The essence wars an envi.., p.52
The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 52
She was not known to be blessed by the Essence. The further north one traveled, the rarer Tripolism became, save for Herastium itself and a handful of individuals. That was what made the Herastium fields so significant. And now, Umbraxis too, a Tripolistic wolf, gifted with something no human or animal had ever been known to possess. Healing was one thing, but returning from death? That belonged to fairytales of the Essence, not reality. It had never been believed possible.
Yet, Umbraxis was proof.
Maerwyn inhaled sharply. ‘What do you want of me?’ She saw no need for courtesy anymore.
Lady Elyth’s smile never wavered. ‘Oh, my dear. You are in one of my many establishments across the city. You are quite safe here, and I mean you no harm.’
Maerwyn didn’t trust that for a second.
‘You have a wonderful gift, Maerwyn. And Liro here believes you should stand with him and Umbraxis. Together, you would have a future in Elanwyn. Together, you would become the protectors of the New Realm.’
Maerwyn stiffened. ‘The New Realm?’
Lady Elyth lifted a hand to silence her. ‘Now, dear, let me explain it all to you. And if you will, please, let me finish.’
Maerwyn gave a curt nod.
‘The Eastern Union is fracturing. You must know that by now. The Chancellor wants you dead. I can talk him out of this. I can ensure your family’s safety, your own safety, even the safety of the Westerners you traveled with. But more than that, my dear, I can offer you a place in what is to come. When the New Realm takes shape, rest assured, you will have a role in it.
‘King Hart II will not remain in power for long. Like the rulers before him, he cannot see that the Union’s reformation is long overdue. If you want a seat at the table to shape the future of the north, the future of the world, Liro has foreseen your place within it. With you at his side, you will forge a new history, a new realm, an empire that will not crumble under greed.’
Elyth leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. ‘And with that, my dear, you will have control over the world’s most valuable resource.’
Maerwyn barely had time to think. The answer came to her immediately. Plocetol.
Elyth smirked.
Maerwyn’s stomach twisted.
‘Ride north now, my dear,’ Elyth continued smoothly, as if that smirk had never happened. ‘Find sanctuary in Domen. Find your long-lost friend, Wens. You will be safe there. You will have refuge. And when the time comes—’ Elyth’s eyes darkened slightly, ‘you will know when it does—you will be called upon to defend your people.
‘Together, King Liro and Queen Regent Maerwyn will shape the vision that even the whisperers have foreseen.’
CHAPTER 32 – The Seeds of Gor
Afternoon heat clung to the city, thick and unmoving. Roasted meats, damp stone, and the acrid tang of iron drifted from the forges, but beneath it all lingered the human reek of sweat, waste, and something sour, like rainwater trapped too long in the gutters. Street noise rose around her: vendors calling out, carts clattering past, footsteps crowding the stone, all of it pressing in, indifferent to the turmoil twisting inside her mind.
What had just happened in that empty brothel, that hidden den of power masquerading as pleasure, would not leave her.
She had met the boy she had once tripped over and threatened after he had spied on her and Braegor. And now, she understood. He had not just been a boy. He had instigated the attack. The wolf had not chosen her at random. Liro had known who she was all along. And now, he had revealed his fantasy to her.
A fairytale king and queen.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself forward through the streets. He was noble-born, privileged, and apparently Tripolist. But he was no heir to the throne. The only way he would wear a crown would be through regicide.
And how could a boy, no older than fourteen, orchestrate something like that?
He had to have help.
Lady Elyth. Or perhaps his father, whoever that was.
Maerwyn knew nothing of Lady Elyth’s personal life. If she had ever taken a consort, it had never been spoken of. Maerwyn had always assumed her to be a political architect, someone who had forged alliances but never bound herself to any. A spinster by choice, avoiding marriage to keep her power unchallenged.
Now, she was creating an allegiance.
One that included Maerwyn.
She gritted her teeth. Liro was at least ten years her junior, and she was being asked to set aside her own will, her own future, and become his Queen Regent while he seized the throne from King Hart II, the rightful ruler of Elanwyn.
She could barely comprehend it.
Marriages at Liro’s age were rare, but not forbidden. As long as a minister deemed the union stable, beneficial, and politically sound, it would be sanctioned. Maerwyn had never considered marriage. Not for politics. Not for love. Not for anything.
She had never felt attraction toward anyone.
And she certainly did not intend to play a role in regicide.
Yet, as she strode through the streets of Gusia, the weight of reality pressed in.
She had no protection.
The Chancellor wanted her dead.
Grantchu and Kaedryn were exposed, with no safety anywhere in the Eastern Union.
The settler camp was at risk.
And her parents, by The Essence... her parents. If the Chancellor turned his focus on them, what power did they have to defend themselves? If the people sided with the Chancellor, their business would be ruined.
If she turned Elyth down, she might very well be turning down the lives of everyone she loved.
She arrived at the stable where her horse and Braegor were being housed.
Braegor yelped with excitement the moment he saw her, his tail wagging furiously as he pranced around inside the stall. He let out short, eager whines, pressing his nose against the wooden slats as if he might squeeze through them just to get to her.
Amademira, the gray stallion, remained composed beside him. The horse had been well trained to be around Tripolist animals, a discipline Salc Theros had personally instilled. He had not only been a master swordsman, but a master trainer as well. Patience, control, discipline—these were the qualities he had passed to the stallion. Even now, Amademira stood unmoved by Braegor’s energy, his dark eyes tracking Maerwyn with a quiet understanding.
She ran a hand over the stallion’s sleek coat, murmuring his new name under her breath. Amademira—an ancient Verdathisian word meaning of swordsman. It felt fitting.
She should have turned north. Should have begun the long, uncertain journey toward Domen and Wens.
Instead, she rode south.
She no longer fought the feeling, no longer tried to justify it in her mind. It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t even desperation. It was something else, something she could not name, but something that had settled so deep inside her bones that resisting it would have been as useless as resisting breath.
And not long after she had passed through the southern gates, she realized she was not alone in this feeling.
Roughly two miles from the city walls, beneath the swaying branches of the dryland trees, a lone black courser stood waiting. Its rider was a familiar figure: broad-shouldered, unmoving, watching the road ahead as if he had known she would come.
Grantchu.
Maerwyn smiled, a real, unguarded smile. The first one in what felt like an eternity. Braegor rushed forward, his excitement renewed, and Amademira followed at a steady pace, neither hurried nor hesitant, as if he too knew the reunion had been inevitable.
She dismounted, and Grantchu did the same. For a moment, they just stood there, facing each other in the warm stillness of the afternoon.
It wasn’t romance. It wasn’t longing. But it was something.
Something unsettling in its intensity, something that shouldn’t have existed yet refused to be ignored. A force between them, unspoken and unshakable.
Maerwyn’s smile lingered, small and sheepish, as she glanced at the ground.
‘You didn’t go south?’ she asked.
‘I did. I just went a bit north afterwards,’ he replied.
The words hung between them, simple and matter-of-fact, yet carrying something neither of them had the inclination to dissect.
They sat beneath one of the trees, its tiny lemon-scented blossoms drifting in the breeze. Small red-and-black insects hovered with a soft hum, darting between the pollen-rich flowers in short, precise bursts. They never drifted, always choosing. They moved in increments, as if every shift of wing and angle had already been measured.
Maerwyn recounted the events in Gusia with steady control, though beneath her words lingered something quieter: loss, regret, and the quiet ache of knowing some things would never return. And threaded through it all, a strange sense of freedom.
Much of what she said came as a shock to Grantchu.
One, she had been cast out of Gusia and The Gainfolds, stripped of all ties to any nation within the Eastern Union. That part was almost expected.
But the rest, the boy, the throne, the absurd notion of a marriage that would tie her to the future of an empire, was something else entirely.
Grantchu drew a tight breath through his nose, shaking his head. ‘You’re serious?’
Maerwyn gave a humorless chuckle. ‘I wish I wasn’t.’
She didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching her. That was the thing about him; she could always feel when he was watching her.
Not in the way a man looked at a woman. Not in the way a friend studied a companion.
Something else.
Neither of them had a name for it.
And neither of them wanted to try finding one. Neither would they discuss it.
‘So, you’re being asked to commit regicide. And Lady Elyth was serious?’ Grantchu asked, shaking his head. ‘She has a reputation for being ruthless in the West. Saylong once called her the most dangerous woman alive, and it upset many people in The Order. Maybe this shouldn’t be surprising. But does she actually think you’ll go through with it?’
Maerwyn glanced toward the horizon, her breath slipping out slow and quiet. ‘I don’t know. It wasn’t like she gave me a choice. It was almost as if she already knew I’d go to Domen.’
She turned back to him, her voice quieter. ‘I’m not. We need to get you and Kaedryn off The Gainfolds. They know where you are. I’m sorry, Grantchu. I was misled into thinking you were safe.’
Grantchu frowned. ‘You can’t go back to Jonika,’ he said. ‘The Chancellor will be expecting you there. And if Lady Elyth thinks you won’t uphold your end of the deal, marrying that child, do you think she’ll stop Rhaelmar from taking his vengeance on you? We’ve killed his guard, his specialists. None of us are safe.’
‘I can’t go straight to Domen.’ Maerwyn’s voice wavered, but only for a moment. ‘I need to send someone to warn my parents.’
She hesitated, then made her decision aloud. ‘The only other place I can think of is the island of Realm. There are smaller villages near Jahtza, where we could blend in, lay low until this war explodes into something no one can control.’
Grantchu didn’t respond right away. He was watching her, waiting for her to continue.
‘Or maybe this will all blow over,’ she added, though she wasn’t sure if she believed it. ‘Lady Elyth was so confident I wouldn’t speak of the regicide. That means she has more than just plans. The wheels are already in motion. I don’t think there’s anything I can do now to stop a civil war. And if the East fractures, the West will see its opportunity.’
She shook her head, forcing down the thought. ‘Realm is the only place between the East and the West where we can disappear for now. You’ll be able to make your choice there, and I won’t hold it against you. And you know...’ She paused, inhaling slowly. ‘I’ll make my choice too.’
Her fingers curled against the hilt of her sword.
‘Even if I’ve been cast out, this is my land. These are my people. I have nowhere else. And I don’t need anywhere else. This is my home.’
Her voice hardened. ‘Right now, for survival, we go no further. Lady Elyth expects me to go to Domen. And eventually... I will.’
The two talked for a long while, strategizing, turning over every possible path forward.
Then Grantchu said something that made Maerwyn still.
It came from nowhere, like an idea struck from a falling star.
‘What if we go to Gor?’
Maerwyn blinked, momentarily thrown by the absurdity of it.
Gor. The forbidden island. A place only spoken of in whispers, a place that no one visited, not willingly.
She opened her mouth to dismiss it, to tell him it was impossible, that Realm was safer, that they couldn’t afford to chase foolish ideas. The words never came.
Because the moment he said it, she felt it too.
The pull.
She hadn’t realized how many small coincidences had pointed them there until she heard it spoken aloud. How the name had lingered at the edges of things, unspoken yet present. How the signs had not just led them, but demanded they see it.
Maybe it was more than just a sign.
Maybe it was a condition of their attraction, the force neither of them spoke of, but both felt. The unexplainable pull that had only strengthened with each passing day.
It felt right.
It felt inevitable.
And for the first time, Maerwyn, who had never once dreamed of stepping foot on the forbidden island, could not imagine a future where they didn’t.
The two mounted their horses and began the slow journey back toward the settler’s camp.
By Maerwyn’s calculations, Astra would be full in ten days. That was all the time she had. If she wasn’t beyond The Gainfolds by then, she would become Arlen’s hunted.
She couldn’t go to Jonika. The Chancellor would expect her there. She couldn’t go north. Not yet. That would mean falling into Lady Elyth’s hands, and Elyth knew too much. Not just about Maerwyn, but about Wens Theers as well.
From now until perhaps forever, anyone associated with her would be in danger. Perhaps it was better that she no longer associated herself with anyone at all. She had the skills to live off the land. She didn’t need protection, didn’t need alliances. And if Gor was truly a place no one visited, then maybe, just maybe, they could disappear there.
The road stretched before them, the shadows of the evening deepening. Braegor padded alongside Amademira, his movements light, almost effortless. The conversation between Maerwyn and Grantchu was sparse, while the air carried the rising scent of the lemon-gums, their fragrance growing stronger as the sun dipped toward the horizon.
Eventually, Maerwyn broke the silence. ‘What did you name him?’
Grantchu glanced at his horse, his fingers brushing the reins. ‘Zarath,’ he said simply.
Maerwyn raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s a good name. Where’d it come from?’
Grantchu shrugged. ‘It just means black.’
And that was that.
No further explanation, no embellishment. Just a name, as simple and grounded as the man himself.
A weight loosened across Maerwyn’s shoulders, and her stance softened without her noticing. The tension in her jaw eased; her breath came quieter, steadier. For the first time in days, she wasn’t bracing for what came next. There was no reason for it, no justification for the relief pressing lightly against her chest. Yet for this ride, this journey south, she felt purpose. For the first time, she saw a future beyond the war, beyond the suffocating grip of political upheaval. She wasn’t free. She wasn’t safe. For now, she was moving forward.
Thoughts of her parents returned. Maerwyn had always imagined standing by their side, facing whatever misfortune the world brought. Still, she had to trust this feeling now. Once, she had ignored it, pushing Grantchu and Kaedryn away, believing she was doing the right thing.
Now, she knew better.
Now, she had to listen.
They weren’t just following her. They weren’t just companions. They were protecting her, just as she needed to protect them.
The past weighed differently on her shoulders now. The horrors in Jonika, the brutal murder of Stormer Theers, had left her needing someone to blame. And she had blamed Kaedryn and Grantchu.
It had never been Kaedryn’s fault.
The Camouflager had been beyond any assassin she had ever encountered, an untraceable ghost who had vanished through the forest at Slip’s Outpost without so much as a whisper. She hadn’t seen him. She hadn’t sensed him. She had blamed Kaedryn because it had been easier than accepting that some threats could not be stopped.
Her mind shifted to the powers shaping the Eastern Union, the ones pulling its fate in different directions.
Arlen Velthar. He felt like the safest of them, bound by tradition and the wisdom of his whisperers. Conservative, yes. Yet loyal to his people.
Chancellor Rhaelmar. A man who wielded power like a cleaver, cutting down anything he deemed weak. There was no patience in him, no long-game. More callous than calculated.
And then, there was Lady Elyth Draemir.
Until today, she had been an enigma, a shadow in the political theater. But now, Maerwyn saw her for what she truly was: a calculated manipulator who had already positioned her pieces long before Maerwyn had even stepped onto the board.
Elyth had a plan for Elanwyn. A plan that included Maerwyn.
She wasn’t the only one.
The Chancellor had once wanted something from her, too, before his paranoia had overtaken his greed. He had chosen to eliminate her rather than use her.
And now, somewhere in Aliztar, Lirioneth, General Thalrice Arondar was returning, either to claim a victory or to justify a defeat.
The daggers, the ones the Chancellor had pleaded for had been recovered. At what cost? Five Tripolist soldiers, dead. A Tracker, a Shielder, a Sniper, a Breaker, all gone.
Worst of all, Salc Theros, the master duelist, was lost.
Only Thalrice and the Shadow, the Camouflager, had survived. And though the mission had succeeded in that respect, Maerwyn knew failure still clung to it. She and the Westerners still breathed. Not a single one of them had fallen. Although she and Grantchu were not sure how Vorruk had fared after his wounds. It would be a heavy loss to find he had perished.
