The servants bowed, and Maal and Letiri began to rise from their seats. Lannahi hastily set her goblet on the table and straightened, but when she lifted her gaze, she realized she’d made a mistake.
Her movement drew the attention of the royal couple. Their eyes told her that they had guessed that moments earlier she had been drinking while standing, and the look they gave Maal and Letiri—that they hadn’t missed the fact that her siblings had only just gotten up from their chairs.
“Children,” Sarkal spoke up. “It’s nice to see you together. I hope you weren’t arguing.”
His tone was playful, but his attentive gaze left no doubt that his words weren’t exactly a joke, and Lannahi felt a tightness in her chest. It wasn’t a secret that Sarkal was partial to his youngest daughter, but as long as everyone saw her as a child, others, including her siblings, watched with an indulgent smile. Now, however, she was an adult in the eyes of the fae, and the king’s sentiment touched and disturbed her at the same time. Knowing that there was someone ready to defend her gave her comfort, but her father’s kindness was a double-edged sword. It pointed out his greatest weakness—her. If anyone wanted to hurt him, all they had to do was hurt her. Nihhal knew it well, and Lannahi was certain that her siblings understood this as well. Unlike Nihhal, Maal and Letiri didn’t wish Sarkal ill, but the knowledge that their younger sister might set them at odds with their father put her in a dangerous position. Lannahi possessed some power, but it was temporary. If Sarkal ceased to be a king, if something happened to him and Asirri, Lannahi would be completely defenseless. If she abused the power she now wielded, she’d become a desirable target. Fae had long memories, and forgiveness wasn’t a value they cultivated.
Even a tree returns a blow, there was an old saying.
Take vengeance so that your enemy won’t be able to, said another.
“Letiri and Maal invited me to their cities,” Lannahi said in a light tone, “and I’m wondering which court I should visit first.”
Maal and Letiri’s surprise lasted only a fraction of a second. “Mine,” they said at the same time.
Lannahi sent her father a meaningful look and a disarming smile. “We haven’t reached a consensus yet.”
The corners of Sarkal’s mouth lifted slightly in a reflex he couldn’t suppress, but it wasn’t until he surveyed the faces of his older children that the shadow of suspicion vanished from his eyes and a satisfied smile fully settled on his lips. “Tough choice, indeed.”
“If you can’t decide, consider the etiquette,” Asirri suggested. “Maal is older.”
Sarkal waited for his wife to take a seat first and pulled her chair up to the table, not allowing the servant to do so, which was entirely against the etiquette.
“As always, wisdom flows from your lips, wife,” he said with a barely audible note of good-natured mockery in his voice.
Asirri replied in a similar tone. “As always, you are so kind, husband.”
Just as Lannahi’s siblings were different, her parents were similar. They liked experimenting with outfits and colors. Today, Sarkal was dressed in a purple shirt with fanciful embroidery on the sleeves and somber gray pants, while Asirri wore a dress which simplicity was balanced by a multilayered blue gradient. The only thing they rarely changed was their hairstyles. Even when she was younger, Asirri preferred to wear her long hair in an ornate braid chignon instead of letting it flow down her back as enchantresses tended to do, and Sarkal, contrary to his son, cut his hair almost to the skin. They were a hundred years old, but despite the wrinkles around their eyes and gray streaks through their hair, they were the first to roam the orchards and the last to leave the dance floor. They acted serious when necessary, which was often, but they joked whenever they could. They supported each other. They loved each other.
They complemented each other in a way that tugged at the strings in the souls of those who looked at them.
Lannahi wished she didn’t have to leave them so soon.
***
Even though the litter carried by the power of the enchantress walking beside it glided smoothly through the air, Lannahi felt her stomach turn. The thought of what she was about to do paralyzed her. She sat stiffly with her eyes fixed on the wall of the litter, barely registering the sounds coming from outside its walls. She was grateful for the curtains that blocked her from prying eyes, but that gratitude, like everything else, seemed a distant phenomenon. If anyone looked at her now, they would simply see a statue, but Lannahi couldn’t care less.
Her plan had so many pitfalls. The idea was simple—challenge a Ruler of an insignificant city, defeat her in a duel, and let the world forget about it. But each of these elements was based as much on preparation as on hope. Lannahi had chosen her opponent carefully, but she didn’t know her personally. She hoped the woman would be as reasonable as she was said to be, but how could Lannahi know how her opponent would behave in the face of danger? What if she didn’t accept her offer and chose death instead? Such a victory might embroil her family in a bloody conflict. Or, what if out of anger or fear the woman broke the Rules? That Lannahi’s actions could lead to war was terrifying, and the thought that she could be the cause of the destruction of the Continent made her sick. She balanced precariously on a thin rope. There was only one winning scenario that relied on her power of persuasion. If one thing went wrong, the whole plan would be worthless.
It wasn’t a smart strategy, but it was the only one within her reach.
Lannahi felt the litter slow down and descend, and she forced herself to pay attention. She focused on her hands and began to move her fingers, waking her body from the stiff numbness. It was time to act. She could let herself be carried away by fear or lean on her pride. She preferred pride.
The litter landed and after a moment, Souhi enchanted the door to open. Lannahi rose and gracefully stepped outside into the cold, gray day. She was in a square surrounded by colorful buildings, in the middle of which stood two stone pillars. The portal was usually guarded by a few soldiers, but during the time a Trail was open, their number was increased so that the entire square was occupied. When the Trail led to one of the Free Cities, the square was crowded with merchant wagons and bustling with activity. Today, it was quiet. Only a few could enter the Trail to Blacktower.
Seeing that her family had already disembarked from their gray-golden litters and were walking toward the pillars, Lannahi nodded to her assistant and joined them under the watchful eyes of the surrounding soldiers. Considering the importance of the event, their retinue seemed ridiculously small—no servants and no guards—but such were the rules. Only Rulers, their Knights, and Challengers were allowed to attend the Royal Sabbath. It sounded strict, but in practice, the word “Challenger” could be used by anyone and often served as a cover for social purposes. The irony was that Lannahi’s motivation was consistent with the official one, but no one would think so at the sight of her.
Suddenly, the fragment of the landscape framed by the pillars blurred as if someone had spilled water on a freshly painted picture, and three men in dark clothes appeared out of nowhere. Two of them were black-haired and black-eyed, but the one leading the small group was pale and possessed the pointy ears of a pathfinder, while the other had the swarthy complexion and the lizard tail of a firebringer. They were accompanied by a short, slender air elemental with gray wings. Unlike enchanters who wore belt packs full of throwing knives, these fae carried swords at their waists. Their jackets were emblazoned with round obsidian brooches with symbols of their professions painted in silver—a four-pointed star that was the hallmark of Guides Guild for the pathfinder and a simplified elemental mandala worn by the Peacekeepers for the other men.
“Good fate,” Sarkal greeted them.
“Good fate,” the pathfinder replied politely but didn’t bow. Sarkal wasn’t his king.
“Five people,” Lannahi’s father said, watching the man running his gaze over the members of the small retinue. “My family.”
The Guide’s gaze rested on Lannahi. The man smiled but didn’t seem surprised and soon shifted his attention back to Sarkal. “Please follow the guard.”
Hearing these words, the winged Peacekeeper turned around, entered the vibrating space between the pillars, and vanished. This wasn’t the first time Lannahi had seen a portal, but she had never traveled through one, and despite the fear elicited by the specter of the duel hanging over her head, she felt a rush of excitement. People often said that walking the Trail was an otherworldly experience. It was usually meant as a jest, but the fact was that no one knew whereexactlythe Trails were located. Of all the types of magic, this one was the greatest mystery.
