Why Liam?
He looked closer, it was almost like he was looking at his younger self.
The boy laughed and tilted his head in that same stubborn way Aedric used to. And his eyes…
Aedric's breath caught. The same storm-grey color his mother had. Why had he never noticed?
A sudden wave of heat made the vision vanish.
Just before the fire died down, a chilling voice whispered, "Val'Razen."
And then he woke up.
Had he been dreaming? He didn't remember falling asleep. Had he drunk too much? He looked around. There was no trace of what he had seen.
But his chest burned. He tore open his shirt, pressing a hand to the ache above his heart. The skin was red, as if branded. An image seemed to form, but it faded before he could make it out.
Did he imagine it all?
He sank back into the chair, visibly shaken and staring at the now-quiet fire.
He must have drunk too much.
These old walls had a way of turning dreams into nightmares.
Yet… Lara and the boy? Why would he dream of them? He didn't even like them.
He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could still feel the ghost of the boy's fingers wrapped around his own.
He was certain it was nothing, but the way Liam had looked at him, the quiet defiance, the wit, those eyes...
No. No, no. It had to be a coincidence. Trickery.
He turned and lay down, forcing sleep upon himself
....
When dawn came, Aedric awoke and silently prepared to meet the king.
He dressed quietly, pulling on his black Stormbite uniform. The silver trim on his cuffs caught the light, and the name echoed again in the back of his mind: Val'Razen.
He turned to the hearth. The fire had died down, yet he could still feel the boy's fingers in his palm, like a frostbitten memory.
It had to mean nothing.
He told himself that again as he crossed the courtyard, the Lawwarden close behind. They were being led by two guards as they entered the throne room.
The great hall of Draemore was well preserved, a true display of grandeur and power. Golden pillars twisted like fangs. And banners that bore wolves with eyes of steel.
At the far end, seated on his throne was King Maelor. He watched Aedric as he entered and bowed.
"Your Majesty," Aedric greeted.
Maelor gave the smallest nod. "Cousin."
"I come with terms from the south," Aedric said. "An offer to rekindle our alliance and to stand together."
Maelor looked surprised. "An alliance? Now?"
A murmur rustled through the gathered warlords.
"You've come from Maravelle bearing olive branches and gold-tongued promises," Maelor said. "I'll accept neither, for now."
Aedric met his eyes. "I am here on behalf of the king himself."
"No," Maelor said, rising from the throne. "You simply come too late."
Maelor was tall and striking, with a presence that commanded attention.
"Do you remember how my father died?" he asked in a cold voice.
"Yes," Aedric nodded.
"Then what makes you think I will accept whatever you have to offer?"
"I am here on behalf of King Thornak," Aedric said.
"Is that supposed to make it better?" Maelor snapped. "Does the stain fade just because the cloth is new?"
A heavy silence followed.
"We know the North has seen the evil that threaten our lands." Aedric said breaking the silence. "Standing alone against the threats gathering beyond these mountains will be disastrous your majesty. We offer loyalty, strategy, and strength. Refusing us now, risks more lives."
"Your Majesty, if I may," the Lawwarden added. "We know your reservations. That is why we do not ask for blind trust, but only for the chance to prove ourselves. Let us act together to protect our kingdoms."
Maelor's eyes narrowed. "Oaths. Laws. Fine words. That is all I hear."
He stepped forward, coming to stand before Aedric and the Lawwarden.
"Under what conditions do you offer this alliance?" he asked.
"Your Majesty, we..." Aedric began, but Maelor raised a hand to silence him.
Maelor studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"One of ours has gone missing," he said. "A Marshal of the North, Eira of the Emberbound. She was scouting the old trail along Frostvine Ridge. She sent a raven, claiming she saw something that did not belong to this world. Then… nothing. No tracks. No blood. No body. Just a vanished warrior."
"You think she's alive?" Aedric asked.
Maelor's gaze hardened. "You want trust, Stormbite? Earn it. Find her. Bring her back, or bring word of her end. Do this, and you will have your alliance."
Aedric frowned. "I am not your hound."
"No," Maelor allowed, lips curving in something close to a sneer. "But that is my condition."
Aedric exchanged a quiet word with the Lawwarden, then faced the king again. "Very well. Give me the trail."
Maelor lifted a hand, and a figure stepped from the shadows, a tall woman wearing snow-leather.
"She went north, past Briar Hollow," the scout said. "Toward the temple ruins of Frostvine. I'll take you there. My name is Rell."
....
The northern air was cold.
Aedric had been cursing under his breath for the last two miles. It went straight through his cloak and into his bones. He was already feeling sore.
"Goddess, do all your roads go uphill?" he asked.
From ahead, Rell didn't turn. "What road?"
He blinked at the narrow trail half-swallowed by weeds and thorns.
"This is a road," he said flatly.
She grunted. "Then you're worse off than I thought."
He muttered something unprincely and urged his horse forward. The beast gave him a look of long-suffering, as if it regretted ever being saddled by a southerner.
"So what's the plan?" Aedric called out. "We just ride into the woods and hope she waves at us from behind a tree?"
"We find where she vanished. Then I track. You stay out of the way."
"Charming. And what do you think I'm here for, exactly?"
"Making the air warmer with all your talking."
He laughed dryly. "You think I'm soft."
She finally turned in the saddle. "I know you are. You smell like politics."
"That's not a smell."
Rell faced forward again, ignoring him. The silence dragged, until her head shot up and she sniffed the air.
Aedric straightened in the saddle. "What is it?"
"Quiet. Something's here."
Rell swung down from her horse and slipped into the bush, and came back a moment later holding a rabbit by the ears.
Aedric raised a brow. "All that for dinner?"
Rell tossed the rabbit into her saddlebag. "Better than listening to you whine."
Aedric smirked. "I wasn't whining. I was making conversation."
"Call it what you like," she said, swinging back into her saddle. "Noise is still noise."
They rode on.
A little while later, they made camp. Aedric had been trying to start a fire with flint and steel. The flint slipped again and again almost scraping his thumb.
Rell sat on a log, skinning the rabbit with ease. She looked over at him
"You're holding it like a fork," she said.
"I know how to light a fire," he muttered.
"Sure you do."
At last the fire caught and Aedric leaned back with a proud look.
"See? All this northern gloom just needed some southern charm."
"The rabbit is smarter than you," Rell said flatly.
He turned his head toward her. "That's a strong statement for something whose guts are currently in your lap."
She didn't smile, but her eyes showed amusement for a second.
Aedric leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire chase away the cold.
....
Lara had just finished her bath and stepped into her room, expecting to see Mira. Instead, casually sitting at her desk was Thornak. She hadn't seen him since the night of the attack, which was about a week ago.
He turned to her and froze. She was wearing a thin night dress, the soft fabric clinging to her frame. Her hair still dripping fell like gold threads around her shoulder. The fire that had been coiled so tightly within him surged.
A low growl rumbled in his throat, a raw desire to claim her filling him completely.
Thornak's eyes glowed as he closed the distance between them. Before she could react, he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers.