Phoenix

Chapter Two

I blinked against sudden brightness. Disorientation rolled through me and I felt as though I did not know where I was, though I did. Everything about this moment was routine and ordinary, waiting for the guards to throw open the brass-bound doors to the Hall. Lexia squeezed my hand.

"Are you well, Brother?" she asked, her silver eyes raking over me.

"I am," I replied. Squeezing her hand in return. "I just seemed to have..." But I could not think of what to say next. The doors opened.

We entered the feast in the usual manner. Lexia, dressed in white, Eremil trailing two steps behind. Gilt glittered in the candlelight and music shimmered above the murmur of voices. Lexia's hand rode mine like a dove on branch as I led her in, and the soldiers stood with the sound of chairs scraping and metal clanging. Father stared at us before he stood as well.

"My son," he announced, raising a cup in my direction. "The hero." The assembled survivors broke into applause.

The sound ripped into me, attacking my soul as the enemy had attacked my body, but I had not the heart to silence them. Too much to despair clouded these days, and any moment of joy, false or not, was sacred. The dining hall was full, though not nearly so full as it should have been. This war would destroy us all if it went on much longer. Our friends had turned on us, attacking the walls they vowed to defend. But yet my heart ached for the missing faces. Where was brave Gandron of the Vale? Where was noble Vecansian? They were now but smoke, drifting on winter's chill winds.

I flexed scarred fingers and the candlelight brightened, the fire on the wide marble hearth climbing a bit higher. What kind of war was it when the only enemies were our allies? How could we celebrate surviving the day when our survival meant the deaths of our friends? Still, Father pretended joy, so must I pretend. So must I bear the weight of things done, of those killed, and be named 'hero' for it.

"It is remarkable that in these last days, magic would resurface in my children," Father said, addressing the party. "The strength of Eloria is not yet spent. " He chuckled at that, but I could not. Magic was wondrous, true, but it was a burden I would wish on no one. Lexia looked at me then, her silver eyes carrying the same sentiment. As heavy as the yoke of magic weighed on me, what must it be to be her? To know the thoughts and hearts of all? To be the only one equipped to fight the actual enemy and not just its emissaries? As difficult as it was to carry the weight of those dead by my hands, I could not wish a different course. The walls of Eloria yet stood. The Scepters guarded deep within her stronghold remained safe.

That was all that mattered.

I guided Lexia down the length of the table, placing her to Father's left before I took my place at his right. Eremil took his place beside me and I waited for Father to sit and guide the rest into repose by his example.

"To victory," Father said, raising his goblet. The assembly echoed his toast and then sat, nearly as one. The servants began their dance, serving the party from golden platters and filling goblets with the clinking of crystal. Firelight colored the Hall, dancing with gold. The murmur of conversation blended with music. In the comfortable din, wise Lucius leaned forward to be seen around Eremil's bulk, catching my attention.

"How did you know they sought to turn against us?" asked Lucius. "Your strike seemed nearly preemptive, my Prince." I nodded as I sipped from my own goblet, trying to find words to respond. Lucius knew what it was to bear the weight of magic. In a time when magic had all but died out among the elves, he was a Soultraveler. Able to project his soul into the realms unknown and visit realms about which others only dreamed, Lucius's quiet, unobtrusive magic lacked the destructive nature of my own. He used his magic as a surgeon used his blade, jumping from one body to the next, shoving the occupant's soul aside and taking control of the body to do what good he could. He seemed unaware of my envy and his kindly face shone earnest and pure. Whatever hold the Darkness had in the land, it had not touched him.