Page 31 of Sundered By Fate

The contact sent a jolt through Aric's senses, stirring up a complex tangle of emotions and half-remembered flashes from their past. As the vision faded, he found himself staring into Davin's concerned eyes, their faces mere inches apart.

"I—I'm fine," Aric muttered, hastily straightening up and stepping back. "Just a little . . . disoriented."

Olaya watched them with a calculating look, one eyebrow raised. But Ruta seemed oblivious to the undercurrents of tension rippling through the group.

Even now, as his vision cleared, the memory of Malekith, bound and tortured, burned in Aric's mind. He'd been so certain it was real at the time, but now he couldn't shake the nagging doubt. Was it some kind of trick, a manipulation by the anomaly? Or worse, was it an actual glimpse into what Malekith was suffering right now?

Aric shuddered. He didn't have answers to those questions—only a dark certainty that whatever it was, he had to face it head-on.

But he couldn't share his fears with the others. Not yet. They already looked at him with suspicion in their eyes, waiting for him to slip up. Aric couldn't afford to give them any more reason to question him.

So he clenched his jaw and forced himself to smile at Davin's concerned face.

The palace gates swung open at their approach, and a young aide in flowing Astarian livery hurried to meet them. Her smile seemed strained, her eyes flicking from Aric to Olaya to Ruta and back again with barely concealed wariness.

"Archmage Olaya." She offered a shallow curtsey. "We've been expecting you. If you'll follow me, please, the council is eager to hear your report."

Olaya nodded, falling into step beside the aide as they moved down the polished marble corridors. But Aric noticed how hershoulders tensed, the way her hand never strayed far from the dagger sheathed at her belt.

"The situation is delicate," the aide continued in a low voice, glancing around as if fearing their every word might be overheard. "The regent is eager for any news that might help him maintain order."

"Of course," Olaya said smoothly. "We'll do our best to provide him with the information he seeks."

But there was something in the aide's tone that set Aric's instincts prickling. An undertone of fear and desperation. As if she were trying to convey more than her words allowed.

He could feel Davin watching him, as if sensing his unease. But there was no time to address it now. Not when the aide was leading them deeper and deeper into the palace's labyrinthine halls.

"I'm afraid the regent is occupied at this moment," the aide went on. "But he will be with you at his earliest possible convenience."

Aric exchanged a look with Ruta and Davin. Was this some kind of power play by Valerian?

The antechamber to the Lord Regent's office was already crowded when they arrived—courtiers, petitioners, and assorted hangers-on all jostling for position. The air was thick with incense and tension as the palace staff moved between them, offering refreshments with practiced smiles.

Aric tried to avoid the curious stares directed their way. He was far from the only returning veteran of the demon wars, but the Mage Circle's delegation seemed to draw particular scrutiny. Some nodded respectfully to Olaya; others eyed Aric with undisguised suspicion.

"It's not every day the heroes of the Battle of Brenville grace these halls," a courtier in elaborate silks said, sidling up to them. "You're not here to demand more gold for your services, I hope?"

"We're here to offer what assistance we can," Olaya replied smoothly. "In whatever manner best serves His Majesty."

Aric bit back a smart rejoinder. It would take more than polite platitudes to smooth over the looming political storm.

As they waited, snatches of conversation reached Aric's ears—whispers of factions jockeying for power in the regent's absence, alliances forming and crumbling overnight. There were rumors of secret negotiations with foreign powers, of escalating tensions on other borders.

Names floated past him like specters from another life—lords and ladies he'd known or heard of during his time in the capital. But their faces had aged, their voices grown harsher and more brittle.

They dressed themselves in genteelness and polity, but now, when Aric looked at him, all he saw was the same claws and fangs lurking beneath that he'd faced in the Sovereign’s court.

The sigil burned against his back, an almost physical sensation. But the magic here was different—less restrained than he remembered. As if the currents themselves had grown unruly during his absence.

He could only hope that was not a portent of things to come.

After what felt like an eternity, they were finally ushered into Valerian's private chambers. Heavy silk drapes hung over tall, mullioned windows, a tapestry depicting Astarian victories past. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface littered with maps and reports. Stacks of books teetered precariously on side tables, and strange magical artifacts hummed softly in corners.

And there, behind the desk, stood Lord Regent Valerian himself.

Aric almost didn't recognize him at first. He'd grown up around the same time as Aric, perhaps a few years younger, such that Aric always found it slightly strange to encounterbroadsheets and illustrations concerning the king's nephew, the man most likely to succeed the childless king, and see someone roughly Aric's own age. But now Valerian was every inch the Astarian prince, with sharp eyes and a strong face that seemed carved from alabaster. Yet beneath the polish was an aura of barely contained impatience and dissatisfaction.

"Archmage Olaya." Valerian's voice was smooth as velvet, but carried an edge like a honed blade. "You've been gone far too long. I trust that you bring me news of the utmost importance?"

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