Kal stared him down. Fenn cracked his knuckles under the table before speaking again. “That’s what the elders desire.” He shook head, piercings swinging with the motion. “Aesar in command won’t pacify the reavers.”
Kal and the girl swiveled their attention toward Fenn. Curiosity had Lykor listening. The young lieutenant never spoke against his father.
“The reavers want to rule themselves,” Fenn claimed. “There’s too many warriors aligned with Larek now for you to manage. They’ve…tried to recruit me over the years.” Fenn chewed his lip ring. The same aggravating habit as Kal. “Larek proved that the reavers are going rogue. They won’t take orders.” He picked at a biscuit on his plate. “They have no intention of crossing the Wastes to the west like you do. Instead, they would travel to the east—to the mortal realms.”
Idly tracing the lifted vines on the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his side, Lykor waited for Fenn to run himself out of breath. “Lieutenant, enlighten me as to why we shouldn’t let them go.”
“The reavers would survive by raiding farms and supply lines to Alari—they have no qualms with harming the humans.” Fenn’s eyes darted to the girl in a peculiar glance before continuing. “What the reavers did to the mortals yesterday was worse than that raid where they ‘practiced’ with their crossbows on the farmers.” Tracing a scar on his cheek—courtesy of helping Lykor restore order that day—Fenn studied him, as if weighing his words. “They’ll only terrorize the defenseless if they have free rein.”
“That behavior was corrected,” Lykor growled, crushing his gauntlet to restrain the storm of his temper.
Fenn’s face went ashen, likely recalling how Lykor had used Essence to rip out the offenders’ fangs and talons. Displays of magic always made the younger generation nervous.
Diving into Fenn’s silence, the elf slapped her silverware to the table. “Clearly, you failed to correct it.”
Lykor’s lip curled. “Remind me, who invited you to this conversation?”
The girl glanced at the lieutenant, exposing the blame. Something Lykor couldn’t place sparked and then burned in Fenn’s gaze.
“Larek tried to seize her yesterday,” Fenn growled, fangs extending. “The reavers would force her to use her magics to navigate the Wastes.”
Lykor cocked his head, wondering how Fenn had overlooked that he’d require the same of the elf.
“Do you have a suggestion to make, Lieutenant?” Lykor demanded, eyes pinning on Fenn’s fangs. “Or do you simply have your father’s habit of sucking down air?”
Fenn blinked, abashed, before retracting his teeth.
Lykor continued without permitting him time to answer. “If the reavers cross the frozen expanse, they’ll run into that human army.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “What would it be? A few hundred of them against thousands of mortals? They would be crushed.”
Including the captain in his scorn, Lykor swung his gaze to Kal. “Even if the wraith remain united, we wouldn’t survive against such a force—those ants would overrun us with their numbers alone. And if the elves portal in their Essence-wielding army, they’d level this entire forsaken wasteland.” He raked his attention back toward Fenn. “Or do you not have a head for the obvious, Lieutenant? If that’s the case, perhaps I should reconsider those rings in your ears.”
Fenn dragged his talons away from the jewelry in his lobes. “The reavers wouldn’t focus on the gathered army,” he argued, the cords in his arms flexing. “They’d terrorize small farms and villages.”
“I’m waiting to hear your point.” Lykor scoffed. “The reavers’ plans are as witless as they are worthless. They’d draw too much attention to themselves, forcing intervention from the elves. We have the advantage of portaling after raids. They do not. Their ambitions would be their demise.” Lykor stretched his shoulders, dispelling his exasperation by popping the joints. “The humans aren’t our concern. Let those half-elves like her”—Lykor slid his eyes in the elf’s direction, meeting her glare with his own—“busy themselves with pursuing the reavers. The distraction would allow us ample time to relocate to somewhere safer.”
“And portaling across the Wastes is still your plan?” Kal countered. He tipped his head at the girl, the bronze in his hair glinting in the sunlight stabbing over the mountains. “You’d have her use that elemental power and risk both of your lives in the process to reach the other side?”
Weary of this circular argument, Lykor beat his gauntlet against the table. “If you disagree, then you can remain here or leave with the reavers.”
Kal’s plastered congenial look disintegrated. “We don’t know if habitable lands even exist to the west. Across the Cerulean Sea it’s possible, but anything toward the setting sun could be frozen snow.”
“How do you expect us to cross the ocean? By swimming?” Lykor loathed the strain in his voice, but he was forced to argue the obvious facts. “Navigating through the Wastes is our only option, unless you miraculously have Galaeryn’s schematics for the Aelfyn galleons stashed up your ass.” Earning a glower in response, Lykor flicked the Heart, the metal of his armor pinging against the crystal. “You were so star-bent on finding these baubles. But now we have one and you want to sit here instead of searching for the dragons. They’re somewhere. And I intend to find them before the king.”
“Dragons?” the elf chimed in, a glass of water halfway to her mouth. “I thought they went extinct along with the druids.”
“Who else do you think that voice in the Heart belongs to?” Lykor asked, rolling his eyes. “Or do you have another mind leeched onto yours like I do?”
With a calculated deliberation, the girl set her drink down, swallowing what he assumed was a retort. Entertained by the potential imagination of her insult, Lykor nearly goaded her into speaking it.
And to discover if his prodding would lead to the lieutenant flashing his fangs—like Fenn was her self-appointed guardian. I SHOULD’VE PREDICTED HE’D BECOME POSSESSIVE OVER A CHARGE.
Lykor expected the girl to back down. Instead, the elf stubbornly held his gaze, making her displeasure known. A wrinkle formed on her upturned nose before she dismissed his question, turning to Kal instead.
“The dragons”—she shot him a glare—“mentioned the Hearts bound their power in chains. So returning the Hearts will free them?”
Lykor released an explosive sigh, interrupting whatever Kal was going to say. At this rate, the girl wouldn’t understand if a dragon flew through the trinket and bashed her over the skull. Having their instructions implanted directly into her head apparently wasn’t enough.
“There are five Hearts,” Lykor clipped, enduring the explanation. He held up his fingers so that she could count. “And those five Hearts,” he said, pointing to the tips of his digits, “each have a dragon bound—perhaps the last of their kind.” Struck by a ripple of generosity from her rapt attention—well, mostly from her silence—he offered more of Aesar’s conclusions. “Your connection to the earth through your shaman blood is likely the reason you can hear the echo of their words.”
“Aesar believes these relics are keys,” Kal said, before the girl could start bickering back. He rested a hand on top of the Heart, igniting the three colors of his talents.
“And though we only have one,” Lykor growled, “surely unbinding the might of a single dragon would be better than nothing.”
“But I have elemental power.” The elf’s brows creased with her furious thinking, looking between them. “Doesn’t that mean the dragon’s magic has already been freed?”
“Shaman power differs from dragon power,” Kal gently explained. “You can’t conjure the elements like they could. We don’t know the extent of what your human line might be capable of, but it’s obvious you can manipulate elements if they’re present.” The captain nodded at the pitcher of water, and Lykor assumed that the girl had performed her tricks before he’d arrived.
The elf frowned, twirling her hair around a finger. “Then I don’t understand why the earthen powers have only now appeared again after all this time.”
Lykor dug a fist into his eye, seriously regretting joining this wretched conclave instead of portaling away.
“The druid sterility curse finally going into effect two centuries ago likely triggered the elements to stir—that’s what Aesar believes, anyway.” Kal glanced at Lykor. “Dragon power slumbered alongside shaman power. Having their magic go dormant was perhaps the only way to protect the mortals. The Aelfyn would’ve had no reason to target them.”
“The king has prepared for the return of elemental magic,” Lykor grated out, sneering at the girl. “Aesar presumes Galaeryn’s aspirations extend to controlling shaman spawn like you in order to subdue the Maelstrom. The king will cross the sea and harvest whatever is left of the dragons’ ancient magic for himself—or try to.” Thinking of Galaeryn accumulating even more power had Lykor’s gut twisting into a sour knot. “That’s why we need to earn the beasts’ favor by freeing them first. If they’re alive.”
“What about the druids?” Fenn asked, his interest always piquing at the extinct flying shifters. “Could they be guarding the chained dragons?”
“We have no way of knowing since the war took place across the sea,” Kal said, twisting a thin braid between his fingers. “If there were any druids left, they wouldn’t have permitted the Aelfyn to rule. If the dragons can’t stand against Galaeryn, then there’s no hope for us.” To Lykor’s annoyance, his captain had voiced what he was about to say. Kal glanced at him, a residual thunder flashing in his eyes. “Then it won’t matter what scorching end Lykor leads us to.”
