Alaric's chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a rusty spoon. He expected the interrogation to start immediately—the kind of cold, calculated questioning that made the palace feel more like a courtroom than a home. He expected Asimi to look at him and see a liability instead of a son.
Instead, she leaned forward, and her hand came to rest against his cheek. Her skin was cool, but the gesture was so unexpectedly soft it made his throat tighten.
She looked at him with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. "Next time," she said, "be smarter. Curiosity is a tool, but when it's dull, it only cuts the person holding it."
Alaric swallowed and slowly pulled his hand from under the blankets. The silver ring was still there, but it had changed. The runes weren't just flowing like water anymore; they were etched deep into the metal, glowing with a faint, mirror-like sheen.
"It's him," Alaric whispered. "The man from the tower."
Asimi reached out, her fingers closing around Alaric's hand. She didn't pull the ring off. She just touched it.
Suddenly, the air in the room grew heavy. It felt like the pressure change before a thunderstorm. A voice—ancient, dry, and entirely too calm—echoed directly into their minds. It was like a bell ringing in a room made of glass.
"Lune-bound Empress," the voice murmured. "Do not fear. I am Alanor. I have observed your son. He is... unusual."
Asimi didn't flinch. She should of been terrified—an ancient ghost was squatting in her son's brain—but she just narrowed her eyes. "Explain yourself, 'Archmage.' You used his body."
"I saved his life," Alanor countered. "And the lives of your knights. The breach was a bleeding wound. I merely stitched it." Then, the voice leaned in. It felt like a cold breeze against Alaric's neck.
"I will teach him, Empress. He needs it. Especially since he carries two souls in one vessel. One native... and one from elsewhere."
The silence that followed was absolute. Alaric felt his heart stop. James Silver, the man inside the boy, wanted to bolt for the door. The secret was out. The most dangerous secret in the world was sitting on the table between a mother and her child.
Asimi's eyes locked onto Alaric. She didn't look horrified. She looked... focused. "We will speak of that," she said, her voice trembling just enough to show she was human, "when the walls cannot listen."
The conversation was cut short by a frantic banging at the door. A messenger burst in, his boots caked in mud, his face the color of spoiled milk. He dropped to his knees, clutching a scroll sealed with the Emperor's emergency wax.
"Your Majesty! Emergency declaration from the Kingdom of Holtzen!"
Asimi snapped the scroll open. Her eyes flew across the parchment, and for the first time, Alaric saw her jaw tighten in genuine alarm.
"What is it?" Alaric asked, his voice sounding tiny in the massive room.
"War," Asimi said, the word dropping like a lead weight. "Holtzen claims we've committed heresy against the faith of Valion. They're mobilizing. And the Dwarves of Hammerdeep..."
She trailed off, looking at the messenger. "What about the King of Hammerdeep?"
"Rugnar Kyreath is silent, Majesty. Half the clans want to honor our old treaties; the other half are sharpenin' their axes for Holtzen. They're a coin toss away from joining the invasion."
Alaric looked at the status of his world, and for the first time, the "Game" felt very, very real.
Asimi looked at the ring on Alaric's finger, then at the messenger. Her relief from earlier was gone, replaced by the grim calculation of a woman who knew she was about to send thousands of men to their deaths.
"Alaric," she said, her voice as cold as the elven stone. "Get up. Your 'training' just moved up by five years. If war is coming, I will not have you be the weak link in our chain."
Alaric nodded, his small fingers curling into a fist. The ring hummed against his skin, a silent promise of power he wasn't sure he was ready for.
The game just changed difficulty, James Silver thought. And I'm still too short to reach the sword rack.