Page 16 of From the Myths of Kings

As he strode down the passageway, a time-worn mosaic captured his attention. He stopped to observe the multi-colored collage spanning the length of the hall. Based on the classical art style and the faded paint, the mosaic appeared to be several centuries old. Flecks of glass, ivory tiles, and other dyed stones were embedded into the terracotta, forming a mythical scene that sprawled across the wall. Rook’s eyes traced over the figures featured along the bottom half of the mural, surprised to see that it depicted people of every kingdom of Revelore.

Figures of various sizes and ages held their arms up to the sky, their palms open to the heavens. Those who wore desert clothing were marked by glowing beams of light that shined from their palms. Further down the mosaic, white-haired figures thrust their hands upward. Gray swirls spiraled around their forearms. Next came a group of individuals whose arms and cheeks shimmered with scales, clearly Mer. Ribbons of water exploded from their hands, framed by tendrils of sea foam. At the very end, he took in the winged figures that he recognized as his own people: Aurans. No auras of light or bursts of physical matter flowed from their hands. Instead, their eyes appeared to glow.

He realized then that the mosaic depicted the magic that was supposedly given to each kingdom by the Titans. Healing magic given to Tellusun, stone-singing to Terradrin, and water manipulation to Elorshin. The magic that had been given to Aurandel had completely vanished: Sight. Rook found himself reaching for the winged figures, tracing over their glowing, pupil-less eyes with curiosity. It was said Aurans once held the magical ability to see into the future. If the legends were true, the gift of Sight had once manifested every few generations, producing Oracles who could utter prophecies and forecast the future. But it had been an age since the last Auran Oracle prophesied.

Rook tore his eyes from the archaic mural and focused his attention back to the present. Now was not the time to ponder ancient myths when he was living in one of his own. At the end of the hallway, a door with a bronze handle sat in the shadows like a predator waiting to strike. Whatever the war council decided on the other side of that door would be irrevocable. Rook reminded himself that the only side he was on was his own. He was loyal to his people and to his sister, even if Aurandel was currently on the wrong side of the war. It didn’t matter if he agreed with Hasana’s cause or sympathized with Saoirse. In the end, he would do what was needed to preserve his kingdom, even if it meant fighting in the very resistance Raven had made into an enemy. That was the only reason he was here. Not because of Saoirse. Not because of Hasana’s mercy. For his people. Rook’s resolve tightened as he opened the door and strode into the great hall.

The ornamented vaulted ceilings swallowed the room whole. All the arched windows normally opened to the sun were shuttered, cloaking the great hall in darkness. Hanging from the high walls, bracket lanterns embossed with brass flickered with orange light. At the center of the cavernous room, a long table sat squarely under a giant brass chandelier.

Rook’s stomach churned at the sight of all the filled chairs. His eyes first snagged on the bone-white hair of the Terradrin captain, Neia Landum, whose back was turned to him. Her hair was unbound and flowing down her back like liquid silver, bright as a moonbeam in the darkness of the room. He recalled seeing the Terradrin captain sitting at another table not unlike this one only a few weeks ago at the Tournament banquet with her fellow tributes. It was strange to look back on that night in hindsight. The whole time, Neia had been secretly conspiring with Hasana and the resistance, working toward the end goal of overthrowing Aurandel and stealing the Crown during the final trial.

Two others hailing from Terradrin flanked Neia on either side. Rook identified the broad back of Adresin Vasalor, another one of the surviving Terradrin tributes who he’d allied with during the final trial against the hydra. Just as it had been in the Tournament, Adresin’s shoulder-length white hair was braided into a complex plait that fell to his waist. The individual on Neia’s other side was unknown to him. The male had the same shade of moon-pale hair as Neia and Adresin, but it was cropped tight against the nape of his neck. A newcomer, he suspected.

Across from Neia, Hasana sat with her hands steepled on the table, her expression stern yet brimming with enthusiasm. The gold beads in her hair and the circlet at her brow glimmered under the light of the chandelier, mimicking the fire in her eyes. Rook recognized the warrior to Hasana’s left as Noora Mir, the former personal guard of the royal family who had competed as a tribute in the Tournament. Noora had accompanied Saoirse and Aurelia to the Shujaa Desert, and he was glad to see she was unharmed. There were several other minor captains and leaders of Hasana’s rebellion from Tellusun and Terradrin that Rook didn’t recognize. As expected, there were no Auran leaders present.

There were, however, three Mer seated at the end of the table.

Rook’s sputtering nerves roared in his ears. Against his will, his gaze slid to the end of the table. It was the first time he’d seen Sune Kresten since arriving in Bezhad. They’d avoided each other like a plague until now. Rook wanted to believe it was because they both healing from their respective wounds, but in reality, their unspoken avoidance was due to Sune’s unwavering loyalty to Saoirse. The dark-haired warrior was dressed in his signature silver armor and looked the very picture of a stuck-up Mer captain, complete with an expression of pure arrogance that almost made Rook crack a smile. Sune’s spine was so rigid he imagined a slight breeze might send him toppling over. But any amusement Rook felt faded as he felt a pair of cold turquoise eyes carving into him like knives. Captain Aurelia Eleni glared at him as though he’d just committed murder right in the great hall, palpable scorn wafting off her in droves. Rook was not in Aurelia’s good graces after he’d rejected Saoirse. Fair enough.

Fleeing from the scalding contempt radiating from Aurelia, Rook’s gaze finally settled on the woman at the helm of his complicated emotions. He almost faltered as he took in Saoirse’s endearing features. The light from the chandelier’s geometric paneling cast one-half of her face in shadow. Golden light danced along the other half of her profile, skimming along her high cheekbone, and catching on the glimmering scales that flecked her skin like daubs of stardust. Her waist-length curls were gathered into an efficient braid draped over one shoulder, twined with a maroon ribbon. Even from across the hall, her pale blue eyes speared him through the chest. All at once, the invisible thread between them snapped. Acute longing accompanied by a rush of scorn gouged at his heart. He wanted to fold right then and there, but instead, he ground his teeth together and reined in his tempestuous emotions.

Like the coward he was, Rook tore his eyes from the magnetic pull of Saoirse’s gaze and instead focused on Hasana, who gave him an odd look. He hastily took an empty seat between two unfamiliar rebel leaders and all but collapsed into the chair before his legs gave out. His pounding heart felt like it could shatter out of his rib cage any moment. Polished gold goblets and bronze pitchers brimming with crimson wine were scattered on the table. Rook quickly filled a mug and drained it, desperate to diffuse the anxiety churning in his stomach like an unruly sea. The air in the room thickened with noticeable tension. He tried to ignore the shuttered expressions and poorly concealed suspicion on the faces surrounding him.

“Now that we have all arrived, let the war council commence,” Hasana began in a cool voice.

“Pardon my impertinence, Your Highness, but do you think it wise to share our plans in front of such…company?” a voice interrupted. One of the Tellusun leaders glared at Rook with unabashed skepticism, his hand blatantly placed on the hilt of his sheathed sword in a warning.

Hasana’s golden-brown eyes darted to the male. “Are you questioning my judgment, Arjun?”

“No, Your Highness,” Arjun promised, lowering his gaze respectfully. “My concern merely lies with the security of our assembly. I am not questioning your judgment, but I do question his motivations given his relation to our enemy.”

Hasana pursed her lips, a flash of irritation flickering across her face. “You believe Prince Rook to be a spy?”

“I am not suggesting such a thing,” Arjun countered. Rook nearly scoffed. “Perhaps the Auran princeling is loyal to our cause for now, but what if his allegiance changes? Would it be wise to disclose our strategies in front of someone whose family has been so famously volatile?”

Rook stiffened with offense and his wavering emotions hardened into iron. He should have waited for Hasana to put the male in his place, but he couldn’t help defending himself. “I can assure you that I have no intention of betraying the resistance or switching sides. Possibly more than anyone else here, I understand what’s at stake. I have experienced the dark powers we are up against first-hand. I owe my life to Hasana,” he bit out, gesturing to the wound hidden under his tunic. “I would never dream of betraying your cause.”

It was true that Rook had technically been brought to Bezhad against his will. It was also true he now willingly participated in Hasana’s rebellion with the ultimate goal of saving his kingdom. But even so, he would not jeopardize Hasana’s mission of creating a free world nor would he endanger the lives of the men and women here by sharing their war strategies with Raven. Rook would be a fool to believe Hasana was completely forthcoming with him— if she was a good leader, she wouldn’t lay all her cards on the table—but he was beginning to trust her and he meant every word that he said.

“How can we be so sure of your loyalty if you betrayed your kin? If you so easily turned on your kingdom, who is to say you wouldn’t do the same to us? Your allegiances seem to alter at even the slightest change in the breeze.”

Rook almost bit his tongue with fury. As much as he hated to admit it, the jab landed exactly where Arjun intended. He felt insurmountably guilty about siding against Raven as it was, and Arjun’s words burned like salt in a wound. He couldn’t even blame the warrior for coming to that conclusion. After all, Rook had quite literally been fighting for Aurandel in the Tournament only weeks ago. He understood that years of oppression and a legacy of bloodshed were not easily broken in the face of one person’s change of heart.

“Enough,” Hasana snapped. “You’ll do well to hold your tongue, Arjun. We are incredibly fortunate to have Prince Rook among our ranks. Our people may not have always seen eye to eye in the past, but we are all here for the same reasons. Rook’s presence here is evidence that our political feuds can be repaired and the future trajectory of continuous violence disrupted. If you are not able to believe an Auran prince can change, perhaps you shouldn’t be part of this organization. The core pillar of our beliefs is that the world can be reborn and Revelore can be united once again. If Rook’s ability to keep an oath is so beyond your comprehension, perhaps you do not believe in our cause after all. You all know that I am open to criticism and I am always willing to entertain unpopular opinions. However, if you must make your voice heard, do not undermine my competence and leadership in a setting such as this.”

Hasana’s words cleaved through the tension-drenched room like a knife. Her eyes blazed molten gold, threads of light pulsing under her skin and gathering at her fingertips. Rook got the impression that as much as her power could heal things that were broken, she could just as easily tear fragile things apart.

Arjun bowed, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Apologies, Your Highness. I am sorry for doubting your leadership and for suggesting anything other than total belief in our mission. I beg you to grant me forgiveness.”

The glowing light faded from Hasana’s eyes and her brown irises returned to their normal warm hue. “It is granted,” she said after a beat. “Would anyone else here like to voice any other objections?” The room was silent as Hasana looked around, daring anyone else to argue. “That settles the matter.”

She picked up a bronze pitcher at the center of the table and filled her polished goblet with crimson wine that shimmered in the light. “It is my pleasure to welcome our brave volunteers back to Bezhad after a successful expedition to the Shujaa Desert.” She turned to Saoirse and Aurelia, raising her goblet in a toast. “Against all odds, they not only survived the perils of the Soundless Oasis, but they also brought Tezrus the Scholar to us.”

For the first time, Rook noticed the small old man seated next to Saoirse. His back was stooped low with age and his bone-white hair was thinning into near-translucence. With a jolt, Rook realized the elderly man must be Tezrus the Scholar.

“I hope their success is the first in a long string of victories to come. To Saoirse, Aurelia, and Noora.”

The attendees followed suit and raised their glasses. Rook brought the cold metal of his cup to his lips, unable to look away from Saoirse out of the corner of his eye as she drank. He fought to maintain an expression of reserved indifference, but Rook couldn’t deny he was relieved she’d made it back in one piece.

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