LAUCAN

Chains clattered with Yuven Traye's choke when he fell to his knees, fingers digging into the rough stone of Blackwall's chosen interrogation chamber, a small room inside the dungeons. Three black spheres hovered and tickled the air around Yuven Traye, the aura without a view. Trails of spit and blood slipped past Yuven's lips as he coughed. Decay and mold wafted into his nostrils at the splattered globs, and he inched back from the nearest one. Yuven stopped choking, and rested a hand on his knee with a scoff. "Here I was thinking you weren't sloppy," he said through bubbled lips and sat on his own manacles.

Blackwall considered Yuven. "It's a slow process, Traye. You were the one who pointed out not even Fenrer Pyren could pierce your memories — and you didn't think to simply wonder if he was not given enough time and focus to do so, to attempt it. I do have to wonder if you even allowed him."

Yuven kept his gaze locked on his bare feet, then wriggled his toes with a shudder in his chest. His garb stuck to his skin, glued on by the sweat of exertion. "I did, but unlike you he wasn't forceful on the matter."

"That'd be the reason why, Traye. You should know better than anyone that force will get results. Imagine if Pyren had forced it. How deep he could've gone into your head to reclaim your memories for you." Blackwall released the sphere from the glyph, and it continued on its path around Yuven.

Tendrils sliced through the air around his mind, but Yuven curled his lips into a sneer, baring sharp fangs with a small, snapping hiss when Blackwall came closer. His frayed gray feathers puffed out when Yuven slid his legs underneath his body and sat on them. Violet beads swept over in his direction, a lower growl resounding through the air when he examined him like meat. Blackwall sighed, and the black spheres dissipated into crimson snow. Free of the wispy claws, Yuven Traye shook out his head, and Laucan frowned when small pieces of feathers fell to the stone.

They're falling out? Why? Wind carried the small bits to rest at his feet, the slow death of his people. Yuven glared at him, ignoring Blackwall when he spoke next.

"I think we're done for now," Blackwall said and gathered the parchment he brought with him for his notes, but the sharp, murderous violets never tore off of him, a hunger for a final finish. Laucan set his hand where his ice chakrams sat any other time, but without them, he found himself naked and defenseless. "Those memories are still there, Yuven Traye. You can move him back to the Ice Gaol until we require him again," Blackwall instructed the awaiting Sentinels, whose ears twitched before stepping forward to latch onto Yuven, who held himself stiff. On his feet, he refused to blink as they escorted him out of the interrogation chamber, the feathers trapped against the dark, cold stone.

Laucan knelt down to the world.

Hand outstretched, the feather floated to the edges of his fingers at the constant wind of despair chewing its way through Naveera; his beloved home. In his palm, he overturned it, where soft down tickled his skin and reminded him of their longevity. Him, at sixteen, no more than a mere child to an Avaerilian who lived a century more. It fell out of his hand, and the snow dunes outside sizzled against his blazing brow. "Keeper Blackwall," he murmured an old echo. "You didn't tell me you looked through his effects." He twisted around. "It's bad luck to do something like that. Are you sure that is wise?"

"I think I'll risk my luck if it meant an answer to questions, don't you think, Your Grace?" Blackwall said and adjusted his fur cuffs closer to his wrists. "It got Yuven Traye to cooperate, the penance within superstition is well worth the price. As he said though, I am well aware of the punishment when it comes to Auric Law. So, forgive me for testing the fickleness of luck when it comes to my duty. It is a bad habit of my Order — and the Storm Warden Order. Testing out luck against the beasts of the Echo Obscura." Blackwall held out the correspondence he showed Yuven Traye, and broke him in one fell stroke. "If it bothers you, you can return it. I'm sure that will subside any bad luck at your participation. I have no need for it anymore."

Bad luck came in the form of a near miss of a papercut when he took it into his hands, keeping it facedown to avoid further cursing from whoever's magick sealed the letter. Warmth spread through the parchment, but he chewed on his curiosity and left Blackwall to his vigorous notetaking within the chamber. Ice slithered across the walls of the dungeon, the slow freeze across his skin with Yuven locked in the Ice Gaol, unable to hurt or reach him. Answers, huh? Laucan bounced up the steps and onto the main level of the palace. I never seem to get any. Only one I have is that Yuven Traye was the cause of the fall of Irimount, but no, that doesn't make sense. It was one of the great cities! No one man could bring it down from the mountain cradle. Feathers tickled his palm, but he crushed it. No... He stopped at the edge of the council room, where the false round table waited for him, along with the many Lords with their issues he was powerless to fix — never good enough to fix, but as it was his duty to transcend the wyvern steps, so it was to see each council meeting on his own. As to not allow Lazron the iron grip Father carried.

Every Lord stood up when he entered the room. Lord Lazron sat at his regular seat, closest to where his lands appeared on the carved ice miniature. Lord Vlasiz, on the other hand, kept his gaze uncharacteristically locked on the ground. His displeasure echoed since his decision to take Hayvala off the council, but all the Lord's reaction served to steel his previous hesitation into frozen resolve. I did the right thing. They do not have to bother her anymore and she can heal. Blackwall's medication will work, and she'll be well enough to go to the next Summit with me... to see the sun and the blue expanse in travels without cease, without a hurdle of blizzard clouds. White fires bloomed in the sconces when he shuffled in front of the largest chair.

He waited for Hayvala to speak her piece, and make the Lords defer, whether reluctant or gleeful.

Her voice didn't sing in his ears.

He sat down, and they followed without taking their gazes off him and his seat of shattered power. Laucan traced the Navei etched into the rim of the round table. Here they lie in icy sleep, the world flow forever young. Here, the once and future king will fly out of Avae'londu, silver blade, forged in the white fire of Evyriaz, in hand. He flew off the final note, then said, "Is there anything that needs to be discussed before the Festival of Ice starts?" He checked the body movement of each of the Lords, searching for a lie, for deception, but he didn't have the curse of a blessing Hayvala had for as long as he had remembered, bound by the laws of a higher power. Lord Lazron straightened out his back and feathers both, his customary scowl of displeasure growing on his face. However, Lord Vlazis tented his fingers and rested the sharp bridge of his nose against it. His own gray feathers shivered in the wind, though his attention rested not on his senior rival, Lord Lazron, but on him, the Wyvern King without his regent. It garnered raised eyebrows the first time, but none argued his choice; for a suspicious moment.

She'd call it suspicious.

"Yes." Lord Lazron came prepared with new complaints, and threw a parchment onto the table to stifle other cities around it. "What with the recent escapades on my supply routes, it made it difficult to send gryphling carriages with my contribution to the festival this blizzard night. It's a shame, but I have yet something to offer to the crown." Lord Lazron gazed at the other Lords. "You will be hard pressed to find such solidity in stone... if you use it for matters of crown instead of the wasted energy of the old embassies, Your Grace. You could use it to fortify Volaris' wall against the next ice wave before it buries anyone else."

Lord Lazron broke his attention to the older lord.

"The embassy is almost finished, Lord Lazron," Laucan pointed out. "It is... It is imperative we at least hear the terms King Reyn delivers and offer the courtesy of his chosen diplomats a safe haven from the cold. It would not do to send back ice cubes instead."

Lord Lazron folded his arms. "I still do not like this. That barbarian must have an ulterior motive for our stonemasons and stone."

"To rebuild the southern wall," Laucan whispered.

"Ah, a wall across the continent that we have never seen before," Lord Lazron said with a dismissive wave. "What of us? What of our walls? Each Turn the blizzard eats at them. At our flimsy barriers. Not all of us can be so lucky to live in the cusp of the Aethijin mountain range," he said with a pointed expression at Lord Vlazis, who remained silent.

I'm trying.

"I hate to disappoint you, Lord Lazron," Lord Vlazis said without removing his chin from his fingers. "But I am not so lucky. The blizzard's tail end has expanded as of late with no explanation. I will need supplies delivered to my lands. In return, Your Grace, I can send a bundle of our recent harvest to feed the Hanekans something closer to home." He returned his attention to him, though Lord Lazron's feathers fluffed out at the blatant attempt to ignore him. "I have had small dealings with those outside the mountain range. If you wish to make them feel welcome, there is no greater expression of the guest right than food from home."

"Are you truly struggling so much?" Lord Azlon bit. "Some of us have been in the core for Turns. Some of us have had entire towns buried in our counties, losing precious commodities all the while. Your people could always escape across the mountain range."

Lord Vlazis ignored them.

Laucan stared back.

"Is this true?" he asked the young Lord.

"Yes." Lord Vlazis set his hands flat. "Another matter, I have held my tongue for some time, Your Grace, but I cannot ignore the fact that your regent is not here any longer. I am unwilling to proceed with any inner talks until she is reinstated to her proper place on the council, as is her right as queen regent."

"You forget yourself, Lord Vlazis."

Lord Vlazis remained unbent at Lord Lazron's snap.

"You are sixteen, Your Grace. It is required for you to have a guardian at your side until your twenty-fifth turn, or more if necessary. We live two centuries after all. There is much to learn in such a long time," Lord Vlazis' words slammed down on his shoulders and cracked the steel of his resolve. "I don't want the crown to make missteps, especially so close to the Festival of Ice and the arrival of Hanekan diplomats. That is my final complaint for this council meeting." He folded his arms and glared at Lord Lazron. "As for forgetting myself, I'm not the only one."

Lord Lazron clenched his fists, and a low hiss left his nose. "Do not test me, child. You're barely past twenty-five yourself."

Laucan stood up and tried to wrest control from the posturing aristocrats. "Enough," he bit, causing the Lords to eye him. "We shouldn't fight at such a precious time. The Festival of Ice is about connection, stability," he argued his own cause and longed for the respect they once gave Father. "We must show our people we are united, and that we will stand against the snowstorm. Together."

They will find out, Laucan, Hayvala warned.

"I am looking for ways to relieve the burden the last Turn of the blizzard wave left us," he shared nothing more, not the arrival of the Anima, or the last Traye prince to the palace. "It is a time for joy, so let us get our affairs in order and start the celebration before we tear our own feathers out." He forced a smile on his face, though the Lords retained their surly scowls. "Lord Vlazis, I would have the details of your struggles to sort through and determine the amount you will need to see your people through the worst, and I will be sending a Sentinel to survey."

"It sounds good to me, Your Grace," Lord Vlazis said. "But I would have you take steps to reinstating Lady Hayvala."

"I..." Laucan shrunk under the lord's frozen gaze. "I didn't do it out of some delusion of knowledge that I no longer need her, I didn't change her as queen regent, she still is. I did it because she has ailing health and..." He lowered his gaze. "I didn't want anything to worsen it, including council meetings."

Lord Vlazis raised an eyebrow at his statement. "Ailing health or not, she is still your queen regent."

Yes...

"If that is all, I shall send details to her about the supply survey," Lord Vlazis gathered his coat and threw it over his shoulders. "Have a nice festival, my lords." He stomped out of the council room without another word.

Lord Lazron's nostrils flared. "That child sullies the good name of his father."

Laucan flinched at Lord Lazron's repeated words, his pressure of a father's name. He waited for all the lord's to disperse with their ample muttering about the event and Lord Vlazis' outspoken, shameful conduct. It was proper to defer to the seniors, to those who lived half the double centuries, who survived through wind, hail, and the jaws of snow outside.

He sank back into the pale reflection of an old throne.

If the blizzard is expanding, are we running out of time? Out of opportunities out of this? He snapped to his feet, the answer at the edge of his tongue, floating on the breeze, carried by a singular downy feather, tipped with speckled whites along the grays. Out of the council hall, he raced for where the Sentinels tossed Yuven Traye's personal effects, to return the warm letter biting at his arm. If we run out of time to escape, we'll be walled off from any escape.

He rushed to the lower parts of the armory, where they hid confiscated goods. He slipped out the letter at the box, and avoided the crescent blade resting against it. He opened it to reveal the gray leather, metal studded armor of the Storm Wardens, along with the necklace of particular interest. A wyvern with its wings wrapped around a star. Its own metallic feathers brushed against the crystal surface when he pushed the letter to the side, then found his fingers grazing the oath of the Storm Wardens, their promise to the mysterious light.

Green light swirled in the deepest abyss of the icy maelstrom. It glowed with struggling fervor, a stubborn dawn against a swallowed horizon. Enraptured by the colour, he stopped when glass clinked in the box. Two phials slipped out of the strap shoved inside. Curiosity drove him past the superstition of bad luck at the wondrous night sky within them. Stars glittered and danced when he swayed it between his fingers.

I'll risk my luck if it means I'll get an answer, Blackwall said, resolute in his goal.

Everyone made their choices and stuck with them. Indecisiveness strangled him in constant motion. Long past the opportunity of second guessing.

He pocketed the curious phial.

Out of the hidden part of the armory, he returned to the dungeons. The Sentinels posted at the Ice Gaol stood at attention at his approach, but he frowned at their frayed feathers. On the lift, he meant to receive his own answers to the frozen question. Phial in his hands, he reached the bottom of the gaol, where Yuven Traye knelt on the permafrost with his arms locked in the manacles once more. Safe from his retribution, Laucan walked off the lift to stand in front of him.

"Traye."

Yuven's scattered feathers perked at his voice, and he raised his head with a scoff. "What?" Laucan got on his level. Crimson ash fluttered over Yuven's lips, and he rolled his beaded eyes. "Oh, how unbecoming of a king to kneel down to a prisoner."

"Do you know what this is?" Laucan held out the phial, and searched for his reaction.

Yuven's sharp tongue fell quiet when he flicked his gaze over the phial. A pattern of recognition, but he stretched his shoulders with a shake of his head. "I have no idea what that is, Your Grace."

"Really?" Laucan lifted himself off the ground. "Yet it was in your personal effects. I'm not stupid."

Yuven stared blankly at him. "You're certainly not as smart as you believe you are. Gods, how has Naveera not collapsed yet with you on the throne?" He cackled and breathed deep. Mist fluttered out of his flared nostrils when he sneered at him. "Sorry, Your Grace, I've agreed to Blackwall piercing my memories, nothing more."

"You've already lied to me once, Traye."

His prisoner released a soft, annoyed groan. "Oh no, whatever will you do to me? Shall I curtsy? I would, Your Grace. I would beg for divine forgiveness and plead for my life, but I'm a little shackled at the moment." He curled his legs underneath him and shrugged. "I didn't lie, Your Grace — because I told you," he said, sharper. "I don't remember exactly what happened in Irimount."

"But you did make it collapse?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because there were no reports save for the collapse itself. It gave no details," he bit, and stepped forward. "It happened during my father's reign, Traye. So." He waved the phial in front of his face. "What is this? I know you know what it is, and if you don't tell me, I'll just have to go to someone who'll know."

"Ai, here I was hoping I'd have gotten the snow stirries with how grating you are to me." Yuven sniffed, but Laucan pushed for his answer.

"Your feathers are falling out, Traye."

Yuven's feathers flicked at his indication. "You're halfway to the answer already if you surmised that much," he remarked. "You claim to not be stupid. You've put your quest above the life of an innocent Storm Warden, who you murdered. I'm not quite cooperative to monarchs on principle, and you? I'd rather drive my fangs into your throat before I ever give you another answer. If you're so smart, figure it out." He revealed them with a growing hiss.

Laucan straightened himself out and examined the phial, then twisted back to Yuven. "This has something to do with that person Blackwall mentioned. It was on that letter he showed you? What made you cooperate with him?"

Energy cracked through the gaol. Spatial distortion screeched forward, slammed into a barrier of time when Laucan took a small step out of the frenzy Yuven forced into the flow. "Keep testing me." Yuven snarled. "Keep pushing it. You're nothing more than a silly little puppet to a Keeper's games. You're dangerous. You're more dangerous than a tyrant." His nose scrunched and his fangs bared further. A rattle pushed against his own throat when Yuven fought against his chains, and Laucan found himself baring his fangs too. It pricked against his lips, and Yuven let out a laugh. "It's people like you that lead to the fall of kingdoms and cultures. One fell swoop."

"Why do you think you're here?" Laucan hissed. "Your memories hold something important to Naveera's well-being."

"Like a testimony in what to avoid? Or do you want to hide something?" Yuven argued. "How many times must I say this thing to you? It was a cult. A cult you let dig their roots in Irimount. Whatever happened there is on your head." He pointed with a finger, then rested his arms in his manacles. "If you want further answers, you'll just have to wait and see if Blackwall can do what Fenrer Pyren couldn't. You know, the Storm Warden, my Oathbound who you so unceremoniously murdered?" He lunged forward once more, and Laucan scowled. "If there was ever a chance to regain those memories, he was your best bet, but no, you danced to someone else's tune. You're pathetic." Yuven straightened himself out. "Here I am, a prisoner, and you dare to bare your fangs at me. You're not a wyvern. You never will be. Unless you want to prove it." He held out the manacles with a sneer. "It's just us, King Laucan. King Reyn isn't here to come to your royal defense. Imagine having to rely on an outsider for protection. It seems like your attempts at proving yourself fall short every time that you have to hide in someone else's shadow."

Agitation pricked underneath his skin when he rested his hand on the deactivation key for the gaol's suppression runes. He approached Yuven, whose sneer twisted into pure, hungry malice. The beads of their wyvern ancestors sliced through the violets, but one of the Sentinel's voices broke him out of his urge.

"Your Wyvern Grace! Keeper Blackwall has arrived!"

The lift pushed against stone as the fire of life drained out into the cold snow around him. "Your Grace," Keeper Blackwall said and stepped off the lift, but stopped at the phial in his hands.

Yuven glared at him, and he scowled down at the last remnants of the bloodline who destroyed his family. Laucan held the phial out to Blackwall, and Yuven's malicious sneer grew into one of crazed amusement when he shook his head. "What is this? Can you tell me?"

Blackwall took it from his fingers, and uncorked it. In the silence, his gaze lifted to Yuven, a different smile crawling across his lips. "What did he tell you, Your Grace?"

"That he doesn't know what it is."

"Then I suppose it's not of any consequence." Blackwall handed it back to Laucan, who returned it to his pocket. "We must continue with the memory extraction, Yuven Traye."

"Yes." Yuven licked his lips with a bloodthirsty, wild grin. "Let's see just how high that pedestal goes."

The Sentinels kept him locked in his chains when they dragged him out of the gaol with Blackwall in tow.

Laucan stood in the fluttered snow slipping past the grate to the outside, with the phial weighing nothing more than a fallen gray feather.