LAUCAN

"It starts with finding your balance on ice, Little Prince," Madame Titania instructed with a strict shake of her head when he failed time and time again to climb the ropes and to ascend the heavens as their ancestors had, where her light blonde waves bounced and weaved with her graceful movements. "No. No. No. It is not done just so. If the Little Prince wishes to fly, he must learn to fall first — feel the cruel sting, and find the strength to stand and stretch his wings." Her every tumble and twist in the air spread out the fumes of snow with her guarded chakrams, hanging loosely on the edge of her fingertips, but never fell from her grasp. Pearls bounced off her boots when she landed in a ripple of memory while he stood in the silence of the blizzard among the wrapped aerial silks all across the marble pillars within the dancing arena.

Before the Summit, it found use again with the Volaris Performers, but it spread silky spiderwebs along the corners with their swift departure. Laucan stepped into the middle of the battleground, and held out his chakrams. Out of practice and out of an arena staring down violet-eyed death. Magick coursed through the runic circuitry of the large practice dummy. Its limbs groaned from ice and disuse, but he held his breath when it came to the center to join him in the dance.

"We are unlike the glaive-wielding sentinels," Madame Titania instructed with several thrusting motions, sending powerful shards of ice into the walls of his mindscape memory. "But no less dangerous with our battle song. I am teaching you how to dance, Little Prince. You shall dance and find your wings in time."

He remembered his question of the past when the icy dance partner took a lumbering step forward and tugged out their own ice blades, 'What is the point of falling? Wouldn't it be better to avoid it? Wouldn't it be better to never fall? I thought we were descended from wyverns. Wyverns don't fall out of the sky. None of the past kings of Naveera ever fell from the great Ice Climb on the way to their coronations. I need to learn to fly, Magistera.'

Laucan circled his runic dance partner and her instructions came louder than his question.

"Let me tell you something, Wyverling Prince." Titania followed his steps with a mischievous, wise smile. "Every Naveeran will understand one thing when they stand on the precipice. You fear the fall, but you should not. You should accept it. Jump into its awaiting arms. Feel the wind. Hear the song and let it resound against your very soul. We have lived and died with this one simple truth of our heritage. In the fall is when we learn how to fly. Every Naveeran, from the peaks of the mountain to the deep ground of the tundra — will choose to fall without fail, and fly higher than the clouds."

But I need to be able to fly to deliver Naveera out of this frozen hell. I do not understand it, but if Naveera falls, what will be left of my people? Our stubbornness fades. We freeze and throw ourselves against the blizzard's eye with no end in sight except outside of our lands. For them, I must do more than fly.

Icy twine collected over his fingers and circled his chakrams. Crystals flecked off the training partner's movements when they came to a stop. In an instant, it lunged.

"So dance, Little Prince."

Laucan slid out of the way, using his chakrams as both a balance and a counteroffensive to send a wave of ice straight into the training partner's head. It crystallized and weighed it down. He kicked off its core and put distance from his opponent. It stumbled with heavy clanks, but twisted around to send its own burst of ice. He slid underneath it, and it blasted the marble wall and shuddered the tied up aerial silks above his head. It raced forward with ferocity, and he sliced across its side to send himself into another slide on his icy dance floor, before sending the other straight at its back when it turned. It skidded off and sent another trail of crystals up the wall, where it lodged in the cracks.

Laucan tugged on the twine around his fingers, but grunted when his training partner barrelled into him, and ice melted into shaky foundations of water. On his knees, he lifted his head when violet bore down on him with a lance to pierce his heart. Air shuddered, and he snapped his hand out before the blade impaled his throat. Glyphs of ticking time spread out in front of him, slowing down the white-haired aggressor in his tracks. Spatial distortion latched onto the hands of the spiral clock, tearing it apart with ease.

He crushed it with his fist, and the circuitry died. It slumped in front of him, and he scrambled to his feet to cling onto the wall before recalling his chakram back into his hands with a whisper of wind. Snowflakes fell around him, a gentle mirror of the outside, but no mirror gave him truths and lies. He hooked his chakrams together before placing them in their sheath. Emptiness consumed the breath of fresh air growing in his lungs, and he released it with his tension, never winning and always falling. He dug his fingers into his palm, but his frustration never grew with a sputtered flame when the door opened.

"Your Grace?" Efram asked with a small, quick bow. "I have come to take you back to your quarters. Keeper Blackwall wishes to speak with you, and you also have a council meeting to attend. The Queen Regent also wishes to discuss some things with you at your earliest convenience."

"Thank you, Efram." Laucan gazed at the aerial silks and longed to find the strength in his useless downy wings. "I will not keep them waiting."

Efram gave another tiny bow and scurried out of his way without looking him in the eye. But how can we see the sun if we always look down? Everyone knows the sun treads the sky, and only death is in the ground. Palace and city walls shielded him from the blizzard, but never protected him from the anger of his people. Anger spurred on into an overflowing boil by the Traye loyalists. It will seep through the streets, but everyone is desperate for warmth. He drew his cloak over his shoulders and tucked his neck deeper into the furs.

Another, white-haired, violet-eyed Ice Knight leaped into the fray of hatred and spite, grabbing him around the middle to swing him under their arm and held his older sister Hayvala over their shoulder while she screamed in shock before the enemy undid them both.

But he hated us too. His family haunts us, torments us past the frozen death. He hugged himself. Father never trusted him.

The Ice Knight leapt out of the crowd and into spatial distortion to land on a flat-roofed building above the squalor. Hayvala sobbed into his arms, but Laucan sat on the edge, and dread the fall into a trap of ice bears. People jeered and called out for retribution, vengeance, justice, for equal suffering.

But why do we all have to suffer?

A faint, blurry memory. He fought naught against the frozen tide when the Ice Knight scooped him back underneath his arm and tugged Hayvala out of the danger of the mob. Their screams and shouts throbbed his temples and he drove his fingers into them to rip out the sound.

He took them home, and stayed silent, always in Hayvala's shadow.

Father sent other Knights into the streets and no one made a sound.

It is as Hayvala says... there is no one left to cry out for an answer. Laucan led the way back to his room with his own shadow. In the safety of his room, he winced at the pile of correspondence requiring his royal attention. Flickering firelight cast a deep, frozen glow on the walls and cast shadows in the corner of his eye. He ignored it all and went to the washing bin. Heatrocks pressed against the outside of the bowl to add extra warmth. Efram took a seat in his regular corner to wait for his next direction, so Laucan left him to his duties to attend to his own. He dug his hands deep into the life of fire, before sending it through his feathers. Down tickled his skin, and he tried to shake out what he could to allow space for his adult feathers to grow in. Further frustration dug into his throat when he tugged at one, but it pinched the side of his head, and he groomed them further.

He finished on time with the knock on the door, fixing his collar before motioning for Efram to remain seated to answer the door himself.

Two Sentinels flanked Blackwall. "Your Grace?" Blackwall said in the wyvern tongue with near perfect precision — and an old touch that it was almost difficult to discern meanings within the notes. "I have had the opportunity to do a cursory study of the world crystal within the palace annex and I thought to share some of my findings with you as some of it concerns Lady Hayvala. If you have the time, of course, though I will say time will wait for no one on this matter."

Time, our greatest blessing, or a curse of our past? Laucan stepped out of his room. "What is it? What did your examination tell you?"

"How much do you understand what happened between the lady Hayvala and the crystal?" Blackwall answered with another question.

"All she's told me is that she touched it and it... showed her things," Laucan explained. "Otherwise, I'm afraid I don't know much if anything."

"Onto my next question then," Blackwall said. "Do you recall anything tumultuous that happened before she touched it?"

It was an old song. His sister's scream as Sentinel pushed down Sentinel. Among them, Yokonei Traye, the traitor and oathbreaker of Naveera — one who pledged a solemn oath but everyone knew not where his loyalties lie. Hayvala kicked, screeched, kicked and dug her teeth into the arms of the knights holding her back while Yokonei looked down at the floor and accepted Father's judgment without another word. Laucan folded his hands, then mumbled, "She touched it after Yokonei Traye was sent into the tunnels."

"Ah, the Tunnels of Apathy, I presume?" Blackwall asked.

"Yes." Laucan shrank with the weighted shame on his shoulders, but frowned when victory flashed in the deep browns. "What does that tell you?"

"Magick gathers and crystallizes, molding memories onto the flow of the world," Blackwall said. "Many world spheres give off Obscura energy, but not Naveera's. I daresay, with time, we could delve into its depths to learn the history — the truth. But, I need to study further and observe the severity of Lady Hayvala's entanglement."

Laucan nodded and headed down the steps. "I am heading to a council meeting," he said and steeled himself for further words of discontent — to confront Lord Vlazis and Lord Lazron on the missing supplies once more. "Have you started my sister's treatment?"

"I am having ingredients sent from the Volaris alchemist," Blackwall said.

I cannot wait any longer for that truth, but Lord Lazron and Lord Vlazis have forced my hand in the matter. If we continue on this course... there will truly be nothing left of us. He settled on his decisions, then said, "I extend an invitation for you to listen in on the council meeting. It may help you with your study of the world crystal to understand our current climate within the aristocracy."

"I would be honored to attend, Your Grace." Blackwall put a hand over his heart and bowed.

Maybe Hayvala is right in that we need the viewpoint of outsiders. Laucan waited for the Blizzard Sentinels to fall into their predictable line behind him, blades at the ready for any possible assassin or attack from every angle. His heartbeat pounded against his rib-cage when he took the lead through the snow-flecked halls. Over carpets of woven opalescent fabric and out of the royal wing, directed by an archway and further Sentinels who smacked the handles of their glaives against the stone. It echoed without power, and without a voice. He slipped on the icy arena, with Yuven Traye following him with a dogged, violent intent. Fear shivered and froze his blood as he walked into the throne room. He rounded the climb to the throne of ice and flourished pearls. Pews lined the walls with curled armrests and puffy cushions for any who sought reparation and guidance during court.

Behind two iceberg doors, the dome stretched deeper into the shell of the palace. Chandeliers dripped crystal flakes into the air. In the middle, several chairs sat around a table, a sphere of their little world. A giant, etched map of Naveera with bright lights to denote cities, with smaller bulbs for known surviving towns. It sent a cyan glow against the roof and projected the same map over the dome, another mirror. Knots curled and made art on the rim of the round table, where wyverns flew around the thorns of snowroses.

Everyone stood behind their seats and turned at his arrival, with Hayvala taking the seat next to his own. "Your Winged Grace," she said with a deep bow, and all the Lords followed suit with varying levels of stiffness in their limbs. "We have been waiting for you. Are we ready to start this council meeting?" Her voice never wavered, and sang strong over those who tried to stifle it.

Laucan headed to the seat, where a large rose flowered into the arm rests. "I am. We have much to discuss."

Lord Lazron sniffed when Blackwall took a corner, out of the way. "Why did you bring the outsider, Your Grace?" he asked with disdain. "Do we not have enough... difficulties at present?"

On the other end, Lord Vlazis folded his arms, but considered him and Hayvala without his own words. Feathers ruffled, with some of the other Lords leaning forward to investigate the strange new sight.

Hayvala glanced at Blackwall, then turned to him with a question on her lips. Laucan opened his mouth to respond, but Blackwall needed no defender.

"I hear you well, Lord Lazron, am I correct?" Blackwall questioned in clear Naveeran and took a half-step into the light. "Forgive my rudeness, I am not yet accustomed to Naveeran guest rules. I am Keeper Blackwall, His Winged Grace invited me from the Summit to discuss said..." His tongue hesitated on his lips, whether to draw out the translation of a word, or to measure them. "Difficulties you and yours have been confronting, please, do not mind me."

Lord Lazron's grey feathers stood on end, and he sniffed. "Outsiders do not know our tongue."

Blackwall gave the old lord a smile. "If I offended you, I apologise, Lord Lazron. I have studied Naveeran for a long while now, but you are right that I cannot understand the true intricacies of the song. But, that is neither here nor there. To think so little of 'outsiders', one will wonder if you speak and someone can hear you when you don't want them to." He took a seat on one of the side chairs and laced his fingers, raising them to his nose to hide his expression.

"We, of course, welcome you, Keeper Blackwall," Hayvala raised her voice, causing the Lords to silence. "Let us discuss the matter of the recent Summit. Sit." A command of queens and kings. Everyone followed suit, leaving himself and Hayvala standing. Hayvala smiled at him, then took her seat herself. A subtle deference to his absolute rule. Laucan sat last, then rested his arms against the round table of dancing roses.

"Yes, the Summit," Lord Vlazis pushed. "We have heard rumors of what transpired."

"A Derelict horde," Hayvala said with a nod. "Many fought bravely. Many lost their lives." Laucan heard a touch of frustration and anger within her tone, but it never breached the surface of calm ice. "King Laucan, you were there. It is best you discuss what you wish to discuss with your council," she said under her breath, a guiding hand. "Tell them."

Laucan glanced at Blackwall, then continued, "We have been suffering for supplies. Our underground farms struggle while ice crawls through the ground." He frowned at the older lords, with none his age, with the youngest at twenty and nine, Lord Vlazis, who sought out Hayvala at every court gathering. "At the Summit, I have met with the King of Haneka."

The reaction was far more immediate.

"The Barbarian King who dares call himself a dragon." Lord Lazron curled his lip. "He embarrassed your father the last Summit — why do you think we have not deigned to grace them with our presence."

Hayvala exhaled through her nose, and a puff of icy mist cooled the air. "Lord Lazron, may I remind you that the King of Haneka was a six and ten Turns old child who bested the late Knight Valiant of Volaris? You were there, do not dismiss his cunning and skill out of hand. He could be a great ally for the times ahead, and I gave my blessing for approaching him. Any issues you have you can bring up to me."

Lord Lazron's lip uncurled and hit the sharp fangs.

"Continue, Your Grace," Hayvala encouraged.

Laucan swallowed his anxious thoughts back into the bowels of his stomach. "Yes, I spoke with Reyn, the sovereign of Haneka," he said. "I thought—" He stopped himself, then corrected, "I will be setting up a sort of trade system. The terms are simple. For resources and supplies, we shall deliver stone to the Hanekan wall keeping the Derelicts in the desert, along with stonemasons to repair and reinforce the defense."

"Derelicts are not our problem," Lord Vlazis muttered. "They can barely move in the cold."

Hayvala pointed out, "It does not make them less dangerous, Lord Vlazis."

Lord Vlazis bowed his head. "Of course, Your Grace. I am sorry for speaking out of line."

Lord Lazron huffed. "What would you know of their dangers, Lady Hayvala?"

Fire stewed in his soul, but Hayvala rested her hand on his shoulder. "Many, Lord Lazron," she said with a smile. "But there is none more dangerous than despair. Supplies went missing to your city. We are still investigating as to where they went. This trade route will lessen the burden on our people, and we may get through this, but only together."

Every Lord fell silent and refused to meet their gazes.

"I believe that matter is closed." Hayvala took the reins, which allowed him to listen. Her hands trembled with the slight wind, but she set them strong on the table. "I remind you to please make sure supplies are divided up evenly in your counties. The seat of Volaris will do what it can to support those whose homes are buried in snow," she said and folded her arms. "So I say, this meeting is adjourned. Any further inquiries can be sent to me." One last smile which showed fangs.

Everyone stood up and gathered their things. Lord Lazron focused his attention on Lord Vlasiz, who raised his nose into the air.

"Together, Hayvie?" Laucan mused when the last left.

"Keeper Blackwall," she mused. "Did you learn anything?"

"Quite, Your Highness," Blackwall said. "That was... illuminating. I thank you for this chance. I shall return to my studies with the world crystal."

Once he was gone, Hayvala's smile died. "Laucan, you should've told me."

"There was no time," Laucan said. "He's getting ingredients for your medication. Will you please take them?"

Hayvala sighed. "I shall try, for you, brother. For your hope."

Laucan stood at the round table, a king without true Ice Knights when his sister, the queen regent, left the room with a steady stride, but a glazed over mist tearing through the blues. He frowned, then left the room, and jumped when Blackwall left his corner.

"Your Grace."

"What is it?" he asked with Hayvala out of earshot.

"I want your sister to start the medication as soon as it is ready," Blackwall said and tucked his hands into his fur cuffs. "Your lords are agitated, their auras throwing themselves at each other."

"Their thoughts?" he dared to ask.

Blackwall closed his eyes. "You know that is against Auric Law, Your Grace."

Laucan nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to think that you would."

"Of course," Blackwall said. "What I mean to say is, but I need more conclusive... observations for this." He leaned closer. "I do believe Hayvala's condition is... exasperated by the energies within the room. I saw the entanglement tighten around her, but whether it is of any consequence..."

"You mean the council meetings make them worse?"

"I cannot say yet, but keep an eye on it. Good day, King Laucan." Blackwall gave him a bow.

He peeked out the nearest window, but a flurry hushed on the windowsill. How can he tell...? And Hayvala would tell me if it worsens her condition... right?