Page 149 of Shadows in Bloom

Warring Fixation

Lola Malone

CONTENT WARNING

This is a dark MM fantasy story. This story deals with heavy subjects, such as warfare and treachery. While it mainly focuses on world-building, there are some scenes of violence and dub-con. Please note that the fictive world of Oniarteto deals in slaves.

The five houses are:

Akotan

Novar

Staljord

Damaryan

Gaeta

Those who betray us shall feel the taste of revenge…

CHAPTER 1

“We have sight on Nethyr!”

Galloping over the endless plains were two riders. Their horses trotted over the outstretched area of flat land that was surrounded by nothing more than a turquoise sky. Clouds shaped like fluffy pillows glided slowly across the air above, the only indicator that it had, indeed, passed the hour of the late afternoon.

“We have sight on Nethyr!” They called out again.

Dressed in their attire of simple black suits, accompanied by a cape in the blood-red and golden colours that identified as House Novar, the scouts approached the meandering group of travellers. The words were repeated through cupped hands alongside dried lips, possibly hoping for the good news to reach the group as fast as possible. Medea knew that they could use it. Or maybe they were simply shielding their gazes from the burning sun that reigned cruelly on the barren savannah that was void of any kind of vegetation.

Had they only been riding for six days?

While one of the scouts headed for the back of the travelling party, the other one went straight for the front, to where a lonely rider rode in front of the others.

“We have sight on Nethyr, commander,” Nero reported in a solemn voice, carefully schooling his previous enthusiasm as he cast his eyes down and dipped his chin ever so slightly, breath leaving his chest in rapid pants. “Once we have passed those tree tops, we can take the road that leads toward the Three Point Country. From there, we should be able to see the city walls.” He gestured toward the woods that had only just now boomed up on the horizon, painting it with familiar swaying, green tree tops, and a promise for a cooler remainder of their journey.

Plymraine Forest.

A cluster of endless treetops that didn’t just hide the awaiting land of Nethyr, but was also about to steal the remaining sunrays with each step they took. Soon it would cast their presence in a looming ghost of twilight. Yes, it had most certainly passed the hour of the late afternoon.

During the previous days, they had travelled through green forests and golden fields, had been met with fresh breeze and the promise of rainfall. What had followed was this sandy plain with its dry heat that caused a lack of water and motivation. And a meeting, that turned out to be pointless, since the other party had decided not to show up. They had lost precious hours waiting in vain, and when they’d finally realized that they had been stood up, it had visibly soured everyone’s mood. Even this, knowing that their destination was right on their doorstep but just out of reach, felt like punishment.

But they knew better than to travel through the darkness.

The war had taught them.

“I know.” Valentino Prianos, high commander of the Novarian army, replied bristly. “I know exactly to where that road leads.” Then he turned over his shoulder, throwing his familiar blue glare to where Astor rode amongst the scouts. “Don’t we, son?”

“We do, father.” Astor clicked his tongue and picked up speed to reach his father. As the oldest son of the general, and therefore the future leader of the Novarian army—or the Novarian Leopard as their people called the highest ranking officer—he knew his father didn’t like him riding too far behind. He caught up, and together they trotted those final miles toward the forest.

The horses were tired, and so were they, especially now they could practically smell their destination. Soon, he’d be back in his familiar dorm, sleeping comfortably in his spacious bed. It was a sweet thought.

“I shouldn’t have taken this one,” his father complained next to him. He hadn’t taken his favourite horse, Incinatus, but had brought a mare from Arabian breed instead. “She’s a good animal, but this place just makes me itchy.”

“Incinatus is where he belongs right now, father,” Astor replied. Back home, hopefully keeping the ghost of Inarra—the flitting, buried presence of his little sister—content with the only reminder of her father during his absence. They had made that decision together. Still… the memory of his little sister settled in his chest, tightening the beating muscle in sorrow for the sweet girl who would never be waiting again for their return.

Astor peered ahead of them, toward the darkness of the forest. “How long until we reach the road that takes us to the Three Point Country?” He asked Nero.

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