Mage of Chaos

By Celina Summers

Sometimes the only way to win a war is to wage an unwinnable battle.
The Eleusis has escalated in intensity, when the minor heirs of three kingdoms, including Tamsen’s, vanish from their homes. In order to find them, Tamsen and Brial must find the way to the dream realm where once the dead god Phobetor ruled alongside his brothers. Before long, they must lead an army of living souls to defend the realm of the dead from elder gods, overthrown millennia ago by the current ruling pantheon. With all five realms now in conflict, the situation is deteriorating fast. The mortal realm cannot survive a full-out war between the gods. For Tamsen, a succession of personal tragedies is beginning to take its toll, amplified by the destruction of her strength and the desperation of her task.
Can she find another ally to bolster her quest? Or will she fail into the enemy’s trap alone?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celina Summers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370275113

Celina Summers

Celina Summers is a speculative fiction author who mashes all kinds of genres into one giant fantasy goo. Her first fantasy series, The Asphodel Cycle, was honored with multiple awards--including top ten finishes for all four books in the P&E Readers' Poll as well as a prestigious Golden Rose nomination. The Asphodel Cycle combines a strong classical mythology foundation, traditional fantasy characters and settings, and strong female protagonists--all elements to be found in all her work. Celina also writes contemporary literary fantasy under the pseudonym CA Chevault. Her other published works include the Mythos sensual romance series about Greco-Roman goddesses; Metamorphosis, a collection of her short stories; and the Covenant series, vampire historical fiction co-authored with Canadian author Rob Graham. Celina was the editor of the speculative fiction ezine Penumbra, and has worked as an editor and managing editor in e-publishing for well over a decade. Celina lives in Ohio with her husband and a plethora of rescued cats. She has two grown daughters, which leaves her a lot of time to sit at home and write.

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Mage of Chaos

The Black Dream

Book Three

Celina Summers

COPYRIGHT

The Black Dream, Book Three: Mage of Chaos

Copyright @ 2016 Celina Summers

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events is coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

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Released in the United States of America

Editor—Helen Hardt

Cover art—KMD Web Designs

Formatting & design—KMD Web Designs

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ASPHODEL

Tamsen Ka’antira de Asphodel—ruling Countess of Asphodel and Queen of the Elven Realm

Sieppa Ka’antira de Asphodel—younger sister to Tamsen, Woodlands Lord of Leselle

Bryse—Tamsen’s maid

THE ELVEN REALM

Kaldarte Ka’antira—the Elven Seer, wife of Arami, mother of Lamec, Wilden, and Morrote

Arami Ka’antira—Elven Elder, Woodlands Lord

Liliath Ka’antira—Princess of Leselle, married to Berond Ka’breona

Wilden Ka’antira—Elven Scout, Custos to Elven Queen

Brial Ka’breona—Elven Scout leader, Prince Consort of Leselle, married to Tamsen Ka’antira

Beron Ka’breona—commander of Elven armies, father of Brial, Balon, and Berond

Balon Ka’breona—Elven Scout

Berond Ka’breona—Elven general, married to Liliath Ka’antira

Tamarisk Ka’briala—daughter of Tamsen and Brial, heir apparent to the Elven throne, mage in training

Morrote Ka’briala—older twin son of Tamsen and Brial, Elven Scout in training

Brann Ka’briala—younger twin son of Tamsen and Brial, mage in training

Acheros Ka’charona—head of Council of Elders

GEOCHON

Mariol—Marquis de Beotte, cousin to the King, member of Privy Council, and warmage

Myrielle—Marquise de Beotte

Maron de Beotte, son to Mariol and Myrielle, mage in training

Kylos de Tizand—minor King of Ansienne

Arnia de Tizand—Countess of Tizand

Rontil de Tizand—Prince-Regent of Ansienne, Duke of Spesialle

Alcmene de Tizand, Princes of Ansienne and Hippolytos, sister to Antiope of Hippolytos

Anner de Ceolliune—Duke of Ceolliune

Anteros de Ceolliune—Duke of Ceolliune, son of Anner and Antiope, Queen of Hippolytos

Glaucon de Pamphylia—Duke of Pamphylia

Cetenne Ka’antira de Pamphylia—Duchess of Pamphylia, Princess of Leselle

Mylan de Phoclydies—Earl of Phoclydies

Gabril de Spesialle—deposed Duke of Spesialle

Rodolf de Spesialle—Tammuz sorcerer

Others and Immortals

Antiope—Warrior Queen of Hippolytos

Admete—Princess of Hippolytos

Alanta—Hippolyte envoy to Ansienne

Chironos—King of the Centaurs

Alydara—Chironos’s daughter, tutor to children of the Elven royal family

Asclepios—Chironos’s son, head of the Chironiti

Kadesh—King of Sisyphos

Tahtawi—Queen of Sisyphos

Chephren—consort to Tahtai, general of Sisyphos

Dis—God of Death

Virgin Huntress—Goddess of the Elves

Phobetor—God of Dreams

Adonios—God of Resurrection

Daphnis—immortal Elven Seer, handmaiden to the Huntress

Panathea—Goddess of Wisdom

Aresen—God of War

Deimos—God of Rout

Prologue

As I lay in my bed of pain in Geochon, the mortal realm lamented the suicide of the god Phobetor. Most people hadn’t any idea why the world was draped in its gray, misty shroud of mourning or why it affected them so badly.

Those who did know were struck to their cores. A god had willingly deserted his divinity, abandoned his worshippers and his world, and gone into an abyss from which no one, mortal or god, had ever emerged.

I was trapped in my bedchamber as the realms grieved around me, stuck in an endless cycle of self-recrimination that increased as the days passed. I’d destroyed a god before, so I was familiar with the sense of guilt. I’d survived those feelings before—after all, Lamashtu wasn’t a very nice god— but it had been hard.

But to have a god end his entire existence so that I would live? The knowledge, the finality of what he’d done was far, far more agonizing.

I replayed the occasions I’d met the god of dreams in my mind, searching doggedly for some indication that he’d intended such a thing. I judged my own actions and found them deficient. I, who had always had spoken with the gods without fear or even surprise at what I was doing, had failed to keep Phobetor convinced of his importance.

Of my need for his counsel.

Of his friendship.

Of my love.

Only too easy for me to flagellate myself for the god’s death. I had once saved him and then had brought him to his end. Like Dantel.

Like Anner.

So I shut myself up in my rooms, refusing to eat or speak or acknowledge anyone while I carved out my heart and fed it to the tight spot of anguish in my soul. I passively allowed those whom I loved to care for me. The bruises from Spesialle’s magical barrage were healing now, albeit at a slow, dragging pace. No wonder that he’d literally beaten me into a pulp. I’d killed the son of a man moving toward immortality and taken actual pleasure in causing him the ultimate pain as I did so.

Another cruelty I’d never thought myself capable of.

While I healed physically, I sickened emotionally. But behind it all, seething anew in my veins, was the magic—building, growing, anticipating. My power was bolstered now with the strength of an immortal. The energy of a god fueled the well of magic within me, and it buzzed through my body without respite. In the meantime, the sentient magic, my commander and my parasite, sulked behind the walls I’d built around it. Phobetor’s magic was too vital, too charged with immortal clarity, for me to want to betray its existence.

Tantalizing me. Taunting me. Torturing me. I could feel the burgeoning strength within it; I could sense the tangents of power I had yet to explore. Once my body had healed and I picked up the pieces of my quest anew, I would examine it more closely.

But for a time, I would remain isolated in my grief. I spent my days in anguished reflection upon my crimes and my nights trying to escape them.

And not once did I dream.

Chapter One

Tamsen!

I winced. I recognized the call immediately—after all, how could I mistake Kaldarte’s voice? Or her tone, for that matter. Even from the self-decreed solitude of my locked and mage-shielded bedchambers, I caught the hard-edged note of the Seer in her worst temper.

Apparently, I was not going to be permitted to continue my isolation. The intricate lines of my extended family were usually a blessing, but not always. Brial, who was not a patient man even by human standards, would have found a way to get through to Kaldarte once he’d realized that my door was barred even against him for the tenth day straight. Although I’d shared my sorrows with him for years now, this newest grief was one I didn’t care to discuss—with anyone. My body had strengthened; I felt better physically. But the anguish I’d undergone and still struggled with was too new, too raw and infected, to share even with him.

My enforced solitude was all that protected me.

I had two choices. I could either open the door for her, or I could let her work that fire magic-fed temper to a higher level by permitting her to beat against my shields for a while first.

I was a prudent woman. I sent out a quick burst of energy and opened the door.

By the time the Seer stormed into the room, I lay once more upon the bed, staring at the fog-shrouded window. The world outside our house in Geochon was draped in its mourning veils still, weeping for the dead god Phobetor’s passing. The weather fit my mood perfectly.

Tamsen, what in the name of the seven hells are you doing?

Kaldarte was as furious as I’d ever seen her. Even her hair seemed to be sparking with rage, crackling with livid energy as she broke my fixed gaze at the rain-drenched garden. I stared at her without speaking, letting my apathy speak for itself.

Are you happy now? Her words dripped acid. Your husband has gone literally berserk. Mariol is losing his mind. Even Wilden is furious! Why have you locked everyone out while you sit here and pout?

I’m not pouting. My own voice was raspy with disuse, ravaged by the days of uncontrollable weeping alone in my bower. I’m healing…and mourning.

I can see that. Her eyes were glittering with jewel-like hardness as they met mine, and then her gaze shunted off to the fading bruises with professional efficiency.

I don’t want to be disturbed right now, Kaldarte. I just want to be left alone.

"Oh, no, you don’t, my girl. You get up from that bed right now and get dressed. This has gone on long enough."

For whom? I asked mildly. "For you? Brial? Perhaps so. But it hasn’t gone on long enough for me yet. I don’t want to act like nothing’s happened, and I’ll be damned if I pretend to just to make the rest of you happy."

Her expression softened slightly. Perhaps she understood, at least a little, why I was so reluctant to play my part. I’d played many parts with my family over the years, parts designed to keep them comfortable and unconcerned about me. Usually they were screens to mask what I was really up to, but upon occasion I’d worried so much about what they thought that I neglected to see to my own needs.

Tamsen, none of us are sure exactly what happened to you. It’s not that we don’t understand; it’s that we just don’t know. If you tell us, maybe we can help.

A god sacrificed himself to give me his power, Kaldarte. All of it. I clipped the words off as if they stung. He gave up his entire existence so that I would live. Forgive me if that’s a little hard to bear. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I just want to be left alone so I can look through all of the stupid things I’ve done in my life and wonder what was so important about me that a god killed himself for my sake.

That must be painful. She didn’t try to sympathize. She just stated a fact.

Look, I’m fine. I’m healing. I’m feeling better. Can’t you all just leave me alone until I feel ready to face the world again? Is that so hard?

Yes, Your Majesty, it is.

And there it was—the killing ploy. The blow I’d expected for a week now. Your Majesty. The dual call to duty and responsibility, the one thing I could not ignore and must obey. My title hung between us like an accusation, which in a way it was. No matter how far away I was from Leselle, I was still the Queen of the Elven Realm and would be until I died.

Like in six months or so.

What’s wrong? I demanded. Is Leselle being attacked again?

No, I don’t think so. You have had emissaries from both Tartarus and Hippolytos, and the Regent of Ansienne sent a messenger to urgently beg you to attend him at the Palace.

I couldn’t even muster up the emotional energy to get angry. I just stared at her, waiting. She compressed her lips at my lack of response, and her eyes flashed again.

Finally, I capitulated. Fine. Tell Colan to prepare my carriage. I’ll go to the Palace and see what Rontil wants and have the emissaries meet me here afterward. Do you know what the latest disaster to be laid at my door might be?

No, but it can’t be good.

I rolled from the bed. Colan! Get my carriage ready at once! Bryse!

Looking back over my shoulder at my fuming foster mother as I stalked to the wardrobe, I asked, Better?

Much. Kaldarte made her way out, her skirts ominously silent as she went. Once in the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.

I bit my lip against the stab of pain that surged from my damaged conscience and threw the wardrobe doors open. I pulled the gown I’d worn for Dantel’s funeral from the stack of clothes and laid it over my arm.

I will be here for you when you need me, my daughter, she said in a soft voice. I’ll grant you the time to work this out for yourself, but I’ll be the only one who will do so. You should be prepared.

I am. I flattened the words as soon as they left my mouth, having already stamped out the flare of emotion and resurfaced into my brittle calm.

Kaldarte didn’t say another word. She left the room quietly, just as the nervous servants of the Asphodel household clattered up the stairs for the first sight of their mistress in days.

I felt strange, in a way, traveling the streets of Geochon without either Brial or Wilden at my side. I’d brought two Elven scouts along to act as my guard for the trip, as neither my husband nor my uncle was in the house when I left. The manor was silent and on edge, tension running along every wall and floor like an electric current. Things were easier in the jouncing carriage, where a Queen was supposed to be lost in her thoughts and the guard was quite properly sitting outside on the box.

The Palace guards, accustomed to my carriage’s arrival at all times of the day or night, let us through without question. As we pulled up to the ornate entrance, I gathered my thoughts. It probably wouldn’t take long to settle whatever business was here.

I spared enough attention for the scouts to murmur, Custos, vide.

As they snapped to attention with their swords flat on their palms, I strode down the immense hallways with my black skirts sweeping a rustling indignant path across the polished marble and tried to ignore the renewed flares of pain that hampered my every step.

As soon as the chamberlain saw me, he slammed his staff against the floor. The antechamber was curiously empty of its normal rabble of courtiers and politicians.

The Ansienne royal guard opened the doors. Make way for Tamsen Ka’antira de Asphodel, Queen of the Elven Realm and Countess of Asphodel!

I stalked into the room. The men below the royal dais instantly bowed, their courtly posture and elegant clothing bringing me back into the full rush of the Court. Rontil rose from his seat beside the throne and hurried to intercept me before the royal dais. I took one more measuring look around the room and halted abruptly.

Brial stood in our accustomed place with Wilden at his back. My husband’s eyes met mine with a click that was nearly audible. He gestured to the scouts behind me, who sheathed their swords and left without a word, while Wilden crossed the throne room and took their place as my custos.

My friend, we are so worried— Rontil was saying.

I paused uncertainly. Some terrible thing was going on here that I didn’t understand. Instinctively, I turned back to Brial even as Wilden grasped my elbow. Brial bowed his head as I stood in front of him, but not in the courteous greeting of an Elf to his monarch. Brial was ducking his head so he could think, something he never did unless the news was particularly dire. When he lifted his face, I caught the tight shuttered glaze over his black eyes, and my apathy moved aside with a jerk.

What is going on? I asked him in a low voice.

Your Majesty—his voice was raggedly calm—we have a serious problem.

A contingent of Hippolytes stood near the throne, and a single man in Tartaran garb near the daunting female warriors of my friend Antiope’s island nation. Premonition moved through me, shoving all other concerns out of the way.

Brial?

His beautiful face betrayed no emotion but I, who loved him so well, felt the edge of fear singing along his skin.

The young King of Ansienne has vanished from his nursery, Tamsen, as has the King of Tartarus.

And on Hippolytos? My mouth was suddenly dry. I sensed the men around us move back, as if they were afraid of what would happen next.

And so has our daughter, he finished, his face paler than I had ever seen it.

Shock kept me speechless for a moment. I half-turned to Wilden for confirmation, and the sheen of tears in his eyes told me all I needed to know. I ignored the roaring in my ears as the world tumbled from its rightful place. Without thinking, I extended my hands to Brial, who took them in a painful grip as I staggered against him.

Little Tamarisk is growing close to the age of consent. It will not be long before her human blood enables her to bear children.

But the age of consent wasn’t something Spesialle had been concerned with in the past.

Where? My uncle’s insinuating laugh echoed in my head.

Your Majesty, we are unaware—

I ignored the pompous voice of the Ansienne courtier who’d spoken and looked into Brial’s eyes. Where?

We don’t know. Pain lacerated his voice. They all vanished this morning without a trace. There were no warriors or strange mages around any of them. They just disappeared.

I felt the grief pulsing within him, the lingering anger about my distance, and the thin strand of anger that was growing even as my breath was knocked from my body. I forgot that I was a Queen and threw myself into his arms for just a moment of shared terror. His arms closed around me without their normal ferocity, but his body against mine was still as sturdy as it had ever been. I closed my eyes for a split-second of weak-kneed anguish.

And then the rage hit me.

Spesialle, I gritted out between clenched teeth.

I pulled away from my husband, letting my eyes meet his with a swift glance of bolstering support. Then I turned back to the throne room packed with people. Rontil hovered just at the foot of the dais, obviously unsure of what to do next. I eyed the Hippolytes’ grim faces and the tight-lipped Tartaran in mage’s robes and let the practice of years stiffen my spine.

Clear the room. I want no one in here save for the emissaries from Hippolytos and Tartarus and whomever you need to help you, Prince Regent. Wilden, return to our house and gather any mage you can find—Kaldarte, Sieppa, Mariol—whomever. I hesitated and finished with, "And find me a sword. Any sword."

As Brial released me, my legs lost all their strength. He caught me and swiftly deposited me in a chair.

What are you intending to do, Tamsen? Rontil asked.

I didn’t even look at him. What do you think we’re going to do? We’re going to get them back. Send someone to bring your wife, and let me listen to what these people have to say.

Brial stepped to one side with Wilden, adding further instructions of his own, while the courtiers hurried from the throne room.

I stripped off my gloves and turned to the Tartaran. Forgive me, sir. I do not know your name. Can you tell me what happened to the young King? Who sent you here?

The Regent Plicat sent me, Your Majesty, the man said with a cool-eyed bow. I am Nial, mage of the Tartaran Court. His Majesty disappeared this morning while playing with the Regent’s children in the garden. The children said that one moment Lias was there, and the next he was gone. Even the toy he was holding fell to the ground and shattered, so quickly did he disappear.

You are a mage? Did you see the site yourself?

I did.

Did you detect any trace of magic left behind?

Neilut spread his hands in a helpless gesture. The Regent and the King still live upon the temple grounds of the goddess Hebea, Your Majesty. I couldn’t detect anything over the power that sanctified grounds project.

Alcmene hurried into the room, her eyes swollen and red. What of Kylos?

We don’t know yet, the Prince Regent murmured, putting an arm around her shoulders.

How did he disappear? I asked, turning to them.

He was in his nursery with his books. His tutor turned to find something, and when he turned back, Kylos was gone. We thought he was just playing, that he’d run off to tease his tutor. But he’d never done that before, and when he didn’t come back, we set search parties all through the Palace grounds. Rontil’s voice was weary and still bewildered.

Alcmene’s face behind him was set into lines I recognized only too well. Princess or not, when all was said and done, she was still a Hippolyte and she was thinking seriously about gutting someone.

Alanta stepped forward. Queen of the Elves, my Queen wishes me to inform you of our failure to protect your heirs. The Princess vanished this morning also, disappearing before the Queen’s eyes during a training session. A squad of warriors, including the heir, Admete, will be taking your sons into deep hiding within the rainforest.

I eyed her thoughtfully. Failure was not a word Hippolytes were accustomed to using. Was there a mage in attendance at the time?

The Elven Princess was escorted there by Liliath Ka’antira. She brought the Queen’s envoy here to inform us of these events. She has now returned to Hippolytos to discover what she can.

I will send you back with another mage. Ask Antiope if I can borrow a small squad of her warriors— no more than ten. A piece of advice for you as well, Alanta—send your daughter to the care of your Queen. She, too, is a Ka’antira heir, and if my uncle learns of her existence the child will also be in danger. If you wish to ease my mind further, go with her and take on the additional task of helping to ward my sons.

Alanta inclined her head shortly, her hand to her chest in a Hippolyte salute.

Nial, return to Plicat and tell him I will be going after the children myself. His charge will be to hold the throne until his King returns.

Your Majesty, the Regent assumed this would be your response. He asks that I remain with you to offer whatever assistance I may.

Then at least go back and tell him what I said and return here. Bring what you might need for a journey.

Where are we going?

I don’t know yet, but I will by the time you get back.

What are you planning to do? Rontil asked

His wife shrugged his arm from her shoulders with a rock-jawed belligerent glare I remembered only too well from her mother.

I’m going to the Artemicon, I replied. I’ll be back in a few minutes.

Brial stepped to my side, wrapping his hand around my arm firmly. I teleported us from the Palace to the great Temple to the Huntress with only a flicker of thought. A priest, startled, raised his spear, but Brial knocked it from his grasp with a violent swing of his arm.

I need the High Priestess in Daphnis’s sanctuary, I said shortly, already stalking toward the cathedral. Tell her the Elven Queen is here, and it is urgent.

The priest ran down the hall, his sandals slapping on the marble floors.

Urgency. It pounded in my body, stung against the pores of my skin. My daughter had disappeared—along with the two young Kings—and I needed to know where they were. I had to know as soon as possible. I had killed Spesialle’s son less than a fortnight before, reveling in his horror as Rodolf burned into greasy cinders on the floor of the Ilian emerald.

What if he now had my child?

That urgency sped my steps. I picked up my skirts and ran for the sanctuary, Brial at my side. When we reached the bough-laden door in the Huntress’s cathedral, he threw open the door with a crash. I hurried in and dropped to my knees, skidding across the floor on my slick skirts until I banged against the altar. I pressed my face to the resin-smelling wood. Oh gods, Immortal Daphnis! I need your help now!

I cannot help thee, Queen of the Elves, she replied instantly. I do not know where thy daughter is hidden.

"You must know! I shouted. They weren’t teleported, Daphnis. They just vanished! This is not the work of a mortal mage. This is the work of an immortal. Where has Spesialle taken them?"

The dreams of foreknowledge no longer come to me, beloved daughter. My sight is gone as if it never were. The paths of the immortal realms are quiet and dark for all still grieve for Phobetor. I do not know where your uncle conceals himself from our sight.

I looked up at Brial. Then he must be staying with the Tammuz in turn.

You don’t know that. He could be in disguise. Brial argued, more for the sake of throwing out an alternative than in disagreement.

Our daughter won’t be. Anyone who looks at her would know her for who she is. He can’t take that risk.

"What about the place where he hid you, alanna?"

I stilled. His dreamworld version of Spesialle? Wouldn’t that be gone too now that Phobetor is?

Phobetor is gone, true, Daphnis interrupted. But the world of dreaming, the domains of sleep remain. Morpheus holds the lands of Godspring after the death of his much-beloved son.

As soon as I heard the name, I knew. Godspring! Was this the tall-grassed prairie where I’d met the lost god?

Godspring is where we will go. I scrambled to my knees, aching. My body was not yet recovered enough to move with ease. He will have them there.

Where is it? my husband demanded, looking at Daphnis.

The way to Godspring is through the northern passes of the Ilian Mountains, the Seer said dubiously. No one is certain where.

We’ll find it. Thank you for your assistance, immortal Daphnis. You have my gratitude.

Take my blessing with you as well, Prince of the Elves. She vanished so quickly that the flowers on the altar stirred with her passing.

We’ll need some Elven scouts, I said. The Hippolytes too, I think. A party of no more than twenty-five or thirty would be best. I’m not sure what’s on the Ilian continent to be concerned about, but I don’t want to take any chances.

I agree, Brial said, already ushering me back out of the sanctum.

The High Priestess was hurrying toward us. What is it Tamsen?

I have already finished, Revered Priestess. I am sorry to have disturbed you.

But what did you need, my child? How can I help you?

I need you to pray for me, I murmured, forcing the wail of fear away from my lips. Pray for us all.

We managed to get things together in a remarkably short period of time. Once we returned to the Palace, I informed Rontil of our sketchy plans. I left him in the great chamber running his hand over the arm of the alabaster throne and his head bowed. The Tartaran mage, Nial, had done as I had requested and awaited us in the antechamber. I included him when I teleported back to our house.

The manor was teeming with activity. Servants hurried up and down the stairs while Wilden bellowed orders from the conservatoire. As Brial and I entered, trailed by the curious Tartaran mage, Wilden faltered into silence.

Well, Uncle? I seized a goblet and gestured for wine.

Kaldarte took Alanta back to Hippolytos. They haven’t returned yet, but Alanta feels certain that Antiope will agree to your request. I’ve sent Sieppa to fetch Brial’s unit of scouts from Leselle. I’d assume that Beron and Arami will return with them as well. I’ve arranged for horses too. Where are we going?

Ilia, Brial said. The mountains of Ilia.

We’ll need cold weather gear and ropes then, Wilden muttered.

Keep the gear light, I said. I’m not sure what we’re going to be dealing with. If worse comes to worse, we can always teleport back and get what we need.

Bryse hurried into the room. I downed the wine in a single gulp. Pull out my scout leathers, Bryse, the lightest ones I have. I’ve got an errand to run.

Where are we going? Brial asked casually, his eyes narrowed.

"Hippolytos. I’ll do all I can for Ansienne and Tartarus, but right now I want to see my sons."

Chapter Two

Brial, Wilden, and I arrived on Hippolytos within ten minutes. I didn’t bother with worrying about surprising the volatile Hippolyte warriors into slaughtering us on sight; I just shielded us and dropped us right before Antiope’s house. I wasn’t surprised to find the town loud and busy, but I was startled to see the legions of Hippolytos quite obviously preparing to go to war.

I took a touch of magic and amplified my voice. I am Tamsen Ka’antira, here to speak to your Queen!

The warriors nearest me pivoted neatly on their heels, hands flashing to the hilts of their swords.

I’d intentionally not worn one.

Hold!

I recognized my friend’s martial bellow as it reverberated over the city. The warriors froze in place as a boulevard opened through the regimented lines of towering women. It took only a minute for my friend Antiope of Hippolytos to reach me and the two silent Elves behind me. She, too, wore all of her war gear, and her face was set into stern, angry lines.

Welcome, my friend. I thought you would come.

I moved to embrace her, but to my horror she fell to her knees at my feet. I have failed you, Queen of the Elves. You entrusted me with the safety of your heirs, and I have failed you.

The Hippolytes gathered around their Queen were stoic. Not a single one lifted her voice to argue with Antiope’s claim of guilt.

Oh, get up! I snapped. The last time I checked, none of us were infallible. Don’t be ridiculous, Antiope. And what is all this silliness? Where are you planning to take your legions to war? I beg you not to think of attacking Leselle; I’m a little too busy to defend my kingdom from you right now.

My armies will remain here to protect your sons and the rest of the Ka’antira heirs under Admete’s command, the warrior Queen said. Hippolytos will not fail the Elves again.

I caught what she didn’t say. "And where, precisely, will you be, Antiope?"

Her eyes met mine with a definite sheen of steel shining over the green. With you, of course. I suppose you’re here to see your sons? I’ll take you to them.

Gods, they’d grown so much!

Morrote stood at my side, already sprouting into the tall lissomness of his Elven father. He, apparently, had taken quite well to Hippolyte military training. New muscles twined along his arms, arms that were no longer the scratched, skinned sticks he’d sported only a year before. He accepted my hug stiffly,