Page 37 of The Sundered Blade

“You knew what it would do,” Kyrion continued. “Knew that he would not be able to tell whether it was enchanted and would therefore suspect you. Which means that you risked everything to build that link between us—not only to set me free, but to warn Leisa of what he was.”

Vaniell was utterly blindsided by the sting of emotion that forced him to bite his lip and drop his gaze to the ground.

He had indeed known what it would look like when he gave the gem to Leisa. He’d had no choice but to play that moment off with all the panache and flippancy he was capable of. But on the inside, he’d been racked with terror. Afraid that the imposter king would understand exactly what he’d done and why, and would take out his anger on Mother and Pip. Even more afraid that by potentially freeing the Raven, he would unleash a destructive power that might well end in the death of everyone and everything he’d cared about.

“I wish I’d done it sooner,” was all he could say. “I’m so sorry…”

A warm weight settled on his shoulder. A firm grip, and a gentle squeeze.

“This is not an indictment, but my thanks,” Kyrion said. “Without that act of courage, I would not be here, and I would never have come to realize how utterly extraordinary Leisa is. I would have missed the greatest joy and privilege of my life—to know her and love her and have her beside me as my queen. I hope, Prince Vaniell of Garimore, that you can learn to look back on your past and see it much as anyone else’s—filled with mistakes, yes, but also with moments of courage that have changed those around you for the better.”

Vaniell could not even speak. He could only nod, wordlessly, and hope he could somehow manage not to humiliate himself completely by breaking down into the sort of tears he’d only ever cried for his mother.

Kyrion continued to grip his shoulder, and after a few more deep, shuddering breaths, Vaniell was finally able to look up and meet that piercing silver gaze.

“Shall we go?” Kyrion asked with the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Best get this next part over with,” Vaniell agreed, offering a wry grin of his own.

Strangely, he was no longer dreading the day before him, but rather wondering whether he would even be the same person at the end of it.

* * *

Vaniell expected them to have at least some difficulty entering the city, but even though the gates were guarded and carefully watched, the two of them received no more than a quick glance and a salute as they passed into the streets of Arandar.

Perhaps Kyrion was better known here than he’d anticipated, or perhaps the guards knew perfectly well that no night elf would be serving as a clandestine agent for the enemy. Whatever the case, they were allowed to enter without incident, and Vaniell found himself studying his surroundings with a swell of curiosity.

Not only because it was his first time in Arandar, but because this place was now Danric’s future. His brother was king here, and Vaniell had always known he would perform admirably in the role. Indeed, he had always expected Danric to be the one to take on leadership of Garimore when the time came.

The older prince had spent most of his life preparing for that position, and now that it was no longer a possibility, Vaniell could not stop wondering whether his brother resented him for it. Could not seem to ignore the uncomfortable certainty that he would never be able to live up to the standard Danric had set for dedicated, conscientious leadership.

A standard that was evident even here. The city of Arandar was built in a valley and had spread up both sides over the years. As a result, it was crowded, and the streets seemed to turn and twist in odd places, but they remained clean and orderly. There was evidence of recent repairs, and while the city did not appear as prosperous as Hanselm, there was a clear sense of pride and purpose in Arandar’s inhabitants.

For a few moments, Vaniell paused on the corner of a city square to take it all in, to watch and listen to the people, and to remind himself that this would be Danric’s legacy. Farhall, not Garimore, was his brother’s home, and these were his people.

And if he knew anything at all about Danric, the man would do whatever was necessary to protect this place. It only remained to be seen whether he would be more inclined to murder Vaniell for endangering it, or hail him as a hero for trying to save it.

Perhaps he lingered a bit too long, because an armed and armored guard eventually approached, looking stern and severe as he made his way towards them across the street. Probably to tell them to move along and stop cluttering up the square.

But instead, he bowed, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“If you would be good enough to accompany me,” he said stiffly, “the palace has been informed of your arrival and requests an audience at your earliest convenience.”

Meaning now.

It wasn’t as if putting off the moment would make it any easier, so Vaniell let out a barely audible sigh and followed as the guard led them through the streets and up the hill, to where the royal palace perched on a promontory overlooking the valley. It was far smaller than the palace at Hanselm, but still somehow graceful and proud—a protector rather than a leech.

The gates to the palace courtyard swung open at their approach, and within the yard itself, Vaniell could see… far too many people. Oddly, none of them were milling about—rather, they stood in ranks and groups, all of them focused on the open gate.

“I had hoped to arrive with a great deal less fanfare,” he muttered under his breath to Kyrion.

“Since when did Vaniell of Garimore object to fanfare?” Kyrion’s eyebrow twitched in his direction. “And has it occurred to you that their presence might actually have nothing to do with you?”

“Of course not,” Vaniell returned, with entirely feigned complacency. “I have a reputation to uphold, after all. Isn’t everything always about me?”

“Perhaps when your company does not outrank you.” Kyrion smirked slightly as his chin lifted and somehow in the space of an instant he was no longer just Kyrion, but Kyrion ven Athanel, Wyvern King of Dunmaren, sovereign of his people and a welcome guest in this foreign court.

And for once, Vaniell was glad of it, as his companion’s title and reputation allowedhimto fade into the background.

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