The Heirs of Death

41.1 Alliance

ALLIANCE

I rarely went down to the dock for there was truly not much to do. Nothing more than ships coming in and out, loading and unloading, some arriving on time, some waylaid by the storms shredding the world. We only cared for the goods being brought, the crates hauled into the castle, not how they arrived.

I remained rooted to my place, on the roof of the small building standing a bit behind the wooden bridges. It hosted the cabinets and offices of those constantly assigned here, a three-levels structure in the very heart of the buzz. It offered enough leverage to observe the lower guards on their posts, Sédil and Dier who were stationed each on a different side, and Aedis who had gone down to make sure the shipment he was waiting for arrived on time and intact.

That shipment—the reason behind all the changes forced on our schedules. Our plans.

Like all others, it carried goods and weapons and many, many crates with rotting corpses. But there had been something else, a smaller crate the size of an average jewelry box that Aedis had been more than cautious about it. A special delivery for the Queen.

I couldn’t quite tell what it held, what was the true nature of the magic throbbing within it from so far, but the rain and the winds emphasized its scent, and it was dark and heavy enough to know it was the sort of sorcery needed to waken a god.

I could only wonder if Blake knew what it was, if he was even aware of that shipment.

Box still in his arms, Aedis entered the building I was perched on, a momentary stare passing between us. And a nod that was so subtle it couldn't be noticed. My attention drifted between the many ships being anchored, the sailors and workers bringing down the sails, throwing the ropes, fighting the unrelenting winds.

The storm hadn't ceased a fraction, the rain didn't halt, the winds didn’t stop howling. Like a beast finally up from its slumber.

I could only beg this weather didn't stretch far enough, that it didn't tackle Cantelot or any of the remaining continents. With the Eleven Winds coming closer, Cantelot might not survive all of this wreckage. I could almost feel Téors's words ripping through my memories, pulling that day at the temple to the top of my consciousness. Cantelot was falling, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. To help it fight back. Nothing but to keep on playing this wicked game I'd been battling through for months now.

The gate that opened and closed in a heartbeat was silent, clean, and scentless. So well performed I believed not even Lysithea would have noticed it if she weren't in her rooms, waiting on very thin threads. Aedis was out not long afterward, empty handed, the cape billowing behind him crackling like fire. A long masterpiece of fabric that couldn't be damaged, dyed a rich, fiery red, ran by a black, median line not wider than a finger. A reversed twin to the one I owned, the one marking our positions as First Female and First Male.