There was nothing more primal than splitting wood.

Or, at least, that's what Sorein believed the Fae of Solraidas decided while they lifted their axes and cut down tree after tree. The Wyving platform deposited both him and Jeremy near the outskirts of a village surrounded by open fields. While cattle grazed through the remaining grass, he couldn't mend his disappointment about the country's falling agriculture.

"How do we find Elive or Seinen here?" Jeremy muttered, glancing around. "Everything has changed."

Indeed it had.

Sorein straightened his back and scanned their surroundings.

His second rolled his neck and stretched each arm out after their Wyve. Better than the bulletwire, Jeremy's complexion wasn't pale and airsick. Either he'd gotten over his fear or was just so restless, his Captain didn't care.

Fully armed—both of them wearing militia grade utility pants and gray jackets with Azurian embroidery—they were given their weapons back.

Despite his ability to summon his sword, Sorein appreciated the minor conveniences of the two daggers strapped to his belt with a few other tricks he carried. With mana infused into certain objects, he could transfer his magic longer distances than most Fae. A skill he learned from Taeori his last visit.

Jeremy kept patting his sides, reminding himself he was in fact equipped.

The spanning fields were overwhelming. With little in sight, a shack with cracked beams and ivy coated walls was their best shot at directions.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sorein strolled toward the bay house with a level head. The Fae working the docks were dirt slicked and straining, loading cargo from their ports. The smell of spices and herbs were wafting over them.

At least it wasn't fish.

Two sailors spoke a few feet of way, the latter stalking off to finish a begrudging task, evidently.

"Excuse me," Sorein asked the larger man, a smoke hanging from his lips. "Do you know where we'd find Seinen Ravellier?"

"Ravellier? What ya' want with that sorry sod?"

He fought the urge to huff a laugh. "Want? Nothing. Ezre Ravellier sent me."

"Ah. What's a Prince doin' takin' orders from another man's king?"

Sorein's hands clenched against the fabric of his pants. "Mutual interest."

The sailor scoffed, jutting his chin north. "'Bout five miles north, you'll find a brick 'ouse with some old fencin'. Elive discarded that sack of skin the minute he left his girl. Good luck getting anything outta 'em."

"His girl?" Jeremy asked, brows furrowing.

"The Princess of course," the second man said, throwing a crate down between them. "Some father."

"I have a question," Jeremy muttered. "Queen Destry claims Solraidas opposes Iliya Dalminai's birth. What do the courts say?"

The first man—clearly a boat captain or manager—snorted. His flicked a dismissive hand at his charge and waited for the youth to leave.

"Certain 'ouse's do. Turrien's have a bone to pick about everything, Alvero's too. Mochaini's are a mixed bag. But Elive ain't puttin' up with none of it. Solraidas acknowledges the youngling."

Jeremy hummed with narrowed eyes, shooting Sorein a look.

One he could read clear as day.

Destry's plans were much broader than any had anticipated. She'd trained Iliya from birth an entire county–and entire people hated her. Then masterminded a world where her daughter lived in isolation.

He could grip the strands of a bigger picture.

"Thank you," Sorein said nodding.

These sailor gave another loose wave and turned to his crate of goods.

Jeremy elbowed him in the ribs as they walked away. "What are you doing? Ezre told you to seek out Elive."

"Ezre told me to find Iliya," Sorein snapped back. "We're wasting time in Solraidas, we might as well figure out what Destry's game is."

"Look, I don't think she's here either, but you've got to win Ezre's trust before you go rogue."

His jaw clenched.

He continued down the path, keeping his eyes on the horizon ahead of them. The last place she'd been taught to go with people whom Iliya viewed as threats. She wasn't here.

He knew she wasn't here.

Jeremy followed a few steps behind, wordlessly.

Sorein's boots scraped against the gravel path in a steady rhythm. A grounding noise, he'd use to focus on the task at hand. If Seinen knew where Iliya was, he'd swallow his pride.

Then kill him.

~ 🔮 ~

"What is this place?"

Iliya's wonder-filled voice sounded so far away as she saw millions of light flares before her eyes. As if she was shouting down on an island from great heights.

A frosty blue light flashed, shaking her concentration.

She gasped.

Opening her eyes with a gasp, Damien was on his feet, a hand on the hilt of a blade she hadn't seen before.

His mana, just like his eyes, appeared like fresh snow capping the mountains surrounding them. The very essence of his being cold to the touch.

"Damien?"

The King of Zavere's critical eyes were trained on the forest below. When nothing appeared, she pushed up onto her knees for a better look.

Still nothing.

"Are you up for a perimeter run, Ifinka?"

His voice dropped, feigning warmth. The lengths he went to in order to protect her sensitivities was curious for the man Mairin had described.

Despite her perpetual trepidation where the Fae were involved, Iliya could read Damien. Truly. What she couldn't asses was if that had been by his design.

She nodded.

His baritone deepened further with his next order.

"Stay behind me."

A real order.

One he might give to his own subject.

Iliya's head dipped again.

"Let's go," Damien said, helping her onto her feet. "We head south first."

After crashing the council meeting, Iliya waited for an opportunity to ask about Ashej's fear. No one mentioned who was hunting on his land. And if they spread into Zaverian Territory, she might just feel bad for them.

The tower steps led them down into the gravel of his courtyard, leaving a gated opening where they could slip away unnoticed by the staff.

Besides the Priestesses, she wasn't used to actual staffing. Cooks, maids, even a messenger boy Damien hired from Darkwell to help their family.

So navigating in secrecy would be challenging if he didn't want to arouse the guards suspicions.

"What are we looking for?" she whispered.

Damien stopped by a river bed under the cover of thick spruce trees. The pine needles crunched around them with nocturnal wildlife, stealing a sense of control.

Gooseflesh trailed down Iliya's spine into her arms.

The cold was seeping through her clothes, burrowing through the cotton, and freezing her core. Each tiny bump replaced smooth skin with scales of standing hair.

Instead of answering, the King stooped down and picked up a thin ribbon of fabric.

"Dynali," he replied, offering her a look. "When Solraidas and Taeori banish them, many end up here. Toskapel Is still wild. Still unfettered by city pollution and noise."

"Is that what The Chieftain is worried about?"

Damien snorted. "No. Well—perhaps if he had any sense. Instead of thinking of the likely, Ashej is concerned Castors from Darkwell want his land. Thus why Isla was present for said council meeting. She is the Caster on High."

Pursing her lips, Iliya crossed her arms. "Every Caster I've met seems perfectly reasonable. Why doesn't he simply address them?"

"As you've well seen, The Chieftain is not. That is why my patience with him thins."

In any other case, she might laugh.

"What?"

Iliya stiffened, staring back at him.

"I might like to see that."

Damien rolled his eyes, waving her off. "Trust me, you wouldn't."

"The council meeting was entertaining enough."

Her great grandfather's only response was a raised brow.

Iliya shrugged and stepped up beside him. "Where did this come from?"

"I don't know," he admitted, turning to follow what she imagined was the border. "Why don't we find out?"

~ 🔮 ~

To his dismay, the forests north of the docks hadn't been touched.

Sorein and Jeremy made their way through a thick maple grove. The leaves were just beginning their descent into a yellow glow, changing the shade of the woods around them.

The house the sailor had referred to was settled in a clearing just beyond the overgrowth.

The brick building was barely a house, more appropriately called a tall tower with glass windows. Ivy wound up the round base and cradled the first two window sills, leaving spots of red and brown to peek through.

"What are you going to say to him?" Jeremy asked, breaking their hour long silence.

Sorein kept his mouth shut.

Nothing kind wanted to escape anyway and Jeremy didn't deserve his venom.

Even if Seinen hadn't seen Iliya since she was born, it wouldn't be long enough.

He stalked through the broken fencing and right up to the wooden door.

Stopping, he stared at the home. Truly viewing it from the outside. The foundation was crumbling, several windows were cracked, and even the weeds had over grown what was once likely a beautiful garden.

Hopelessness sucked energy from the soul faster than any incubus.

Sorein took a deep breath and knocked on the door--relaxing slightly.

Nothing.

No one answered.

He knocked again, more assertively now.

"Ravellier! Open up!"

A deep growl resonated inside the home. Then followed a few stomping thuds and a small crash.

When a haggard male nearly ripped the wood from its hinges, the house shook.

"Who are you?"

Sorein blinked.

Between the dark, shaggy auburn hair and his unkempt face, Seinen appeared more wild than a hateful man. Fear, anguish, pain, and sorrow were the curse. The burden. Even those words couldn't encapsulate the former king-elect.

The words seemed to die in his throat when he saw Sorein.

"My name is Sorein Chakrine," he answered mechanically. Every vengeful insult died on his tongue. "I've been assigned to find Iliya Dalminai. Is there a reason Ezre would believe she was here?"

Seinen sneered and went to slam the door.

Sorein's eyes narrowed, throwing out his hand to catch it. "Don't. Your daughter is my closest friend. I was being polite the first time."

Iliya's father—Destry's once husband—slowly lowered his hand, despite being clenched with rage.

His eyes narrowed. "A Chakrine's confidant? Ezre claims she loathes the Fae."

"She fears them, the way you feared Heithos enough to leave her. You though? You she hates. You're the one she blames for Destry's chains. So tell me if you've seen her so I might be on my way."

"You sound as though you already know the answer," Seinen remarked in a sardonic tone. "So tell me, where is she?"

Sorein chest heated with those vengeful words again. "Somewhere far away from you or Ezre, where she might learn the truth."

Seinen's eyes widened.

"She's... She's in Zavere?"

The ground fell out from under him. How could he have–?

"Ezre claims she's not."

Iliya's father snorted. "My father says a lot of things."

"How do you mean?"

Seinen grabbed his doorknob, glaring ruefully into Sorein's eyes. "Ask my father where Alette Chakrine is. Better yet, ask yours."