Lost Souls of Greythorn: Shadows of Sylvara, #2

By Ann Paquette

     Daystorm has made her choice, but no one says no to the King.  

     Fox dies in the future, and no matter how long she searches the dream paths, Daystorm can't find a solution to this grim fate. She isn't letting a little thing like death prevent her from enjoying her time with him anymore, but they need to tread carefully. King Galan has his heart set on her and will not be forsaken for another fairy. They meet in secret spaces, dodging the relentless summons of the king. After all, she can't acknowledge a message she doesn't receive, right? Yet even the most discreet souls get careless. A magical midsummer festival exposes their relationship and they fall victim to Galan's jealous rage. Daystorm soon discovers her nightmares of Fox's demise are now his reality and she must find a way to rescue him from his fate, or be consumed by the darkness of his loss. 

     If you enjoy epic fantasy, fated lovers, and daring escapades, you'll love this second book in the Shadows of Sylvara series, Lost Souls of Greythorn.  

     Buy Lost Souls of Greythorn today! 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Paquette
• Release date: Apr 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386279617

Ann Paquette

Ann lives in a world of family and full time work, her writing gets shoved into whatever available timeslot comes up, be it on lunch or the one she gets to herself before bed. She loves coffee, reading, arts, taking walks, and all the little adventures she can get in with her child. 

Book preview

Day

The dim blue glow of a magelight shines through the bars set high in a wooden door. Deep shadows lend their rich fodder to Day’s imagination, disguising beasts with beady eyes and mouths full of sharp teeth, all of whom wait ever so patiently for the light to die out. A silent breath sends a shiver through her body which exits through the double pair of wings at her back.

Chains tie a bent figure to the wall, short ones which hold the man's arms up and away from his body and trap him on his knees. He’s passed out from the trauma induced by his captors. They were never meant to hold such a bright light within their manacled grasps. The entire scene is shaded in hues of grey, from the carved walls to the hard packed ground to the man himself. Everything except for his fiery red hair.

Oh Gods! Fox, what have they done?

Day is familiar with this path, the one which leads to Fox's death, but foolishly believed it was altered after the battle at Hollowglen. This is the first time this particular nightmare resurfaces in almost two weeks, long enough for her to gain the glimmer of a whisper of a hope that she inadvertently changed this twisted timeline.

All she wants to do is prevent this, save his future and hers. Is it too much to ask?

Fox groans. The chains creak under his weight with all the realistic splendour of a Halloween soundtrack. Day whimpers in response. His right side bears most of his weight, the left arm hangs at an odd angle. This is new. His arm wasn’t broken in any of the other paths leading to his death.

A sob catches in Day’s throat. She’s caught somewhere between bursting into tears and throwing up. The unconscious Fox coughs. Gravity tugs a glob of blood filled saliva from his parted lips. The crimson-filled phlegm glistens in the low light, dangling mid-air before giving way to curl onto the dirt floor like a snake coiling upon itself. She kneels beside him and places a hand on his back. It passes right through his body, as with everything else in these paths. It’s not a reality. Yet. These are visions of the future, warnings of events to come.

A harsh scream echoes from down the hall. Day’s wings stiffen and her heart beats wildly. A door closes with a resounding thud on dying cries for help. Moments later a pair of glowing blue eyes peer through the bars of Fox's cell to stare directly at her. No, it isn’t possible. Day is no more than a spectator in this realm of future-telling dreams.

Those eyes seem oddly familiar.

Long after they’re gone, the blue orbs leave a pair of ghostly circles hanging in the dark space between the bars. A cackle of delight follows the retreating footsteps. Fairies, it turns out, are a fairly disturbed species.

The vision fades in a wisp of fog. It curls around her ankles, moistens the exposed skin. Day stands and wonders what’s coming next.

She has no control over the paths, can’t order them to show her what she wants, no, needs to see. That last scene with Fox is the earliest moment of his current future she’s able to view. It would help if she knew what exactly lands him in prison in the first place. Then it might be possible to permanently erase this path.

The mists enhance the delicate murmurs of lace and swish of silk. Feet shuffle against a polished floor. The butt of a staff hammers against the ground with the dull thud of metal pounding wood. Colors bleed into the mist, bright reds and oranges and yellows in the quirky combinations favoured by the highborn fairies of Greythorn. A fanfare sounds and even Day’s untrained ear hears the fear projected through the instrument. Faces surround her, expressions locked behind masks of indifference and brightly coloured fans.

The mist clears as heads swivel in unison towards the entryway of the throne room. Mouths gape in wonder at the woman who commands their attention. She’s tall for a female fairy, with starlight braids curling around her head like a silken crown of silver, highlighting the elegant golden band hugging her forehead. Her features are oddly familiar, yet Day knows she's never met the woman before. Something about those cloudy silver grey eyes tugs at her memory. A double pair of wings at her back throw golden shadows against the walls. White robes flow like water over her contours, cascading over the curve of her hips and the soft bounce of unrestrained breasts as she glides into the room.

Those silver eyes fix on Day.

No, not on her, something behind her.

Ah my dearest niece. I am ever so relieved to see you return to us safely!

Day spins towards the speaker. He’s dressed similarly to the woman, his immaculate vest and loose fitting pants hemmed in silver. Tousled silver hair frames his face and clear grey eyes draw her attention across his tanned features. King Galan claims relief at seeing his niece, but the slight crease in his forehead and the storm darkening his eyes say otherwise.

The self-proclaimed King Galan is, in reality, the regent to the throne in his niece and nephew's absence. This new development means he’ll have to hand over the rule of Argentgrove, the fairy kingdom, to this woman.

And Galan doesn’t like it one bit.

The woman stops before the dais, sterling eyes boring holes into her uncle's head. When she finally speaks, it’s with a voice as soft as velvet edged in sharply honed fairy forged steel. What have you done, uncle? What have you done to my family?

Galan holds out his hands palms up in supplication. I have done nothing, my sun blessed child. You, both of you, were missing for so long, I feared you dead.

Nothing? Nothing you say? Her voice rises, though it neither breaks nor loses its velvet quality. So you did not twist us into monsters? You did not treat me as an exile or send fairies and goblin to destroy me?

Sweat beads on Galan's forehead. Now why would I do such a thing to my beloved niece? You wound my honor, dearheart. His tongue darts out to moisten dry lips.

Yes, uncle. Why would you do such a thing? Galan's niece takes one step forward, then another. I remember it clearly. You and your mage, the one I personally killed, set the spell. It was you who murdered my parents. You who tried to do the same to us. For what? What was there to gain from all this?

Galan, realizing the game is lost, drops his carefully crafted mask of calm. His features twist into a furious glare transforming him into the monster his niece claims him to be. You weren't ready. Neither of you! The throne should have been mine! I am the eldest, not Hastan! I refuse to give up my rightful place. Galan spits his poisonous words at her.

You were not suited to don that mantle and grandmother knew it! Look at what you've done to our people! Killing your own kind, your own family! All to keep the power of the throne for yourself? That's low, even for you. She forces her breath through clenched teeth, practically hissing her next words at him. What happened to my brother? Where is he?

An ugly rumble bubbles up from within as Galan's chuckle fills the dead silence of the throne room, the tainted sound neither pleasant nor filled with humour. It contains nothing but madness. He left on his final journey deep within the bowels of this castle. You’re all alone, dearest niece. We are all that’s left of the Sylvara line.

With this final admission of guilt she removes a dagger hidden within the folds of her gown and plunges it into Galan's gut. You took Ryker, you took Stein, you took Peri... All of them, gone. You even took Mikle! Everyone I cared for, everyone who protected me, who ignored the monster I resembled and loved me for who I was!

A figure detaches from the shadows behind Galan, one holding a silver light at her side. A dark form Day knows all too well. Galan grips the hilt protruding from his stomach, mouth agape in disbelief. Blood seeps from the wound and death's rosy kiss blooms upon the white fabric.

The dark figure leans in to whisper into Galan's ear. I promised you I would make you pay for your actions that night. This is for the light you stole from me. The silver blade spins and cuts through skin and bone as a knife cuts through warm butter. A spray of blood sweeps over those nearest the throne. The crowd gasps collectively and no few of the Lords and Ladies faint as Galan's head slides from his shoulders to land with a wet thud onto the ground, wide unblinking eyes staring blindly at his crumpling body.

Then the screams begin.

Day bolts upright in bed gasping for air. She swallows back the bile desperate not to lose the undigested remains of supper. A silence, free of distant vehicles and the constant hum of electricity, weighs on her spirit as she pants into the moonlit darkness. Hot tears stream unchecked down her cheeks creating damp spots on the blanket wherever they land, the unleashed sorrow more from the finality in her dream self's words than from the dream itself.

Can this path be real? Could Galan have done those horrible things? The man is self centered and quick to anger, yes, but he’s also the King of the fairies. What reason would he have to destroy those lives? No, it can’t be right, she can’t have the whole story. It's possibly a path he might walk one day.

Not much in this strange world of Caliah makes any real sense. She was sent here from Earth by, she assumes, the fairy's Gods Nialand and Koleth in order to do... well something. To change the paths, alter the future, and all that beautiful nonsense. Paths like the ones she witnessed tonight are so much larger than one person can handle alone. It would require an entire army to tackle some of the stuff she’s witnessed in dreams. Or at least it's General, a man who walks a fine line, or timeline, between life and death.

Day throws the blankets into a heap on the floor and heaves herself off the bed, suddenly craving the fresh air beyond the floor to ceiling window of her tiny room. Delicate vines cling to the rim of the bespelled shelf mushroom that is her balcony. She never officially discovered who put the plants there, but has her suspicions. A pair of teal wings flutter as she steps out onto the flat surface. The moth she disturbed is a large beast whose hindwings extend downwards in a beautiful flourishing swirl. She brushes her fingers against its fur covered body, careful not to touch the fragile moonlit scales of the insect's wings. They quiver from the sudden contact before settling once more.

If only her thoughts would settle as easily.

Magelights of all colors line the paths around the south gate like glow-bug inspired streetlights bobbing lazily in the darkness. A light breeze dances a rustling jig through the large leaves of the foliage. It’s late spring, almost summer, and the leaves are a mix of vibrant green and the bright neon of new growth. A warm wind carries the humid scent of mist upon its wings. The forest smells of damp earth and fragrant early-summer blooms.

The troops sent out to free the village of Hollowglen from the Auric, a rebel group opposing Galan’s rule, returned late yesterday evening, Day among them. The forces remained in the small village long enough to aide in repairing damage caused by the fire and clean-up the quickly decomposing goblins corpses. Images of gelatinous bodies exploding with nauseous vapours will haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. Those creatures are almost nastier dead than they are alive!

She continued to share a room with Fox during their stay, though after the first day he didn't sleep longer than a few hours every night. Which meant that by the time he came to bed she was already asleep. There was precious little time to explore what began with that first embrace, aside from a few chaste kisses and brief tender touches.

Soon afterwards, it was back to the outpost of Timbermoss for supplies before returning to the capital city of Greythorn.

Upon their arrival, Fox’s duties took precedence over his desires. There were reports to finalize and families of deceased soldiers to notify. Skye saw to her unit and Lyrissa, as Chief Healer, debriefed the three healers who accompanied the army to the outpost. That left Day to occupy herself and, given the late hour, she simply went to bed.

Much of the talk on the flight back from the outpost revolved around the upcoming midsummer festival. A festival she promised to attend with Fox.

Fox.

Now there’s a dilemma which entire novels are written about. He’s connected to her somehow, of this much she’s sure. The closest description for him in her limited experience would be a soulmate, yet it’s almost too nebulous a term for the strength of the emotions he stirs within her heart. In any case, it’s as good a way to describe her feelings as any other explanation she can come up with.

Day has finally come to terms with those feelings despite the persistently gloomy future foreshadowed in her dreams. She’s desperate to change his fate, to figure out a way to stop tonight’s path from becoming a reality. Not only his path but all the others she’s graced with, up to and including this latest instalment. She should locate this woman, Galan's niece, and must somehow stop herself from beheading Galan. Day dislikes the man, for sure, but isn’t sure he's done anything to deserve that particular end. Mind you, Galan’s niece did claim he was responsible for the previous monarch’s death, which conveniently fits right into her own suspicions.

It's too early, or late, for a run, her go to stress reliever when she’s upset. Day isn’t exactly sure what time it is, unable to get the hang of telling the time by the position of the sun or moon. She casts a glance over her shoulder at her bed. It should be soft and inviting after her recent adventure, but at the moment it holds nothing but potential nightmares.

Fox keeps some strange hours, maybe he's still up?

Before her fluttering stomach and the warmth filling her cheeks change her mind, Day takes off towards the higher levels of the tree. As luck would have it, there’s a light on in his room. Day’s bare feet pad softly against the hard surface of his balcony. She peers into the closed window, her vision quickly adjusting to the dim blue glow of a magelight. Fox lounges in a pile of pillows tucked into the corner, his attention trapped in the pages of a book.

Day worries at her lip with a sharp canine, nerves afire, suddenly unsure of herself. Fox is a handsome man, well, fairy. Like a predator, or more specifically a bird of prey. Tall and slim, he’s covered in well-maintained and certainly gutter-thought inducing muscle. His crystal blue eyes never miss a single detail. Some would say his gaze is cold, icy even. But to Day they’re the hottest of flames burning blue against the backdrop of his fiery hair. Freckles dance across his cheeks to converge on his left ear, rendering it darker than the right. Crimson hair stands atop his head in short spikes, the strands constantly pushed back by his hand in what Day has learned is a calming gesture. He currently sports a pair of black tightly fitting pants and nothing more, revealing ridiculously chiselled abs covered in dark bruises, the edges fading to yellow, courtesy of his stay among the rebels. Long callused fingers turn the page of his book and smooth the paper with a gentle caress.

He’s so relaxed she’s almost loathe to disturb him.

Those wide silver eyes now devoid of light stare blindly outward as the head they adorn drops to the ground. Screams fill the room and Day finally becomes the monster the fairies expected from the beginning.

She gasps and hugs her elbows close. The memory makes up her mind. If she’s here with him she won’t dwell on images of decapitated heads.

She hopes.

She clicks her short claws against the window, nothing more than a faint pattering of pointed keratin. Fox glances up from his book and squints in confusion at the form bathed in shadows on his balcony. Day knows the exact moment he recognizes her. Fox opens his window with the faintest frown creasing his forehead, the closed book lying in its new place on the ground, thoroughly forgotten.

Day, is anything wrong?

Yeah, that's a loaded question. There is, but I’m still not ready to talk about it.

I... She blinks away sudden tears. I had a pretty gruesome nightmare. So much is true. There’s no point in making up lies, not with Fox’s ability to sense the truth in spoken words.

Understanding dawns on his features. He probably thinks it's about the goblins again, she certainly had enough of those wonderful dreams back in Hollowglen. Day isn’t about to disabuse him of the notion.

Can I stay here tonight? Day whispers, afraid to overstep the boundaries of fairy propriety. Honestly, she’s scared he’ll say no, even now after they’ve opened up to each other.

All her fears melt away as Fox pulls her against him without any sign of hesitation. His strong arms surround her, warmth and comfort personified in this heart-warming gesture. She’s never needed a man to fight her battles or to feel important, but it’s nice to have someone to lean on. Day's arms tighten around his bare waist and his breath hitches at the somewhat chilled contact of her exoskeleton. An intoxicating heat settles into her core, one akin to a cat snuggling a pile of freshly laundered blankets. She nestles her face into the crook of his neck.

My dearest heart, you're always welcome here. I mean it. He nuzzles her hair. Come on, I was about to get to bed anyways.

If he were human, that statement might have been an invitation for sex, one she’d gladly accept. But he isn’t human, and now neither is she. Fairies lack the sexual parts necessary for that form of lovemaking. How fairies mate, or even reproduce, continues to be a mystery to Day. Nevertheless, his words send butterflies tumbling over each other in her stomach.

Get a grip already, it’s not the first time we share a bed. But that was a stranger's guest bed, not his bed.

Day pulls away from his embrace, hyper-aware of the flush of desire coloring his cheeks and ears. She closes the distance between their lips and he exhales in a gentle rush. Her mind fairly swims with delight as his warm breath tingles against her skin.

Thanks. I feel like a kid running to an adult's bed after a bad dream. I'd rather be here than alone in my room right now. Make that always. Her whispered words earn her a chuckle and another breathtaking kiss.

They settle into Fox’s bed, Day wrapped snuggly in his embrace. The blankets and pillows smell like petrichor, like a forest after a long overdue rainfall. Fox’s personal scent. He falls asleep with a speed Day envies, his breathing evening out almost as soon as he closes his eyes. His pulse beats a steady rhythm under her ear where it’s pressed against his chest. It’s a long while before Day’s ready to give herself over to sleep, and she thankfully does nothing more than skim the veil of dreams for the remainder of the night.

Fox

Fox forces his shoulders back and down to relax his stiff posture before smoothing the papers on the table before him, callused fingers working out crinkles which exist only in his imagination. Through the corner of his eyes, he watches as a young page refills drinks without reaching over shoulders and sensitive paperwork via the slit in the center of the council table. The full complement of council members is assembled in the small meeting chamber. Eleven of the highest ranking fairies in Greythorn sit stiffly in their chairs. The twelfth seat is empty, the mage Loth preferring to stand behind the King like some robed demon guardian. At least, that’s the impression he receives every time Fox glances over at those luminescent blue eyes. The mage rarely participates in the council sessions. Loth prefers watching the goings-on in silence, though every now and then he’ll lean in and whisper in the King's ear. Galan would then nod and jot down some note or other before returning his attention to the speaker.

Trays of fruit and pastries placed strategically between the council members provide an early breakfast for the nobles who are accustomed to breaking their fast after the sun rises, not before. Another page stands by the door, his hands clasped smartly behind his back while he dutifully stares off into space until he’s needed. The boy frowns to himself before reaching back and scratching the area between his shoulder blades. Fox’s back itches in sympathy. The youngling's wings must be growing in. It can take up to a year for a fairy’s wings to fully develop. In general, a single pair emerge and form quicker than two, though both scenarios tend to make children miserable. Fox would know, he was near unapproachable for the better part of a year while his wings grew in.

Dappled sunlight filtering in from the large window opposite the door spreads a golden veil across the amber surface of the table. Three cheery magelights dot the ceiling to compensate for the early morning dimness. The city stirs restlessly outside the palace walls, anxious for another day to begin. Merchants in the market display their goods, farmers deliver fresh produce from the fields, and servants set out on various errands. The temples begin their morning rituals, greeting Koleth with a chorus of chants as the priests of Nialand settle in to sleep for the day. Over at the south gate, where Fox resides, the soldiers set off for their morning duties as guards finishing night shift descend on the dining area like ravenous beasts before getting some rest. Students and masters alike fill the training grounds and the air echoes with the first silver rings of steel as the sun clears the last wisps of fog from the ground. That's where Daystorm is now. His lady, the very thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine, trains as diligently as any of his men.

Fox can’t recall the last time he put in some serious training. Perhaps Finn should add the time to his schedule, it might be the only way to stay in practice. No matter, that lovely idea will have to wait until later. Right now, he’s trapped in a meeting and he’s likely to be here most of the morning if he’s any judge on the topics brought forward by the few members of council who rarely leave the palace, never mind the city.

General?

Fox clears his mind before glancing over at the King. Galan's silver eyes are stormy and the tiniest crease forms in the usually solemn man's forehead. Fox runs a hand through his hair and turns his attention to those present, meeting each councillor’s gaze before speaking. More than one lower their eyes under his glacial regard. A couple, such as the Lady Chanta, return his gaze with all the gravity the situation warrants. He has few allies around the council table these days. War, real or imagined, isn’t exactly a pleasant subject, and though they respect his experience in this matter, they would quite rather be anywhere but here.

But here they are, and deal with this situation they must.

Yes Sire. Members of the council, as you well know, my forces were deployed to the western border to assist a village occupied by the Auric. Upon our arrival we discovered that, while the Auric were indeed present in the village of Hollowglen, it wasn't as a hostile force. The rebels were invited to stay by the villagers after fending off a horde of goblins. He pauses a moment as the councillors murmur amongst each other. They were well aware of the vile creatures activities in western Odensbriar, the lawless land bordering the realm of Argentgrove, but the news of the shadowbeasts raiding villages beholden to Greythorn comes as a shock to them.

If the villagers didn't request our assistance, General, then who did?

Fox shrugs. I don’t have an answer for you, Lord Tellier, though I do have some theories. A villager could have acted on his own, someone who believed the Auric was a danger to himself and his family. Some of my officers suggested a disgruntled member of the Auric, while others believe it may be an outsider with a chip on his shoulder and a grievance against the rebels. Whatever the case, Commander Freya was unable to locate the villager in question once we secured Hollowglen.

And which do you believe to be true?

Either one of those arguments are plausible. There was no evidence supporting or disproving any of those theories. Those speculations are certainly preferable over his suspicion involving a third player in this game, someone with darker intentions than simple revenge.

I’ll keep that opinion to myself, thank you very much.

So someone out there is messing with us, wasting our time! Lady Selena's comment elicits some grousing from the older Lords.

I would not consider saving an entire village a waste of time, Lady Selena. If we had not been present during the second raid, the village would be wiped from the map, as Grassford has been, and the west lost to wildfire.

Yes, yes, honor be thy calling, General. Those border villages pay us so little in taxes it’s almost not worth our time and resources. A nasally voice chimes in. Lord Tesler thinks of coin first and foremost, unable to consider the lives at stake as anything more than a source of revenue. Heat rises to his cheeks and Fox fights to keep a level head, knowing full well losing his temper on this lot will do him no good. He runs a hand through his hair. The gesture does little to assuage the fire roiling within. Lady Chanta, however, beats him to the sting.

Lord Tesler, I do wish you'd think before letting all that hot air exit your mouth. These are lives we're talking about, not walking change purses. If the people from those villages disappear, so does any future income. Not to mention future craftsman or valiant soldiers. The older Lord coughs and his ears flush red at the rebuke. General, my concern is this. With all those goblins crawling around the west, what does this mean for my merchants? Spring is shearing season in the elven lands and by now the first bolts of new materials will be ready for purchase. I need to know if Odensbriar can be traversed safely.

While the icy-haired Lady Chanta is only looking out for her own interests, she at least has the decency to care for the safety of the merchants under her command. This helps soothe the edges of Fox's temper. That, I can’t guarantee. I have never seen such a large pack of goblins in one place before. While we did put a dent in their numbers I'm not sure if it was enough to send them scurrying home to their dens. You may need to alter your route. Perhaps skirting around the northern edge of Odensbriar? If this isn’t amenable, then I recommend you wait until matters settle in the west.

Lady Chanta's lips purse into a thin line as she considers her options.

General, did you happen to get a glimpse of their leader during your time inside the Auric's camp? Galan leans over the table, returning the subject to the matter at hand.

No Sire. A small group left before the confrontation, their leader likely among them.

One silver eyebrow arches in interest. The King leans back into his chair. Pity. I had hoped your time among the rebels would have been useful to us.

Oh yes, it was such a waste of time! Collecting bruises is his favourite pass time after all and the opportunity for more of those colourful patches of skin was too good to pass up. Never mind that they proved the Auric aren’t working with goblins, or that the Auric have a herbalist instead of a healer, or that they are likely led by a small woman who knows more about him than Fox cares to admit. Not to mention that the so called vicious and cold-blooded Auric genuinely cared for the villagers hosting them. Yes, he came out of the situation with more questions than answers, and no, he didn't see their leader. Only a surly giant of a man with a chip on his shoulders the size of Galan’s kingly ego.

A waste of time indeed!

Fox holds his tongue, knowing full well it would do more harm than good to argue these points with the King.

We need to send more troops to protect the western borders!

What if the goblins make their way into Argentgrove? We need to double the guard shifts!

Send a few mages to the outpost! Surely the mages can deal with the goblins more effectively than the army!

Fox bristles at the suggestion of his lack of usefulness, no more impressed with Lord Percival's opinion of the army than Loth is at the notion of dispatching mages - not one, but several - out to the border. There aren’t enough mages to send one out to the border on a semi-permanent basis, never mind the three and four requested. Freya's stores are already stretched to their limits with the few extra soldiers he left in her command. He can’t add to her burden by sending more mouths to feed.

The councillors continue debating amongst themselves, ignoring the heat of Fox's cheeks and the cold glare of Loth's glowing eyes. It isn’t often he’s in agreement with the mage but this is ridiculous! Next thing you know the councillors will suggest building impenetrable walls around Argentgrove, let the rest of the world be damned!

It’s almost lunch by the time the council session, which de-evolved into a frantic search for the most impossible of solutions, comes to an end. Fox managed to present logical arguments against most of their solutions and the King made it clear the rest are not being considered at this time. No they won’t press a dragon into service, bespelled or otherwise. Nor will they consider hiring mercenaries at this time. Some of these actions could be misconstrued as acts of war by their neighbours, heaping more issues onto their already full plates.

How in the world did Octavian, Fox’s predecessor, handle this bunch on a regular basis without going completely insane? Seems there’s nothing between most of these councillors ears except fluff! It might be easier if they worried for something other than their own skin, Lady Chanta and Lord Lyre aside.

Finally, the councillors clear out of the room, leaving Fox alone with the King and his pet mage. Galan massages his forehead with a thumb and forefinger while mumbling something about fools.

I often wonder why I didn't replace some of the older councillors. They cling much too tightly to their comforts and their old fashioned ideology.

Fox almost gapes at Galan’s attempt to garner his sympathy. The regent doesn’t have the ability to replace a councillor, that power is reserved for the ruling monarch. Good thing Fox had so much practice holding back his opinions today as pointing this out would be a mistake.

Fox silently stands to leave.

Not so fast General. He tenses and turns to face the King. I have to admit I’m somewhat disappointed. You had the Auric within your grasp and you let them escape without any consequences.

Fox is fairly certain Galan isn’t referring to the rebels who loaned his scouts their attire for the ruse of infiltrating the rebel camp. He still hasn’t figured out how those unarmed and secured rebels managed to free themselves. Fox fully intended to repay Lyall for his kind and gentle treatment while they held him prisoner, not to mention the threats the dung heap made to Day.

Sire, at the time I judged the safety of the people of Hollowglen took precedence over hunting the Auric. The fire, if left unchecked, would have destroyed half the forest.

Fox switched from fighting the tall blond Commander of the Auric to guarding his back as they fought off goblins in the village. Afterwards, Mikle ordered his men to help put out the fires. This altered his view of the Auric and prevented Fox from pursuing them once the danger had passed. There’s always another time. He and Mikle have some unfinished business after all.

Yes, yes. You behaved admirably and all that other jazz. Alright General. I'll let it slide. This time. The next time you meet the Auric in battle I expect you to squash them into a bloody stain under your boot. Understood?

Other jazz? Sounds like something Day would say. Fox doesn’t know what it means and he’s willing to bet Galan doesn’t either. He inclines his head. Sire.

Dismissed.  

General Fox holds a fist to his heart in salute and executes a small bow before leaving the room, careful to keep his features unburdened by the anger within.

Day

Beams of spun gold shine through the canopy above, the air warm with the promise of a humid summer. Dragonflies buzz overhead, those jewel-like hunters flitting about the branches in pursuit of prey. The afternoon is charged with lazy energy, the type which demands she grab a book and curl up under a tree. Day’s tempted to do exactly that.

She didn’t head over to training this morning, her muscles still overtaxed and sore from the recent experiences. At least, that's her excuse. In truth she’s scared to fight again. It’s too real now, hit too close to home during the goblin raid. Every time she’s tempted to summon her weapon, images of a man crumbling under the weight of a dozen monsters surface in her mind, complete with agonizing screams as they devour him alive.

Eventually she’ll pick up a sword again. Just not today.

Currently, Day weaves a path between the paired up students at the back while Senerten does the same in the front. The original group of fifteen young recruits has grown to thirty and they thoroughly enjoy the challenges and new games she brings to the table. The drills are similar to the ones her Muay Thai coach back on Earth put her through and are as relevant to soldiers as they are to kickboxing. The students are presently working