“We need the wizard-king,” said the Chancellor’s voice, scratchy and static-y through the Smoke-recording.

At first, Pirin thought this could just have been a letter. It was a massive waste of resources to make a Smoke-recording just of the Chancellor’s upper body and face. He could have at least included some of his surroundings in the recording.

But then he held up a map.

“The Aerdian armies have pushed our forces back to the Dremfell Wall,” he said, pointing at the grey-black monochrome depiction of the map. He had been holding it close to the runesmith and the crafting apparatus, though, so it came through in detail.

The Chancellor shifted his finger down to the mountain range between Sirdia and Aerdia—depicted by a bunch of inked triangles—and pointed first at the southern side. “No-Man’s-Land isn’t neutral anymore. The Aerdians have staked a permanent claim to it.”

Aerdians, a vassal of the Dominion. That was as good as the Dominion staking a claim to it.

The Chancellor shifted his finger up to the exact center of the mountains. “Our armies had retreated to the Dremfell Pass and the Wall.”

“Well, they ain’t gonna hold a pass for long if anything that pointy-ear chancellor says is true,” Alyus grumbled.

“The Dremfell Wall has guarded the pass from the Aerdians for forty years,” said Myraden. “They will not breach it now.”

The Chancellor continued, “Pirin, I have received word from my spies: the Dominion is moving their armies. They may be sending forces to bolster the Aerdian ranks, and if we thought our situation was dire before, it will become much worse.”

Pirin bit his lip and leaned back. He opened his mouth to ask, What could I even do about that? but the recording continued, “I know you’re wondering how you could even help, and I have only one answer: unite the Elven Continent. The combined forces of Aerdian and Sirdian elves can still repel the Dominion. Make the Throne bloom, and you will have the allegiance of Aerdia. Prove yourself.”

Pirin shut his eyes. He’d been king for…what, two years? They had proclaimed him rightful ruler, a black-haired elf chosen by the Eane, but what did that matter? The Aerdians hadn’t just stopped fighting.

“Their governor-king is dead,” said the Chancellor, again assuming Pirin’s thoughts. “They grow more and more discontent by the day. Make the Throne bloom, and you will have proven your right to rule. They will throw off their shackles and join us. You must give them a rallying cry.”

The Smoke cloth hissed and fizzled. The grey ash fell out of the air, landing in a disorderly heap on the floor, and the strands of manifested flame-aspect Essence faded into nothing.

Pirin stood up and leaned against the wall of the airship’s gondola. “If they breach the wall…” He scratched his head. His memories of Sirdia’s capabilities weren’t very precise, but there was no way they had as many warriors and soldiers as the Aerdian elves, and if the Dominion was sending more soldiers to help their elven vassals?

Pirin swallowed.

“They will not breach the wall,” said Myraden. “They tried before, and they failed. They suffered a massive defeat that day.”

Nomad shook his head, and his raccoon-cat gave a soft ‘mrrrp.’ He stepped into the center of the gondola. “Do not let a minor victory make you overconfident, Myraden. The Sirdians may have won a single victory, but the Aerdians have won many more. With strong Dominion support, they will breach the wall. Like it or not, you must also win this war in the hearts and minds of the people.”

“We don’t exactly have a propaganda department,” Pirin said.

“And you don’t want one, elfy,” Alyus replied. Brealtod hissed in agreement.

“What did he mean by the Throne?” Pirin asked. “The main hall at the Northvel palace has a throne, but…I don’t suppose that was the one he was talking about.”

“Not at all,” said Nomad. “How has your memory recovered? Do you remember much about the Sundering of the Elven Continent, if you knew it at all?”

“I’m not sure how much I ever knew,” Pirin said. “Certainly not when I was an apprentice healer in the middle of nowhere—Kerstel.”

“Suffice it to say, then, Northvel was not the old elven kingdom—Khirdia’s—original capital,” Nomad said. “That would still be Vel Aerdeil, the current Aerdian capital. There is a throne there made of branches and twigs.”

“It was the first tree on the continent,” Myraden provided, “and Hir Venias himself cultivated it with his vast power, turning it into the Summer Throne.”

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Pirin glanced at Alyus and Brealtod, and they both shrugged. But at least there were two people in the gondola who were as lost as he was.

“The Throne hasn’t bloomed in four decades—since the Sundering,” said Nomad. He stood next to Myraden and tapped his finger on the palm of his hand like a tutor giving a lecture. “It only blooms when it recognizes an elven king, and that would be proof enough of your right to rule. If it bloomed, Aerdians would turn to your side.”

Pirin shut his eyes. “Do I want the right to rule?” He wasn’t highborn, and it wasn’t his birthright. “My job is to prove that I’m worthy, not to assert that I was always capable of leading. Besides, we all know that isn’t true. I wasn’t always capable, and I’m still not sure if I am.”

“It’s a noble sentiment, for sure,” Nomad said.

Myraden stomped a foot down. “But we do not have time for noble sentiments. No one else exists with such a firm claim to the throne. If you want to take your seat of power and resist the Dominion, you must do this.”

Pirin rubbed his forehead.

Tapping Alyus’ shoulder, Brealtod let off a chain of hisses, speaking in his dragonfolk tongue.

“Now, now, we’re no experts on magic,” said Alyus. “But I reckon there’s gotta be something more to making the Summer Throne bloom, or anyone who sat on it would’ve done it by now.”

“An astute observation,” Nomad said, folding his hands behind his back. “The Throne is a symbol of power. It is one of the eight ancient thrones of the Eight Kingdoms, and thus, it requires a powerful wizard to make it bloom. No matter whether someone was from a noble bloodline, the throne would not bloom for anyone who had not reached the Wildflame stage of magic.”

“Sounds about right,” Pirin muttered. “So we’re done for.”

“You assume you won’t reach Wildflame?”

Pirin snorted. Wildflame—the same stage as nomad and the Unbound Lords; the most powerful wizards in the North. He was an Embercore.

But a few months ago, even reaching Catch was a distant dream, not to mention forming a single foundation Timber at Spark.

He might have been selling himself short, but he also had to be realistic and honest with himself. “They’ll attack the Dremfell Wall before winter,” he said. “Spring is almost over. That gives us just summer and fall to advance to the realm of the Unbound Lords. I don’t assume I’ll never be strong enough—I just don’t see how I’ll be fast enough.”

Nomad snorted. “Maybe. But if your concern is over your worthiness, I think advancing to Wildflame would be evidence enough of your worth and claim. I don’t know the full story—why you think you are or are not worthy of the throne, or even the circumstances of your creation, but that would have to do it.”

Pirin narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth, about to agree, when Alyus said, “Now, hold up one minute. If these fancy thrones have a way of telling who you are and whether you’re from the right bloodline, not to mention require a certain output of power, how does that even work? Would it even work on Pirin? The Eane, whatever it is, might be good, but it can’t be that good.”

“The Eane is more powerful than you give it credit for, Captain,” Myraden said.

Alyus scrunched his eyebrows. “Care to explain it to me, antlers?”

Myraden chewed her lip and took a step back. “I could not. I do not comprehend the Eane well enough at the moment.”

“It’s more than just a natural energy field of the planet,” said Alyus. “It is order, it is the fabric of the universe, it is Fate. A Path is a slice of the Eane. Understanding your Path, and understanding the universe itself, is fundamental to improving your magic.”

Pirin wove his fingers together. “It can tell whether I’m worthy, then?”

“It can tell a great many things about you,” Nomad said. “But above all, it has enough sway to decide whether a throne should bloom for you.”

Pirin shut his eyes. He pushed memories of Sirdia to the forefront of his mind—of beautiful snow-capped roofs and kindly elven civilians. He recalled the mountains and the trees and the all-penetrating pine scent.

He loved that land, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

But more importantly, the Dominion was threatening it. The Dominion, who had killed Mr. Regos.

Pirin had gone on this journey to prove that he could be more than a figurehead, and he wasn’t going to turn back before it was done. He had limits to break, Embercore be damned.

“There’s still the minor problem of advancing to Wildflame fast enough,” Pirin said. He walked to the center of the gondola, where they had a small map table. “Brealtod? Can you bring down the world maps?”

Brealtod gave a dutiful nod, then marched towards the ladder and climbed up to the crew quarters and the storage holds. He returned a few seconds later with a scroll of parchment in his arms and set it down on the table.

Pirin leaned over the map as Brealtod unfolded it. “We’re heading to the mainland to find advancement resources. Nomad, what’s the best place?”

If they were going to do this, he had to give himself the best shot.

Nomad pressed his hands against the map table and hung his head. “I didn’t want to do this, but…” Reluctantly, he placed his finger in the middle of the map, which they were currently flying over. He dragged it to the side—seven eighths of the way across the Adryss Ocean. “We’re around here,” he said. “Initially, I was hoping to raid some smaller repositories in Seisse, and to perhaps even embark on mercenary work in labyrinths. But that’s no longer possible. We need to hit a jackpot.”

Pirin, Alyus, and Myraden stared at him expectantly. Brealtod finished putting pins in the corners of the map to keep it down.

“We need to head to my old Unbound Lord estate. My brother controls it now, but there will be a great many resources to steal. If we’re going to push you to Wildflame, Pirin, that is our best shot.”

“We’re going to steal from your family, flute-man?” Alyus asked. “Ah, why not. I’ve done worse.”

“No you haven’t,” Nomad said. “It is a risk, and I cannot guarantee all of our safety. But if we’re successful, it will be the biggest plunder we’ve ever found. With enough determination, we could get you to Wildflame in time.”

“What say you, Pirin?” Myraden asked, staring straight at him.

Pirin tightened his fists and nodded. “I’m in.”