Chapter 1

Endings must start to come to their end

Where, then, shall I embark?

With a tale of redemption, godhood, and gain,

How reckless we delve the dark?

First, the return of our ruthless rulers

The World’s envoys of turmoil

But time curls inward, a self-supping snake

No care for those snared in its coils

An unbroken circle, a cycle, an ache—

Is it not for the rending we yearn?

Then let her devour, the serpent is slaked

’Til legends fade, sour, and burn

The war drums beat faster; so does my voice falter

Must I be the one, the offering on the altar?

Dare I sing of what comes, an end to valor,

When kingdoms crumble and heroes cower?

—Come the Dragons by Rolan Venaliel, First Prince and High Bard of the Queen’s Court

A shadow swept over the forest.

Against the deeper shade of the canopy, it should have been insignificant. The towering kintrees of Gladelyl possessed boughs as thick as rivers, boasted countless leaves that admitted scant views of the sky. Even where fire had razed one of the mighty trees, the canopy had closed over the gap, hoarding every scrap of sunlight.

Yet, in defiance of logic, the shadow fell upon Leras.

He shuddered, unknowing of what touched him. A fleeting distraction. But a single mistake might lead to ruin in a duel upon the Dancing Plaza.

His opponent, Elidyr Ymalis, was known for many things. His long, moon-bright hair. The swiftness of his saber. The ruthlessness necessary to a leader of warriors.

Mercy wasn’t among his qualities.

The Prime Warder pressed Leras hard as they sparred across the suspended platform. To lose one’s balance near its edge would mean a hundred-foot plummet to the swampy forest floor below.

Failure would be an even farther fall.

Parrying and recovering, Leras shifted forms from Water to Stone, his new stance allowing for more power to bludgeon the Prime Warder back. Elidyr defied his efforts. Dulled saber moving with a speed and precision honed over decades, the older elf nudged aside the strong cut.

Leras’s gambit exposed his left flank. But as Elidyr moved to take advantage, Leras shifted forms again.

It was a losing bet to fight fairly. His opponent was far superior in elven dancing. The slight advantage of Leras favoring his left hand over his right wasn’t enough to even the field.

So he did as his father had taught him. He looked beyond the dictums of the duel—and improvised.

Dropping under Elidyr’s blow, Leras hit the ground and kicked. The Prime Warder tried to leap clear, but even his dexterity couldn’t compensate for surprise. Leras gained his feet as Elidyr rolled out of the fall, the Prime Warder’s back to the edge of the high platform.

Nowhere to run.

Leras feinted once, twice, then struck. The Prime Warder turned Leras’s saber aside and took the follow-up kick on his vambrace instead of his gut, for which Leras aimed. Still, Elidyr skirted back, heels kissing the platform’s edge.

He met Leras’s gaze. His silver tendrils swam through icy blue irises. Even more than his posture, his eyes betrayed his intentions.

Leras reeled from the Prime Warder’s charge, leaving Elidyr off-balance. Throwing out a foot to trip his opponent, Leras exploited Elidyr’s desperate hop to whack his saber across the Prime Warder’s back.

A touch. One closer to winning the bout.

Heat flushed Leras’s chest, a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes darted to the few spectators on the benches at the far end of the Dancing Plaza. At the outright grin on his father’s face, Leras nearly lost his composure.

But the day was not yet won.

The Prime Warder took his time in turning back around. The care with which he brushed back a pale tress betrayed the frustration brimming beneath his grim countenance.

“Unorthodox, Prince Kaleras,” Elidyr said at last. “But I should have expected no less, given your father.”

As Leras held his gaze, he smoothed away all feeling, adopting the careful mask he’d long ago crafted. To another, Elidyr’s words might sound innocent. No doubt the spectators of their match were ignorant of their hidden depths.

But Leras knew. A lifetime of navigating the subtle thorns in Highkin conversation made him sensitive to their sting. Few Gladelyshi were tolerant of half-blooded elves.

Elidyr, it seemed, was among them.

“Thank you, Prime Warder.” Despite his better judgment, Leras twisted the title, letting a hint of his disdain peek through. He cursed himself as the older man narrowed his eyes. That slip could cost him the set.

“Again,” Elidyr commanded.

Barely had the word left the Prime Warder’s lips than the warrior moved. Driving forward in the Form of Fire, he shifted to Water just as Leras recovered his bearings. Twice, Elidyr’s saber almost dipped through his defenses. Twice, Leras twisted aside at the last moment.

Sweat dripped into Leras’s eyes, blinding him. Gaining a moment to breathe with a Stone-strong swipe, he cuffed his brow and studied his opponent. Elidyr wore a small smirk. Though his heavy breathing undermined his smugness, there was too much knowing in that smile.

I have to end this.

One more touch. One more, and he would make it through. Leras would become more than he’d ever thought to be.

He would finally have a purpose.

But Elidyr only needed one touch as well. Should that happen, Leras’s fate would rest in the Prime Warder’s hands.

But as his father had once said, life was better when brightened with glorious risk.

Leras surged forward in the Form of Fire, dulled weapon darting forward, pressing Elidyr back toward the platform’s edge once more. A flicker of surprise touched the older elf’s eyes before he recovered, using the Form of Air to turn aside the furious attacks.

Leras didn’t relent. He had Elidyr on the run. Blade blurring, body twisting, Leras instilled each strike with force. The tip of his saber came tantalizingly close to the Prime Warder. One break, one lapse in attention, and he could—

Wind whistled in his ears as something knocked against his foot.

Leras twisted to recover, but he landed on his arm. Choking down a cry, he rolled to escape Elidyr’s blade.

Steel whacked against his shoulder. The third touch.

Leras stiffened with shock. Disappointment arose, then bafflement.

How’d I fall?

He’d been watching Elidyr’s feet and weapon. They hadn’t come near his legs. Had his footing failed him? Had all his training been for naught?

Though he wanted to lie there and never rise, Leras picked himself up and stood with his chin raised. His mother had always demanded composure of him. Now, it arose instinctively as he stood before his victorious adversary.

Elidyr met his eyes, expression stoic. His argent tendrils swirled with triumph.

The answer came to Leras then, one almost unthinkable. But he’d endured that haughty stare from full-blooded elves many times before. He’d seen the depths to which they’d stoop to prove their superiority.

Sorcery.

The Prime Warder had wielded magic against him. Worse still, Leras hadn’t known. Considering his own improvisation, he shouldn’t have felt so cheated. But this was a wound, a deficit in himself, that ached at the barest reminder.

Before either of them could speak, movement at the edge of the plaza brought their gazes around. One of their spectators sauntered toward them. At his approach, Leras felt his chest loosen.

If anyone could put this blunder aright, it was his father.

“A spectacular duel!” Brannen Cairn grinned as he clapped Elidyr on the shoulder. “Rarely have I seen a finer one. More than enough to qualify my son, I should think.”

Elidyr flinched at his touch. Gladelysh culture disapproved of such familiarity—though even if Leras’s father hadn’t been human, Bran would have still flouted the taboo. Yet the Primer Warder didn’t shrug off his hand, for that would be too grave an insult toward this most privileged of men. His tone, however, was as warm as the Sanguine River on a wintry night.

“I would not be so quick to deem it so, Aristhol.” Elidyr twisted the honorific into mockery. “He failed to achieve the final touch.”

“That’s true. Though…” As Bran’s grin widened, his eyes narrowed. “That was more because of your cantrip than his prowess, wasn’t it?”

Leras repressed a sigh, relieved he hadn’t been the only one to conclude sorcery had been involved. A gust piercing Elendol’s canopy was too improbable to believe it could be anything but a simple spell. Yet to make the accusation would have risked appearing petulant and graceless in defeat.

Prime Elidyr’s eyes blazed all the brighter as he faced Leras’s father. “Do not think that excuses a lapse in guard. Many of Gladelyl’s enemies wield such power. Most are capable of far worse than I. A warder must overcome any manner of obstacle.” He swept his gaze over Leras. He didn’t bother hiding his distaste now. “I would be a poor leader if I admitted him only to see him butchered.”

Leras barely restrained his temper. “I can handle myself, Prime Elidyr. As your bruises will attest.”

Bran cocked an eyebrow at his son, a twinkle in his eyes. Even lacking elven sorcery, his father’s charisma made the ordinary brown of them come alive with a magic all their own.

Elidyr was less receptive to Leras’s input, puckering his mouth like he’d nibbled on a lemon rind. “Obedience and respect are also necessary traits in a warder. I would not wish to give you unfounded hope, Prince Kaleras, so I will speak plainly. You ill befit the service.”

Leras froze. Many times throughout his childhood, he’d slipped while climbing the massive kintrees of Elendol. He felt now much as he had then. The panic of falling. The breathlessness of hitting the branch below.

The life he’d always dreamed of was slipping through his fingers.

His father stepped closer, his affability only slightly diminished. “Let’s not be hasty, Prime Elidyr. Leras made a fine showing, a spectacular one! Even discounting fatherly pride, he gained two touches to your three, and you’re one of the most decorated dancers in the queendom. If you’d warned him of sorcery beforehand, I wager he stood a chance of besting you.”

“Father.” The discomfort rising in Leras waxed with each word.

Bran held up a hand, forestalling further protests. “What’s more,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “I’m certain the queen would be most disappointed to hear—”

“Father, enough!”

Both men turned to Leras, shock flashing across their features. Bran released Elidyr and took a step back. Heat flushed Leras’s face, but he held firm before their scrutiny. Pretended not to see the confusion and hurt crossing his father’s face.

Looking away from Bran, Leras addressed Elidyr alone. “Don’t accept me because I’m your prince. If I’m to be a warder, it will be because I earned it. And I do wish to be a warder.”

The depth of his feeling escaped his composure, enough that he had to swallow before continuing.

“I want to protect Gladelyl’s borders. Guard it against our enemies. Preserve our people’s lives. I have my shortcomings.” Another swallow helped him push through that admittance. “But I won’t let them stop me from upholding my duties. Give me a chance, Prime Elidyr. I swear by the Mother Below I won’t fail you.”

The Prime Warder beheld him in silence. At the peripheries of the Dancing Plaza, the sparse spectators rose from the stands. Though none but his father had been invited to the contest, the onlookers lingered, overcome with curiosity over their prince’s fate, perhaps all the more for the air of secrecy. Leras’s father watched in silence, his furrowed brow hiding any stung affection. 

Leras kept his eyes and focus on Elidyr. This was the man who held his fate in his hands. He couldn’t afford to worry over his father’s feelings.

Elidyr cleared his throat. It was an indulgence to hold his prince in suspense, but Leras voiced no objection. He refused to allow their differences in station to hold sway here.

He, Kaleras Helnor Venaliel, would earn this by merit alone—or not at all.

At last, the Prime Warder spoke. “I will take your oath, Prince Kaleras, if Her Eminence blesses your appointment.” His thin lips curled in a smirk. “Should that happen, I shall expect you at the Green Garrison tomorrow at dawn.”

Leras firmed his jaw. They both knew how fiercely protective his queen mother was—of her family most of all. Yet it was a small relief that Elidyr already saw fit to command him. After a lifetime as a halfkin prince, being treated as an ordinary warder would come as a relief.

“Then it’s settled.” Bran looked between the two of them, words ringing with false cheer. “I’ll send him once the queen grants her approval.”

If she grants it.

But that was a concern for later. Leras plumbed his mind for a gracious response. He’d anticipated this moment for so long that, now it had arrived, his tongue twisted into knots.

“Thank you, Prime Elidyr,” he managed at last. “I am indebted to you for this opportunity.”

Elidyr bowed his head while turning his hands in a formal farewell. Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode away.

A young attendant at the edge of the suspended platform hurried to take their dulled weapons and return them to the stands. Leras relinquished his with a murmured word of thanks. The boy avoided his eyes as he muttered the expected words back. Leras tried not to let the slight sting. Perhaps he was only shy, but he suspected not.

It was hardly the worst he’d endured from a full-blooded elf.

Bran watched the attendant hurrying off. “You’d think the younger ones would’ve learned,” he muttered.

Leras turned away. That was the last thing he wished to discuss just then. “We’d best go tell Mother the news.”

A beat passed before his father answered. “Yes. I suppose we should.”

Side by side, they made for the nearest rope bridge leading away from the Dancing Plaza, foreboding hanging over them as thick as the humid air.