"The heart, untainted by the shadows of cognition, remains innocent.
It is the mind, that crucible of thought, where darkness germinates and evil takes root."

- "The Five Gods and the Fox, Chapter IV: The Dichotomy of Human Nature"

"WHAT do you make of her?" Lord Tuyon asked fingering the stem of his goblet while he stared out the city where plumes of smoke curled into the sky.

He must think it's poisoned. Ricardus sighed and settled back into his chair, "I think she needs a knife in her heart, buried deep." He spat as he lifted his golden goblet of wine, the rim made of polished bronze. The wine inside was bitter, of course, it was. Eshan wine was bitter, the last barrel of it in the cellars; Seven Lords be thanked.

"Of course, Your Majesty, but this is one road we must tread carefully or have our heads mounted on spikes on the walls." Lord Tuyon took his goblet then and drank deeply, like a man dying of thirst. The red wine drizzled from his mouth into his silk and some droplets into the small black wire beard. "The girl has sparked intrigue among the High and Low Houses. The High Houses are already against you and the Low Houses look for any opportunities to rise in the ranks so this matter is as dangerous as a drop of Blackwood poison. One drop would be enough to topple you and the entire faction."

I know that fool that is why I have you to help me, Ricardus thought but said, "I see. So what do we do?"He had not an ounce of thought about what to do. He often jumped for the sword when the waters turned grey but this time he couldn't. The threat had grown too great for him to handle with a knife from the shadows, but he could play court with it. But how? Each House either wanted the crown for themselves or wanted someone else to have it and this girl-this wench was threatening an already weakened structure. Seven Lords wring that girl's neck!

Ricardus sighed, setting his goblet on the silver inlaid table of gilded wood, polished until it shone. He sat back on his chair and stared up at the vaulted ceiling where golden candle wheels hung with brightly burning candles on them. The windows were tall and arched, the glass stained in reds and yellow and green and blue depicting past kings, kings of long-forgotten ages.

The high walls were of smooth grey stone, as the rest of the castle, and wrought into them were cressets of gold and brackets of grey iron. The candles they held burned fiercely and slashed shadows on the grey walls. Between the windows hung finely woven tapestries of purple and rich red and gold and silver and along the walls were finely carved wooden furnishings, tall presses, and cupboards or holsters on the walls holding gauntlets or armour or swords.

All of this luxury and that wench wanted to rip it away from his fingers! No, never, never again. Her phethahaehr did it once he best not let her do it. The crown was his by birthright and it would remain his till he was laid to rest. Yes, it would be his.

As Ricardus watched the audience chamber connected to his bedchambers, he smiled cruelly as his thoughts took a road of darkness and madness.

They bounded up the crest of a hill before the land flattened and began to slope roughly then rise lazily into three stretching hills and atop them sat a crumbling structure.

Ardes' heart twinged with a sudden fury, and his grip on his reins tightened. He dug his heel into his horse and sent it into a gallop towards the wasting structure on the hills. It stretched on and on seemingly endless and the spires rising over its black walls had been toppled by age. Their roofs fell in and crumbled. Some stones missing from the walls and standing angularly in their structures as if to fall in the slightest breeze.

The imposing wall had lost its straight and impenetrable structure. It now looked like the ragged teeth of a dragon, some stones missing from the puzzle. Moss grew between the stones and ivy and grass followed. The thin vines wrapped around the stone making beautiful patterns.

The more he rode closer to it, the higher the ruined city seemed to rise. His city, the city of his people. It was once a stronghold of its own. The black stone seemed to absorb the sun and turrets of smoke rising into the sky day and night. Shadows hung in every corner and nook, but now it was a wasteland.

They had taken it all from him.

His comrades.

His love.

His city.

Now the whole world will pay for their crime, I will bend it to my knees and I will rule as a god-king. They will know the height of their betrayal. I swear it!

"Skarstad, the Dark City." A voice called suddenly when he halted before the city gates. Long rusted and pulled from the hinges and hanging loosely as if even the slightest wind would make them fall. Power flooded him instantly, the chill in the air replaced by a boil in his blood. Ardes felt it at the edge of their mind, he need only will it forth then it would come. Conjure monsters from his darkest memories or swords to fight with.

He scanned the shadows, there was nothing at first then suddenly he caught something shimmering from against the walls of the city. Ardes clung on tightly to his power, saliva turning into iron in his mouth.

With a firm voice, he commanded. "Show yourself." He could feel the shadows reaching out towards him. The stead between his thigh was becoming jittery and frightened. Hooves crapped the hard ground nervously.

Then as if to come out of the shadows a man walked out from the shadow cast by the imposing walls. "Most men would rather avoid this ancient city, dark things they say they see." His voice was low and pinched. He wore a cloak so dark that the darkness seemed to be a part of him. It covered him from neck to boot and shifted slightly with each caress on the wind. He looked like a man in his middle forties if not older.

"Most men fear what they do not understand," Ardes told him, squaring his shoulders.

The old man nodded. "You may call me Uwen." The man said fingering his whiskers that fell down his face. They were grey without a touch of black in them, yet he looked young.

"I am called Ard-"

"Bloody Seven Lords, man!" Wynric's voice cut him off as he slowed his horse pulling up beside him. "Don't ye go dashin' off like a young'un chasin' after the first lass he's laid eyes one." He growled, pressing his hands together. Linnet followed after him, silent and intent. Her well-made face was hard like stone.

"I was not chasing after a lass-" he shook his head and sighed. "This Uwen." Ardes gestured at the man who made a deliberate bow.

"What are younglings like you doing here?" Uwen gestured at the looming walls behind him. Ardes stepped up their height. The sun hadn't passed over them yet. That must be why the day is still cold.

"Ask him." Wynric nodded at Ardes.

Ardes shrugged and looked through the gate at the long winding street, empty save for old bones and grass and moving growing on the stone and rotting wood. "It just called to me," he murmured too low for the others to hear. "You can meet me in the nearest inn. I'll take a ride." He told Linnet and Wynric as he steered his horse through the gates of the past.

It felt like yesterday when the city was living with its people. His followers and his fellow Shadowweavers. Looking up Ardes stared at the rising spire that was the Dark Tower which he often used for his council. That's where they had met for the last time, for the final battle that had most of his men killed and his comrades imprisoned in the Rift of Darkness. And him.

He is given a fate worse than death. An eternity in torture. Even now ridding through the ruin of his home Ardes could feel them. The whips of silver ivy vines slashed at his skin and tore away the flesh and he was not given any Healing, just left there until the wounds healed. Sometimes they didn't let them heal, they added salt to them and his screams would flog that dark chamber.

He gritted his teeth, fists clenching on the reins. Now the world will suffer their mistake. I will cloak it in darkness and death, they'll come to fear their very shadows.

Charred carts and wagons lined the street, those that had not been worn away by the years. Bones, crushed to splinters littered street. Some had a golden brown colour to them. Human bones, cat bones, and horse bones are all scattered throughout the winding street. The houses have their tile roofs fallen in, the tile broken and shattered in the streets. Torn grass baskets among rusted iron nails.

Shutters hung loosely on rusted hinges almost falling off and the windows some broken and some so dirty that no amount of scrubbing would get the grime out.

A smile broke Ardes' face as memory flooded him. Lively streets with lanterns encased in patterned cases that cast shadows across the streets but they didn't daunt the people.

Children, screaming with glee, darted between moving carts and wagons playing. Women and men sang and danced around great fires and boys snatched bottles of beer from unwatching eyes and drank them in the corners.

At night, Skarstad seemed more alive than it did in the day.

"After the Shadow War and the Age of Darkness at the end, the Lords and Ladies destroyed the city. Chased all who lived here and killed all those who wished not to leave. They said the city was a thing from the darkness and should not have good folk living in it. Foolishness honestly." Uwen explained, yet his voice sounded far away. Ardes spurred his horse faster, galloping faster towards the Dark Tower ahead.

Soon the houses of the city fell away and faced way to the small walls surrounding the Dark Tower. The immense stone rose above him, seemingly endlessly rising to the blue sky above. The sun just creeping over the stone, but its warmth was faint.

Ardes climbed off the horse and walked through the doorless arch leading inside the Tower. Once there was a table sitting at the center of the main floor of the Tower. A wide circular table where all the Shadowborn would sit and counsel on how to move on with the conquest.

Now the table was gone where it once stood was a scorch mark. No doubt it was Ravin who'd burned the table. The Great Lord of the Flame, Ardes gritted his teeth across the chamber towards an arch on his left. It led into a dark long corridor. The candle holders wrought into walls were long dusted and turned to dust.

These corridors used to be where he chased his comrades, laughing and playing with them before the matters of war called them back again.

He turned into another chamber. Same dark stone, smooth and high vaulted ceiling with many windows rising ever to the ceiling.

Here was where they danced for the last time.

He left that chamber into another again. There they shared their meals, talking about their lives before the Shadow War.

He flogged each layer and floor of the tower, each one held a memory of what he had lost. What they had taken from him. Before he even realised it he was weeping and clinging to his power tightly, frightened that if he let go he might lose all the memories.

When he came out of the Dark Tower the other towers rose out from the city, tipped to one side or the roof missing. The smell of dampness and decay in the air. Skarstad was nothing more than a ruin now. A legend of an age long gone.

Wynric and Linnet emerged then. Their pace was slow and deliberate with Uwen telling them of what little he knew about the city. For Ardes, the scholar-if he was a scholar-, he knew too little about the city.

Ardes wiped the tears from his eyes mounted his horse and turned it around towards the way they had come.

"Ye leavin' already?" Wynric asked gruffly. But Ardes ignored him. He said nothing to all of them as he kicked his horse hard in the ribs and snapped his reins hard sending the horse to a run. The city soon fell away behind him, but he continued to ride.

The wind in his hair and stinging his eyes. His heart pounding in his chest and the boil left his blood as he released his power. Soon the world will give back what I lost.

"Your Majesty," the lord in the gallery across Aalina's gave a deep bow, "I must address the issue of coin and the expanse of the war, my liege. Our coffers have been drained to the dregs and we've started loaning some gold in the merchant guilds." The thin, stocky man said then bowed again taking his seat.

The air in the Tower of Stars was chocked with the stenches of perfume and it was bright, not from the kaleidoscope of colours cast by the pasted silver shards on the ceiling, but the silks of every rich colour worn by the lords. Both High and Low born.

Ricardus nodded gravely from his throne-like chair at his dias. He looked weary and tired, but he tried to hide it under the blood-red doublet he wore, lined with gold embroidery then the black breeches. Yet it could not hide the paleness in his skin and the shadows beneath his eyes.

Best if he is dying, Aalina thought dryly as she smoothed down her rose red skirts that were lined with gold dust and satin, saving me the bloody mess of chopping his head off.

Ricardus opened his mouth, no doubt to reassure the lord with lies, but was suddenly cut off when another lord stood. Unlike the last, this one was tall and lean with a robust form to him, years of youth still about him even with the touch grey on his temples. His face was flat and wide but handsome nonetheless.

"Your Majesty, how did the prince fare in his venture across the sea to the Empire? Are we finally allowed to trade in Esha now?" The man asked hastily, his voice higher than it should have been. Colour touched his cheeks when every head turned to him, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes cold and hard.

The young man who sat in a throne-like chair beside the king, though less grandeur, sighed and shook his head. "I fared terribly, the Empress does not wish to acknowledge the king of Ustela as the true king. Much like her father too."The prince, Aalina supposed since he answered, told them.

The heavy hand of dread settled over the silence of the tower. They needed gold to keep the men fighting and there was no gold. Soon the merchant guilds would cease their loaning and come demanding their coin and if they could not provide...

Aalina stood then, an idea suddenly came to her. "Why not send me." She said, not as a question. Heads turned to her. She could feel them boring into her, feel some of their lustful eyes striping her bare for their eyes. It was almost a struggle not to wrap her arms around her breasts.

"Send you?" Ricardus and another lord asked simultaneously and incredulously.

"Yes, she nodded and stood, "send me to speak with the Eshan ruler. If she does not wish to acknowledge Ricardus as the king she surely considered my phethahaehr one and a daughter should help as much as the king himself."

"But how-"

"Tell her that I am to be queen. If she does not believe that my uncle is the true king of Ustela then send me. A daughter of one whom she acknowledged as one should help and we are both women. There is something that only women understand within each other." A threatening silence claimed the audience chamber.

Lords started at her, some whipped behind hands at one another nodding slowly to one another. Then suddenly the stocky man who had spoken first jumped from his seat.

"And why should you trust you, my Lady? As we all know and witnessed you challenged the king for his crown and your ambitions to take the crown were halted it seems oddly suspicious that you would want to go as an emissary to a foreign land where we may not know what you may say to the foreign people. You may convince them to sail with an army across the Sunken Sea and we would be forced to kneel. So why, my kind Lady, should we trust you?" All eyes turned to her again. Hard faces calculating, kill her to make her an ally. Aalina could already feel the cold touch of the sword on her neck, ready to be brought down.

Aalina took a deep breath and smoothed her skirts once more. That was starting to become a terrible habit that she ought to stop.

"Because this is my land as much as it's yours, My Lord-"

"Ferro."

"My Lord Ferro. If I come with an army to seize the crown there'll be a blood bath and a field of corpses all over Ustela and once I do that the Ufral break through and we're all slaughtered while we squabble." It was the obvious answer.

"But there could be trickery-"

"My Lord, you've spent your entire fleeting life suspecting everything and everyone even when not necessary. Your inability to trust will have all our corpses pecked clean by crows and let me remind you as it seems you have forgotten we also have some issues with the Dragon People of the Isles. An Eshan army is made of men but the Dragonfolk could roast like pork if they wanted to." Aalina finished with a shrug. All this talking sickened her, made her skin crawl with an itch and her gut clench with dread.

Talking never did anything but make you more miserable because you're constantly reminded of your losses and how doomed you are. It was something best not done in situations such as these, but Britius might beg to differ her opinion in that.

The thought of the man had her grimacing. Two weeks since she left and she hadn't yet written to him. She would have to write tonight.

"The girl speaks truly, my lords and king." A thin old man at the end of her side of the gallery spoke up. His voice was thin and sounded like croaking. He was a lord of a High House, all the ones who sat in the gallery and not in the half-circle tables below were, but you could not say over the way he was dressed. He wore somberly. A dark green doublet and white tunic underneath it. Black breeches and short boots that ended just over his ankles.

And he looked frail. More frail than the stocky Lord Ferro. He was one of those old men who clung on to life by the finest thread and his sons watched enviously from the shadows, praying for his dead so they could claim their inheritance. "...we are at war and mistrust among us is poisonous. Have the girl sail across the sea and try if she can to get the Eshan to open their trade to us. We need the men and no man will work without gold in their hands." The man snored, nodding slowly. "We should send an emissary to the Dragonfolk too. We need them to trade with us again and if we can, lend us their flying monsters so we can roast the fucking Ufralian." He ended his speech with a snorted chuckle.

Then the tower burst in argument.

"...send an emissary to the Dragonfolk..."

"... remember the last one..."

"...the savages flayed him living and roasted him like pork..."

"....we cannot..."

Aalina grimaced and sank in her seat, a hand placed firmly on her stomach clenched tightly with dread and fear, she realised with a start. She feared something, but she did not know what but it was a tug at the back of her head.

*

The audience had ended an hour ago but Aalina's head was still pounding fiercely as if a boulder crashed on it, hammering it flat. The lords had bickered since about the Dragonfolk how dangerous they were and how they should not be trusted. She wondered how her phethahaehr survived with such fools without jumping for his sword to kill them all.

Truly they were fools.

But now she found that she didn't have the appetite to think about them, there were other things she had to handle. Like the letter for one. She did not doubt that it was either a lordling sent by their fathers or the lord himself, planning to gamble with her. The fools thought her foolish enough to consider it.

But she had to avoid making enemies. Have too many and she would wake with her throat slit and that would mean that Ricardus had the crown forever, without paying for his sin. That she could not allow-would not allow.

With a tired sigh, she pulled her skirts just over her boots pushed the door of the library inward, and slipped through the small crack.

Immediately after she was inside warmth and the smell of old parchment and wet filled her nose. The library was a wide and tall chamber with an arched vaulted ceiling that held up smooth grey stone pillars. The walls were lined with endless shelves of books that rose to the ceiling. Between them were tall arched windows of pieces of stained glass glued together.

For the librarians to reach the books in the upper shelves they had iron railings and balconies with the railings forged like vines of ivy.

On the black marble floor, there were tall shelves, groaning under the weight of books and stretching endlessly toward the end of the library.

Among the shelves, there were long tables and round tables scattered about the shelves and one of them burned thick scented candles. The fragrance of roses and lavender laced the air. Threads of red light from the setting sun sank lower from the window, their slashes retreating as the sun sat.

Aalina strode further into the library, her eyes darting to the rising shadows that flickered across the floors and walls.

And who am I supposed to be looking for?

She started down one aisle of bookshelves looking between them for anyone, but there was no one. It was empty. But she didn't believe that. Her skin prickled with an invisible itch, she was being watched. But not the way that made you feel comfortable, it was not the way someone stalked the shadows to stab you when they got the chance, but it was just an itch at the back of your head.

An itch she could not scratch but was intensely irritable. Before she noticed she had reached the far back of the library. Moonlight poured in from the window above and the arch of its silver light touched at her feet. The itch had just grown stronger.

"Once a scholar had a theory that when one grows older so does the brain. At first, I thought it was nonsense, the brain just builds a wall around some memories, but it seems that Balbazar was correct. The mind grows old as the body." A voice spoke melancholy oozing from the smooth voice. Like a sword's blade gliding over marble.

The voice gave Aalina a start. She jumped around turning to the burning brazier in the corner. A man sat before the large flames, in a chair before a long table one hand holding a leather-bound thick book open and the other scratching the great lump of fur seated on the table.

A tom cat, fat as any she had ever seen and shaped like ham, the thick tail swung over the table edge slowly and its eyes were closed. The breathing is slow. It was asleep.

"Who are you?" Aalina asked taking a step forward, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Her body was trembling. She tried steeling herself but she couldn't. Fear had its grip on her tightly, holding her firmly like a stable master would hold the reins of a horse.

The man chuckled, it sounded like a whetstone being run over the blade of a sword, he turned his head towards her. Dark blue Asemon eyes met hers. The man smiled and his eyes twinkled with mischief and amusement.

"The little rose has finally bloomed." He snapped his book shut set it down on the table and stood, strode towards her.

Now that he had turned fully toward her she could see his features. He was tall and lean. Skin fair and hair brushed to a sheen and black as night. It was the prince, son of Ricardus. Suddenly she recalled him from all those years ago. When she had last seen the man he had been a boy, thin and frail but always energetic.

They used to haunt the corridors of Thorn Castle, playing jokes on the castle staff when she had last seen him he was sent to fostering in a Low House in the Sealands.

"Reynald?" Aalina asked in disbelief.

He laughed again and took her in his arms, lifted her, and spun her around like a rag doll. But she didn't mind, she laughed as her hair spun and the world blurred to only Reynald's handsome face. When he finally set her down again, she was dizzy and the world kept shifting under her feet. She could hardly stand. Her weight burdened her legs. Aalina tottered forward, legs tangled each other and she stumbled and fell face-first, but she was caught by Reynald's strong grip.

"Careful, my Lady, rumour would spread that I struck you if fall and grow a bruise." He gave a light chuckle helping her to stand straight.

"Reynald," Aalina whispered still in disbelief, "how-"

"May the flame of the Seven shine upon them and by the Death Wolf guide them to their eternal rest." He cut her off, his voice melancholic. "Sorry for your loss, my Lady." He bowed his head, tears glistening in his eyes. A dagger went through Aalina's heart and cut her deep, she felt her stomach knot tighter now and rage rose inside of her, threatening to costume her. She saw red in her vision, her breathing quickened, and her whole body trembled.

Not now, she had to breathe. She had to fight, she would not let him win. Not after waiting for so long. She would have his head on a platter and decorating the Throne Hall of the castle. Ricardus would die but she just had to wait and plot.

Slowing her breathing, Aalina clenched her fists to stop her trembling and looked up to Reynald.

"I've mourned and wept, that is gone now." She tried to smile but she couldn't. She wanted to scream. Scream until the itch at the back of her throat was gone and her throat raw.

"Father's crime must not be forgiven now," Reynald said suddenly looking at her. Aalina gave a startled yelp. How did he know?

Reynald smiled grimly. "There is some gift in being a Reader. There are things that you find out, but some..." he frowned and shook his head, "you need to tread carefully Aalina, if you mean to truly take the crown."

That shocked her. "You know? But why-"

"Because that is how the mechanics of court work. Make none your enemy but make them their enemies. Support none but promise of support." He turned away from her and walked to his table. Aalina followed behind, confused. Why would he support her, he was the crown prince after all and the crown would go to him when his father passed-

"I have no ambitions for the Thorn Crown. It does queer things to men who seek it, it corrupts them."

Aalina laughed bitterly. "We are all corrupted. Best we not forget it or fool ours to being saints."

"Aye, but still the crown..." he rubbed the tomcat's spine slowly, peering into the flames. Suddenly forgotten now. It made her smile, Ricardus was like that. He would forget that he was with someone because he was busy listening or Reading as some called it, other thoughts. "The crown is a dangerous thing to desire. But seeing that you want it I suppose I could help you gain it."

"But why?" She blurted before she could think.

Reynald turned to her and raised a brow. "I would tell you that it is because you're the rightful heir to it but...father...is mad. No longer growing mad and if the crown continues to sit on his head there is bound to be a rebellion. There is to be war and bloodshed and Seven Lords know that we cannot afford that now."

"If that is your reason why not choose any other House, surely they would-"

"Choose those fools?" He laughed dryly, "Half of them would like nothing more than to trade the kingdom to the Ufral to end the war and the other want to fight to the bitter end. Because of some foolish honour." He shrugged slowly. "In all of them, you're the best option I have for the kingdom."

Though it was not comforting to know his thoughts on why he was truly helping her. Aalina felt joy because Reynald was another ally, one she could trust. A smile forced herself on her face as she stepped towards Reynald.

"Then why don't we drink some wine and tell how the last fourteen years of our lives have been?" She suggested looking into his dark blue eyes.

Reynald smiled. "That would be good."