to the eternal shores, he continued, I would very much like to do so in the company of your voice.
Inara’s eyes immediately welled with tears and she reached out again to stroke the scales under his jaw. You are going nowhere, she vowed. We will find a way to undo this. We have an eternity together, remember?
The red dragon exhaled a hot breath and drew Inara in to his rich blue eyes. Eternity is a long time for one whose heart is held by a mortal, he said, shifting the topic.
Inara looked away. She knew she had ignored the reality of Vighon’s mortality.
I will enjoy what time I have with him, she said earnestly. To do anything else would give me an eternity of regret.
Athis leaned forwards, bringing him even closer to her. Not if you were mortal, he uttered.
Inara frowned and stepped back. “No,” she replied with her voice, emphasising her response. I will not even entertain that, she continued across their bond. We both know there’s only one way that can happen and I will not hear you speak of it. You will not perish, she added with some force.
The life of a mortal is not so bad, Athis began gently. On the contrary, I would argue it is all the more beautiful because of their mortality. Every moment is precious. They experience life like a flash of light; every colour, sound, and taste is more vibrant because of it. And, at the end, you would return to me on the eternal shores.
Inara waved the conversation away. It doesn’t matter. You’re not going anywhere.
Athis lowered his head so that she could rest her own against his warm scales. I only want for you to be happy.
You make me happy, she stated.
Life is more complex than that, the dragon told her, his innate wisdom showing through. You are part dragon, human, and elf, wingless one. Your heart has many desires, all of which you feel so keenly now. And I am glad. This is who you are. I was wrong to deny you your whole self. The realm could never be threatened by one who loves it so much.
Inara pulled her head back to meet his eyes. You know I—
Have forgiven me, Athis finished. I know; that much I can feel in you. And with the forgiveness I feel your love for me. I also feel your love for Vighon. I think everyone can see his for you. There is great happiness to be found in his embrace; happiness I cannot give you, a life I cannot give you. Both your human and elven self naturally seek those relationships; they should not be denied.
The dragon glanced at the camp before returning his attention to his companion. Should we survive what is to come or not, be with him, Inara. Together, we will cherish the memories of him forever.
Inara wiped a solitary tear from her cheek and placed a hand on the dragon. I love you, she declared.
And I you, wingless one.
* * *
As night closed in on The Moonlit Plains, Inara found herself waiting for Sir Ruban and a handful of captains to leave Vighon’s tent. She stood patiently beside Sir Borin the Dread, one of very few people who could, in fact, stand beside the Golem without trembling.
Through a gap between the tents, she caught sight of Gideon in the distance, just beyond the camp. He was with Ilargo, as he had been all day. The pair had been in deep discussion since before the dawn, their conversation their own. Athis had noted more than once that Ilargo had prevented him from making contact.
Inara let it go when, finally, the occupants filed out of the tent. She gave them all a friendly nod before entering. The king was leaning over a table, constructed using the base of a ballista by the look of it, and scrutinising several maps of Illian.
Catching sight of Inara, his mood immediately brightened. “It’s good to see your feet on the ground. I’ve missed you.”
Inara couldn’t help but smile. “Athis and I have been testing the limits of our injuries,” she explained. “It seems nothing can keep us from the sky.”
“I wish there was something that could keep me from these maps,” Vighon complained, his mood diminishing again. “We’re just guessing at everything,” he continued, fingering a pile of papers. “All the reports are old. Alijah’s moved his Reavers round since they were delivered.” The king shrugged in despair and took his seat. “It all seems so pointless. The tree burns and Adan’Karth has said nothing. None of this means anything if we lose magic.”
Inara moved to his side, squeezed his shoulder, and leant down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “You will never lose this.”
After she pulled away, Vighon remained still, his head back, and eyes closed. He sighed and, with it, exhaled some of the tension that had been knotted inside him. “I needed that,” he said.
“As did I,” she replied, taking a seat beside him. The king continued to look at her expectantly. “What is it?” she asked amusedly.
“You haven’t come to tell me something grave?” Vighon pondered. “You’re not here to strategise? Share a burden or two?”
Inara gave a gentle giggle and poured herself some water. “Am I usually such a bearer of bad news?”
“No,” the northman was quick to respond. “I suppose it’s just the times we live in.”
“I am sick of the times we live in,” Inara groaned. “I want to eat, drink, and talk of… Well, perhaps not too much talking.” For just a second, she saw her coy grin mirrored in Vighon’s expression.
“No,” he said with half a laugh. “I have not waited all this time to lie with you in a grubby tent, surrounded by every man, elf, and dwarf in the realm.”
Inara�
��s coy smile turned into a warm one as she leaned towards him. “I didn’t realise you were such a romantic, your Grace.”
“Not every northman possesses a block of ice for a brain,” he insisted. “Though I would flatten The Vengoran Mountains for another kiss.”
Inara happily obliged. “There’s no need to reshape the world,” she whispered.
And so the night stretched on, the couple undisturbed. They shared drink and food, their portions no bigger than those which the rest of the camp enjoyed. They talked for hours and nothing of the war or Alijah. Any memories recounted only involved the two of them and often ended in laughter. Vighon was very interested in chatting about their future, one he held great faith in. It seemed he had been dreaming of their life together for many years. Every detail he fantasised about brought a smile to Inara’s face, even the part where they had several children.
And, all the while, he never once dwelled on their most distant future, when most would accept their old age. He only spoke of the fantastic things they would do together and for the realm. In his imaginings, they were young forever.
Inara didn’t correct him; it was all too wonderful to spoil.
Instead, she listened and even contributed, adding fantasies of her own; dreams she had let go of decades ago. They all resurfaced now, her human side coming alive with it all. More than once, Vighon referred to her as queen, a title that took her aback. Like her mother, that was the last title she had ever expected to receive.
It led her down the path of proposals and weddings, events she had witnessed with no intention of experiencing. Now, however, the idea of marrying Vighon Draqaro made her stomach flutter and her heart race. Just the thought of it conjured a picture of happiness she had never imagined.
A hand brushed her cheek, drawing her from the reverie. Vighon’s dark eyes were boring into her, searching for the woman he loved.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“The future,” she replied quietly.
A Clash of Fates: The Echoes Saga: Book Nine Page 37