Yethyr wrapped bandages around me angrily. I was not sure what I expected of Yethyr’s response to news of the King’s imminent arrival, but intense annoyance was definitely not it.
He dismissed all but Jaetheiri, and so they sat in a corner of the ruined forge, she wrapping bandages around her hands and Yethyr wrapping bandages around me.
He caught several messengers glancing at my uncovered blade with awe and was making a makeshift sheathe light enough for even him.
I could cut through the bandages of course, if I wanted to, but he didn’t need to know that.
“They say he’ll reach the gates in two hours,” Jaetheiri said. “You have time.”
“Just as dawn breaks over the mountain,” Yethyr murmured. “No doubt he timed it so.”
Jaetheiri hummed. “That will make his approach a sight to behold.”
Yethyr shook his head. “That’s not why. My father last made camp in Brautho. The only way he could get here this fast is if a messenger left to inform him the moment Datrea’s walls fell and upon hearing the news, immediately force-marched his host here.” Yethyr curled his lip. “He was trying to get here before the fighting was over.”
“Perhaps he changed his mind about not involving himself?”
“Jaethe, that’s what I’m afraid of. If he had come just before the city was subdued, all would say that the 8-month siege of Datrea was only broken when the King descended upon the battlefield. It would not have mattered how irrelevant his presence was. That is what the people would say and my achievement would cease to be mine.” He looked at her desperately. “Don’t you see? If we hadn’t activated the circle this fast, he would have taken this hunt from me. He still might.”
“Have you considered that he may just be eager to see his son at the pinnacle of his success?” Jaetheiri said reasonably. “He wanted you to prove yourself where all could see. Why would he rob you of that? More likely he just wanted his own party to bear witness.”
Yethyr looked down at me. “I hope you are right. We’ll see his mood soon enough.”
“His mood is up to you, my prince.” She set aside a roll of bandages carefully. “Greet him with the traditions worthy of the occasion. And he can only be pleased.”
“I don’t have time for that.” Yethyr stood. “I’m at the cusp of knowledge that will profoundly change the nature of our civilization and my father is expecting me to put all that on hold to throw him a meaningless feast. He may eat at his leisure, but I have dead to interrogate. I have a forge to explore. I have unaccounted for arcanists to find.”
Jaetheiri fiddled with the sword belt coiled in her lap. She had taken it from Mullir. It wasn’t like he would need it anymore. “Your absence will be taken as an insult.”
“So? I am paying him in kind for the insult of rushing here at all! He—”
“Tezem!” Jaetheiri cried. She stood and uncoiled Mullir’s belt. With the lightest of touch, she wrapped it around him. “You have worked hard to reach this moment.” She looped the belt tight against the bone armor of his waist and looked up. Her eyes bore into him, begging. “Do not sabotage yourself now.”
They stared at one another. The terrible silence of the dead city rang loudly between them. Yethyr sighed and slipped my now bandaged-wrapped blade into Mullir’s sword belt. “Fine. Fine.”
Jaetheiri’s relief was palpable.
It balanced out Yethyr’s disgruntled acceptance as he stormed his way toward the Palace of Songs.
It was strange. I had seen swords hang sheathed at their wielder’s belts, but it was my first time experiencing the swing of motion with every step. Without a hand gripping my hilt, I felt helpless, completely out of control.
But there was something peaceful about not being perpetually drawn. I was not expected to kill. I was not expected to defend. I was not expected to be even seen.
I could rest. The frantic energy I had been running around the siege with began to bleed out of me.
For the first time in my life, I felt myself relax.
If it wasn’t Yethyr’s hip I was attached to, I would have even said I enjoyed it.
But it was Yethyr and so I was forced to accompany his furious limping through the city. He still refused to run, so he told others at his beck and call to go up ahead.
“Drag feast tables into the main hall of the Datrean palace so that we may receive my father properly.”
“Yes, my prince.”
“Move bodies out of the way of his procession, but don’t remove them from sight.”
“Of course, my prince.”
“Claim whatever kitchen you can find to prepare for a royal feast.”
“Right away, my prince.”
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“Signal for the whores I see lurking about at camp to rush to the palace right away. Their services are going to be required.”
“...indeed. I’ll see to it, my prince.”
Yethyr made it to the steps of the palace, lightly stepping over the corpses of Brinn men. Some were charred by Firesinger Infred, others drained by Deathsinger Zasha, and even more slaughtered by me.
He reached the door by nudging the dead body of Erjed and I felt myself breaking.
Yethyr looked down at him, moved by the force of my emotion.
“Strange. Datrea may not have been as united as they tried to portray. This Datrean man was killed by necromancy.”
“What deathsinger would kill their own in the middle of a siege?” Jaetheiri wondered.
“I don't know.”
Deathsinger Zasha. Traitorous wench that she was. Erjed hadn’t deserved that.
I saved your daughter, I silently assured his corpse. I kept my promise.
“My prince!” A large man, even by Brinn standards, suddenly barged into Yethyr’s space. He was broad as well as tall, and his dark curls that went every which way made him look taller and wider. I could sense Jaetheiri seize her hilt in distrust, but the Prince displayed no hint of his wariness.
“Hunt General Tynir,” Yethyr greeted coolly.
This Tynir thrust a hissing writhing mass of orange fur in his prince’s face—a cat. I knew at once what it was even though I had never seen one before. Zunad, my father’s first apprentice and my first kill, had a particularly vicious cat if his violent memories that I tasted were anything to go by.
Zunad had loved that cat. General Tynir was less appreciative. He held the creature by the scruff of the neck. “What is this?”
“It appears to be a cat.” Yethyr didn’t even blink. “What of it?”
“It’s alive, is what it is.” The General curled his lip. “You assured us that your Death Circle annihilates all within, and yet this is the seventh mangy stray I’ve seen lurking about. If your hellish arts can’t even kill a cat, how can we be sure that there aren’t other Datreans hiding about, waiting to strike.” His icy blue eyes gleamed with accusation. “You’ve walked us into a security risk!”
Yethyr rankled at the implication. “General, there’s little I can do about that. Cats are the spawn of Neyleesi. They walk Hell’s corridors unchallenged by demons. When they sensed the activation of my circle, they likely stepped briefly into Hell to escape. Such is the way of cats.”
The General grunted. He tossed the cat aside and it went scurrying off down an alley. “And how can you be sure that no Datrean survivor used the same method to escape?”
“A human would need a Hellgate and pay a demon’s toll to pass through their corridor. No common man can accomplish that. They would need an arcanist—oh.”
I felt Yethyr's suspicions snap into place. He looked back toward the palace. “Oh no.”
Now Yethyr was running.
I could understand why he avoided it. Each step hurt down to his bones, but more than that, it did not look very dignified.
His jerky motions looked strange when he merely limped along, at speed he looked uncannily inhuman.
For a brief moment, he didn’t care. He sprinted up the steps of the palace and entered the receiving hall, where the remnants of the council’s Hellgate lay in pieces. People were sweeping up the debris to make room for the imminent feast.
“So that’s how they escaped.” Yethyr’s soft voice rang loud and clear in that acoustically perfect place.
“Who escaped?” The General demanded as he halted beside Yethyr.
“The Council of Songs. They opened a Hellgate and paid the price for passage.”
“Paid with what?”
“Human life, probably.” Yethyr looked at the hunters attempting to clean up for the imminent arrival of the King. “When cleaning up the bodies, separate out those killed by a demon. I need to know how many were killed for this circle.”
“Yes, my prince.”
“Look throughout the whole palace. The demon may not have been contained to a single room.”
General Tynir shifted his eyes around the chamber. “Could this arcanist council burst back from Hell at any moment?”
“Unlikely. All historical references to Hellgates point to them being used as a method for traveling long distances.”
“So you let our quarry get away!”
Yethyr arched his eyebrow. “My quarry was the city itself. Can you honestly tell me that I have failed?”
Tynir scowled. Yethyr was relieved when the General stormed off and Jaetheiri took the General’s space at his side.
“You suspected something like this,” she said.
“I did, but it is different being confirmed, and just in time for me to have to tell my father that Datrea’s ruling council slipped through my grasp.”
“Yes, but they are still on the run. That is something.”
Yethyr only grunted, his attention already consumed by analyzing the remnants of the Hellgate. I could not see the shape of his thoughts; even in his concentration, his mind kept me at arm’s length. With nothing to do, time crawled by. I entertained myself by sensing Jaetheiri’s constant, ever-shifting vigilance whenever someone ever came within reach of the Prince.
Yethyr himself seemed oblivious. He passed random hunters without wariness as he climbed up a tower within the palace. At the top was a room left open to the night air. One could see the whole city and beyond from up there, but Yethyr was more interested in the room itself.
It rang with the echoes of deathsongs already sung. Several deathsinger bodies littered the floor.
“This is where they resisted my Death Circle for all these months,” Yethyr said with admiration. “The dead here likely died from exhaustion.”
He was going to say more, but a Brinn hunter appeared in the stairway.
“My prince, we count 46 bodies with evidence of a demonic attack, 20 of which are among our own men.”
I tried not to laugh at Yethyr’s confusion. He frowned. “How is that possible? Killing us would be no sacrifice for a Datrean—”
Yes, but it was a sacrifice for me and that’s all Aztomag cared about.
A horn sound split through the air. It bellowed throughout the city and amplified in these walls meant to heighten sound.
Yethyr and Jaetheiri did not need to be told what it was. They turned toward the vast view of the city and the fields and mountains beyond. They both squinted to catch a glimpse of the Brinn King’s host on the horizon, but I ignored their search.
The sun was rising.
Dawn. My first dawn.
Daylight was a dream found only in the memories of others. I was born into the darkness of a doomed siege’s final night. I could not have imagined the blinding disk unsheathing itself upon the horizon, more illuminating than all the stars and the moon at once. The broken walls and ruined fields became awash with golden light and for a moment, I saw the radiance of Heaven. I forgot the atrocities. I forgot the indignities. The world had become divine and I knew only awe.
Then dark shapes appeared on the horizon. A war party swarmed the sun-touched grass and marred my brief glimpse of Heaven, but I was not dismayed. A hopeful sense of purpose warmed me from within.
This was the first day of my life, and I was going to make it count.
Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate all the support I have gotten during the transition to move this story to Royal Road. Do tell me what you think! I love comments and often respond to them
I will be posting a chapter every day until July 30, 2025. Make sure to follow the story and come back to read more!
If you knew cats were demons from Hell, would you still keep them as pets?
