Alice’s head throbbed. She groaned as she reached up to rub her temples, only to nearly knock her glass over. Her head spun as she tried to steady it. A mix of tears, running, stress, exhaustion, and far, far too much alcohol was doing a number on her. She was going to regret this in the morning. She scoffed. Why should she care? It wasn’t like things could get any worse. Bringing the glass to her lips, she threw her head back, draining its contents. She nearly fell off her bar stool if it weren’t for the hand placed on her back.
“Pardon me for saying this, but you look like shit.”
Alice turned to see a young, slender dark elf woman giving her a pitying look. About the same height as her, messy silver hair in a wolf cut, and adorable pink eyes behind a pair of round glasses.
“...Olive?” Alice muttered, the word coming out slurred. Oh gods did she really sound like that right now?
The woman sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “You’re back in the city after Gods know how long after going Gods know where, and your greeting is getting piss drunk in my brother’s bar? Keaton, why didn’t you cut her off?” she asked indignantly.
Keaton shrugged, pouring a mug for another patron. “One or two more and I will. Girl’s had a rough night.”
“She can barely sit on a stool. We can’t send her home like this! What if she gets mugged?”
“Then I’ll have to hide a bunch of dead muggers in the morning,” he deadpanned, not looking up as he passed the dwarven man his beer. “It’s the Lower City, if people don’t know who she is at this point then that’s their problem.”
“Most people know her as a prostitute, Keaton.”
“A prostitute that knocked a half-giant twice her size on his ass after he tried to take advantage of a coworker. Besides, she’s spending the night here anyway.”
Alice grinned. “Am I? That mean I can share a bed with your sister?” she giggled drunkenly. She was really going to regret this in the morning.
Olive scowled. “I am not having sex with you like this.”
The grin faded. “...Fuck.”
“You’re barely cognizant. Keaton, has she had any water? Something to eat? Alice, when was the last time you ate?” Olive fussed, looking deep into her eyes.
“Uuhhh…”
When did she last eat? She had a ration before going into the throne room. How long ago had that been? Between the fight, the cabin, and getting back to Baile Cothrom, it had almost been a day. Nearly a day without sleep, food, and very little water. Her head slumped onto the bar. She could practically feel Olive giving her the evil eye.
“You’re putting me in a hard place, Alice,” she grumbled, “I could heal you. Honestly the lack of an answer makes me think I probably should. Thing is, I don’t want to be encouraging this.”
“Like I said, cut her a break. She’s had a rough go of it,” Keaton sighed.
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“No, but I’ve known her long enough to recognize that look.”
Alice had mixed feelings on being talked about like she wasn’t there. On one hand, she barely was. What little self control she had was going towards keeping her mouth shut lest she flirt terribly with Olive again.
“I’ve seen you low, but this is kind of pathetic,” a deep, booming feminine voice called out.
Alice froze. She pushed herself up from the counter, once again needing to be steadied by Olive as she nearly fell over. Turning to see who the newcomer was, she was only greeted with a tall, ominous figure covered head to toe in a heavy cloak. Alice opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Keaton, tell people to leave,” she slurred.
“What are–”
“I said tell people to leave!” she demanded, slamming a hand on the counter.
The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “This counts as one of the favors. Everyone out!” he shouted.
Alice covered her ears with her scarf. She didn’t need the annoyed shouts of what few patrons were there arguing with her friend. After a few minutes, she felt a large hand grab the top of her head and lift it up.
“People gone. Is this lady going to try and kill you? She seems pissed,” he said.
Alice batted his hand away, struggling to her feet. Her balance quickly fled, and she found herself leaning on the counter for support. She raised a hand, twirling a finger.
“You can ditch the cloak, Feathers,” she grunted. She needed another drink.
Natalia gave a long, drawn out sigh. The cloak began to shift, like her body was expanding. Olive took a nervous step back, casting a concerned glance at Alice. It went promptly ignored.
Her hands free, Natalia cast off the cloak. Her wings folded out to their full breadth, earning a gasp from Olive. Cracking her neck, the illian opened her eyes. She turned to Keaton, giving a nod.
“Thank you for clearing everyone out. If you couldn’t tell, this is slightly difficult to explain,” she said calmly.
“...I think I understand why,” he said carefully. He looked down at Alice. “So, friend of yours?”
“You could say that,” Alice grumbled.
“Client,” Natalia corrected.
Keaton raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask which kind?”
“I want someone dead.”
“Oh thank the Gods.”
Alice rubbed her forehead. “Why’d you come looking for me? I could’ve come to you.”
Natalia gave a mocking laugh. “You sat in silence for a minute, walked outside, then threw your new knife away and vanished with it. To say I doubted your mental state is an understatement,” she gestured to the empty glasses. “It seems I was right in that assumption.”
“Okay, I’ve held off, but I need context now,” Olive insisted. “Alice, what the hell happened? Why is there an illian that knows you? What did you do?”
“...Promise to tell you if you heal me.”
Olive groaned angrily. “You are so lucky I missed you.”
“If it isn’t too much, I think my hand needs attention so I don’t get permanent nerve damage to my fingers.”
“...Fine.”
“Yeah you would agree to that part immediately, huh,” Alice taunted.
“I will change my mind so fast,” Olive blushed. She circled around the counter, turning on the sink. Wetting her hands, she returned to Alice’s side. The water didn’t drip from her hands, instead forming a smooth layer of liquid over the surface of her skin. “Pull up your left sleeve. I need your wrist.”
Alice fumbled with her sleeve for a moment before Natalia rolled it up for her, earning a roll of the eyes from Olive. Thankfully, the color in her cheeks from the alcohol veiled her blush. Olive grabbed her wrist, her other hand placed on the side of Alice’s neck. Alice flinched at the cold as the other woman placed her thumb over her carotid. The water seeped into her skin, prompting her to squirm in discomfort. She’d never get used to this.
“Hold still,” Olive commanded.
Gritting her teeth as the magically infused water worked its way into her system, she sat back down on the stool. Natalia helped her steady herself. She could feel her blood rushing, her bodily functions going into overdrive as the water forced out the alcohol and other toxins. Every muscle in her body tensed against the magic as Olive’s grip tightened. Alice closed her eyes, trying to ignore her nausea.
Just as quickly as it began, the feeling stopped. Alice slumped onto the counter, gasping for breath as she was forcibly shunted back into sobriety. Her entire body felt jittery and cold, like she’d woken up with a fever. No hangover though. That was more than she’d expected.
“That was… a lot worse than last time,” Alice groaned.
“Alcohol is basically just poison. Removing it takes the same sort of magic,” Olive shrugged.
“You couldn’t have been a little more gentle?”
“So this is how it feels with the roles reversed, huh,” she mused.
Alice glared at her, slowly rising from her stool to face Natalia. The illian was stone-faced as she looked at her. Her arms were crossed, wings spread, swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze. Alice bit her lip. Too much had happened. Impulse drinking wasn’t going to be a long term, or even a short term solution. She needed something she could throw herself into with reckless abandon, think about anything–anyone–else. Busy herself enough that she could stop thinking about the girl with the flowers. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. Her trademark cocky smile spread across her face.
“Full story is pretty long, Olive. We can get to that in a minute. First, introductions are in order!” she clapped her hands together. “I’m Alice, of the Blacktips. So, who do you want dead?”
A knock at Ingrid’s door roused her from sleep. A long groan escaped her throat. It was the first time in months she got to sleep in her own bed, and she had to cut it short. That would be how things would go after last night, wouldn’t it? She rolled over, pulling a few stray hairs from her mouth. Almost as soon as she had, another drifted into her eye. She grimaced.
Maybe I should cut it, she thought, running a hand through it. Using the other to grab her blanket, she threw it up and over her head. She needed a day to just be dead to the world and rest before going to face whatever Labhras would say. She’d only ever seen him angry twice. A third time may have been on its way. Try as she did to return to sleep’s embrace, the knocking continued, forcing her eyes open. The fact that they were knocking at all told her who it was before they spoke.
“Hey um, Ingrid? There’s an angry guy here to see you,” Mattias called in, “I don’t think I know this one. He says Labhras sent him.”
Ingrid’s heart sank. Mustering every bit of willpower she could, she sat up. Everything felt sore. It was the first proper sleep since the battle. The first proper sleep to let all the aches and pains really settle in to ruin her morning. She rubbed sleep from her eyes as she rolled out of bed and opened the door, meeting the concerned face of her brother. Exhaustion and soreness aside, she couldn’t help but smile. She was home. She was waking up to see her brother’s face. For a brief, wonderful moment, all was well.
Then she thought of Alice. The flash of the dark elf’s face through her mind felt like a punch in the gut. It hadn’t even been a day, and she was already worried she was regretting her decision. She forced the thoughts away. It was better this way, for both of them. For what good was there, they were hurting each other. Alice had shrouded herself in so many lies and half-truths that Ingrid could barely look at her without feeling anxious. She didn’t know what was true, what was another lie in the tale she’d concocted for herself. Angry wasn’t the right word for how it made her feel. She was tired. New to relationships as she was, she couldn’t be with someone she didn’t even know how to trust fully.
And yet, she felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought of Alice saying her name. Her long, slender fingers running through her hair, pain cupping her cheek. It hurt to think about. Far more than she had expected it to. She steeled herself. To regret her decision after taking that step would have been an insult to both of them. Love was there, that much was apparent. As a druid, she knew better than most that not every flower bloomed. Not every tree bore fruit. Some simply withered and faded. Things would move on. She took a deep breath. She could move on from this. She had to.
Mattias frowned as he looked her over. “You look…”
Ingrid nodded, a wry smile on her face. She rubbed trails of salt from her cheeks. The remnants of tears that refused to stop. “Would you mind telling them I’ll be right there? I need a moment to make myself look presentable.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, frowning. “Ingrid, are you alright?”
She stopped a moment, trying to figure out how she was supposed to answer that. “I will be,” she muttered. Mattias didn’t say anything, only giving her a sad smile as he made his way to the foyer.
Ingrid sighed, leaning her back against the door as it shut. As much as she would’ve liked to settle into a bath, it didn’t exactly make for a quick ordeal. Already stripping her clothes as she went to the bathroom, she stopped before the mirror. It was the first time she’d gotten a proper look at herself in what felt like ages. Her body was littered with a mess of scars, marks, and bruises. The scar on her wrist from Alviss’s dagger, a burn on her side from the skolopen, a series of marks on her neck from Berith, more that she couldn’t even remember. She ran her fingers over them, thinking about everything that happened.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Remembering what she was there for, she began channeling her magic into the air around her. Cleaning herself with magic had always felt strange. She was clean, but she didn’t feel clean, just odd. Taking the time to properly clean her teeth and wash her face, she dressed herself in fresh clothes. She briefly looked at her armor, wondering if she should forgo wearing it. Shaking her head, she donned it, strapping the breastplate into place and grabbing her staff.
Voices could be heard as she left her room. Taking a deep breath, she headed towards the foyer. Standing before her brother was a tall, slender elven man with deep brown hair. Adorned with armor of hides and furs, he carried himself with a serene grace. Even without the gnarled bluewood staff and moss growing on his shoulder, it was obvious that he was a druid.
“Ah, you must be the apprentice of Labhras,” he said. His voice was silky smooth, practically stunning Ingrid for a moment. She couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking at Mattias either. It wasn’t until he turned to her to bow that she saw why. Both of his eyes were gray and cloudy. “My name is Diarmuid. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Ingrid returned the bow, briefly pausing as she wondered if he could even see it. She decided it was best to err on the side of politeness. His name was one she’d heard before, though not extensively. “You’re the Druidkeeper of Baile Marsach, if I’m not mistaken?”
He smiled. “Right you are. Although, I’m afraid some business summoned me to Baile Cothrom for the time being. In fact, part of that business was Labhras himself requesting that I escort you to the castle. I trust that this is agreeable?”
Ingrid clicked her tongue. The fact that he hadn’t actually given her any room to argue wasn’t lost on her. This was likely a thinly veiled arrest. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off once more. She wondered if it was on purpose.
“Ah, how forgetful of me. You are to bring your brother, and the human with the glaive, as well.”
The siblings frowned as they exchanged a look. Deciding not to ask how he knew about Kallen, Ingrid turned back to Diarmuid. “That can be arranged, but I must inform you that our companion has sustained a number of injuries. She will need treatment to prevent any of the major damage from becoming permanent.”
Diarmuid gave an affirmative nod. “Of course. We’ll have the best healers of the Royal Hospital with her as soon as possible. It is of the utmost importance that she attends with the two of you as well, however.”
Mattias sighed, already dissolving into shadow. “I’ll go try to wake her up.”
“What a convenient use of magic,” Diarmuid mused as Mattias vanished. He leaned on his staff, a finger tapping against the head. “Would certainly make it easier to go to the market for pastries in the morning, wouldn’t you say?”
It took Ingrid a moment to realize he was asking her a question. “Oh, I suppose you’re right,” she said quickly. “It’s not perfect. He can only go to other areas with sufficiently low light. It makes outdoor teleportation difficult during the day.”
“Hm, fascinating. Well, I don’t mind sticking to the shadows. After all, I see just as well in the dark as I usually do.”
Ingrid blinked. Was that a joke? It sounded like one, but something about his demeanor was so off putting she couldn’t actually tell. “I suppose that’s true,” she said awkwardly, internally kicking herself for it. “If I may, Keeper Diarmuid, what am I being summoned for? I have an inkling of what it may be, but I’m sure you know far more than I.”
Diarmuid stopped tapping his staff. He slowly turned to her, a wide grin on his face. "Let’s wait for your brother and friend to get here, shall we?”
Nervous didn’t even begin to cover how Ingrid felt. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, and no matter how much she drank, her mouth felt dry as a desert. The sound of footsteps on the wooden floors of the castle were deafening in her ears as Diarmuid led the three of them through its halls. Kallen was using her glaive as a walking stick, favoring one of her legs. At first, Ingrid had been irritated at the thought of Kallen having to wait until afterward for her healing, but that was quickly dispelled upon the explanation from Diarmuid. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
She’d walked the halls of the castle on more than one occasion. Her initiation as a Druidkeeper in training, visits to the gardens, the occasional check-in with Labhras outside of training, nothing like this. Every few feet, a pair of guards flanked them on either side, forming a path for them to follow.
Her blood ran cold as the path reached the gate to the throne room. It wasn’t a proper door, rather a mass of twisted branches that blocked the threshold. Diarmuid tapped his staff against the floor. The room was filled with the creaking of wood as the branches untangled themselves, parting like curtains to let the visitors pass. Ingrid’s heart nearly stopped as they did.
The throne room wasn’t as grandiose as the one in Amalthea. It was about half the size, and secluded. No balconies rimmed the upper level, and there were no other doors Ingrid could see. Similar to the guards outside, there were opposite pairs of people leading to the throne. These weren’t normal guards. A dwarven woman with a thin, braided beard and a coiled staff topped by an emerald the size of Ingrid’s fist. An ari man with a soft face, wings bigger than Natalia’s covered in brown feathers akin to a barn owl. He smiled at Ingrid even as one of the avian talons he had instead of feet rapped against the floor. Six more stood patiently beside them, with two figures at the rear of the room. One she recognized as Labhras, glaring at her from behind the throne in a mix of relief and annoyance. Her heart leapt into her throat. They were Druidkeepers, all of them.
Sitting on the throne was a human. He looked to be in his mid forties, not a spec of facial hair on his chin. He wore deep blue robes trimmed with white furs, contrasting his pitch black hair. In his right hand was a dark brown staff, the shapes of countless animals meticulously carved into it, cradling an amber gem at its head. King Chulainn.
Wordlessly, he beckoned the four of them deeper into the room. The branches of the door lowered and wove themselves back into place as they entered, leaving just the fourteen of them alone.
Ingrid gulped. She looked at Mattias and Kallen for a reaction. Her brother looked nervous. His eyes were cast downward, a small curl to his lip. His fingers twitched periodically as if he was fighting the urge to fiddle with his pendant. Kallen looked lost. It was comforting, in a way. Even when surrounded by some of the most powerful people in the country, her demeanor still didn’t change. Steeling herself, Ingrid finally met Chulainn’s gaze. Emerald green eyes stared back at her, appraising her.
“Ingrid Alvar,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding, akin to Gertrud’s. Something about it was far more welcoming though. Ingrid found herself relaxing slightly. “Mattias Alvar. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen either of you in this room. When both of you were inducted into your respective… positions, was it?”
The siblings nodded. Ingrid didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know if they were in some sort of trouble or not. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were.
A small grin touched Chulainn’s lips. “Though I’m afraid I’m unaware of the name of your companion. Would either of you care to introduce me?”
Ingrid floundered for a moment, stumbling over her words. Clearing her throat, she gestured to her friend. “This is Kallen, a recent friend of mine. We met on the journey to…”
She stopped, biting her lip. What could she say? What did she need to keep quiet? She still didn’t know if they were in trouble. Chulainn seemed remarkably amicable to everything.
“On the road to Amalthea?” the King said.
Ingrid froze. Thankfully, he kept talking, preventing her from confronting the fact that she had no idea what to say.
“I’ve been updated on your exploits. They’re why I’ve called you here today. There are situations that I believe you should be updated on.”
She gulped. Her heart was beating so fast she was certain it was going to burst from her chest.
The King smiled. He stood from the throne, approaching the three of them. “It was no secret that the situation with Amalthea was tense. The proverbial glass was already overfilled. Its surface tension kept everything intact, but a drop here, another drop there, and eventually, everything would spill over. Do you understand?”
Ingrid frowned. “Um, not entirely. My apologies, your Highness. I am, um, slightly stressed. I may not be processing things as effectively.”
Chulainn let out a surprisingly hearty laugh. “Come now, child. There is no need for stress. If you feared admonishment, then you are sorely mistaken. Miss Alvar, you and yours were not brought here to be reprimanded, but commended.”
The words barely registered for a moment. They were being commended? For what? All they did was bumble around Amalthea, barely managing to keep themselves alive. What could they have possibly done to earn this type of reception from the King himself?
“I… I’m afraid I don’t completely follow,” she said cautiously.
The man’s grin only widened. “I am not without my spies, Miss Alvar. Since her inauguration, the Amalthean Archmage displayed immense magical prowess. Not on the battlefield, but in logistics.”
Ingrid’s heart lurched. Everything made sense. It all made sense and it made her sick to her stomach. This was what Berith wanted. To give an excuse for tensions to boil over between the countries. To use her as an excuse.
“The teleportation magic she employed allowed for instantaneous, nigh unassailable supply lines,” he continued, “Not even to mention what we uncovered just less than a day ago. Plans not just to teleport supplies, but soldiers. Portal links into populated cities, crucial checkpoints, forts. With this report, what information comes to me?”
He stepped forward, towering over Ingrid and her brother. He was nearly as tall as Kallen.
“That a Druidkeeper in training managed to infiltrate the Amalthean palace. Not only did she provide an opportunity for my spies to send me word of these plans, but her group managed to slay the very architect of them.”
Ingrid’s heart raced almost as quickly as her mind. The abundance of guards, the collection of Cordelia’s druids, commendations for the death of a rival political figure, it made her feel nauseous. A sense of dread built in her stomach as Chulainn continued.
“We’ve been at war in all but name for years. It’s all been a matter of posturing, preparing. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike the first, decisive blow lest true battle be waged on the back foot,” his smile widened. It looked far too joyful for his words as he placed a hand on Ingrid’s shoulder. “You, Miss Alvar, have struck that blow.”
“I-I…” Ingrid couldn’t even find the words. She had no idea if she should have been proud or disgusted. Instead, for some gods forsaken reason, her mind drifted to her companions. Would Alice have been able to predict something like this? Would she know what to say? Natalia very well may have been overjoyed. She wanted Cordelia and Amalthea at war. Would this satisfy her?
What of Malori?
“I’m sorry, your Highness, I don’t know what to say,” she managed to force out.
“Fear not, Miss Alvar. There will be plenty of time to say it in the coming days,” he looked over the trio once more. “I will be calling upon each of you for your skills. However, it is clear that one thing you need in abundance is rest. Healing for one of you. I will not keep you any longer. Fionn, please escort this woman to the Royal Hospital. Ensure that our best healers attend to her wounds.”
The winged man gave a bow, approaching Kallen. The human looked curiously at him.
“You kind of remind me of someone,” Kallen muttered. She shook her head. “Actually, you look less angry.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s get going. Some of those look painful.”
The two left the throne room, Kallen giving a cheerful wave to Ingrid on the way out. Even after a declaration like that, she still didn’t look fazed.
“As for you two, Diarmuid, would you–”
“Your Highness, if I may,” Labhras interrupted the King, drawing all eyes to him. His face was unreadable. He’d somehow managed to look more disheveled in Ingrid’s absence.
Chulainn turned, slowly. “Labhras,” he mused, “What can I do for you, my friend?”
Ingrid frowned. Was she imagining things, or did Chulainn linger on the word ‘friend?’
Labhras cleared his throat. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen my student. Might I request I be the one to escort her and her brother home?”
The air felt tense between them. Chulainn and Labhras locked eyes, a wordless conversation passing between them. Ingrid and Mattias both shifted uncomfortably. Labhras didn’t flinch.
“Well, it would be unbecoming of a King to keep a teacher and student separated,” Chulainn sighed fondly. “Your request is granted. Do hurry back? There is much to discuss for the preparations.”
“Of course, your Highness,” Labhras bowed deeply, then approached the siblings. “Right this way, if you will.”
Ingrid nodded, unable to raise any argument as she and her brother were escorted out of the castle. The sense of dread built with every step. She glanced at her brother. Mattias’s expression was grim, his eyes situated firmly on the ground. She could tell he was doing everything in his power to stay calm.
Gods, what had they gotten themselves into?
The walk back to the manor was painfully quiet. For the first time ever, Ingrid actually enjoyed people she didn’t know waving and saying hello in the streets. At least it gave her a few seconds of mental reprieve. Every step of the way, her mentor seemed more and more furious. He didn’t spare her or Mattias even a single glance back to make sure they were following. By the time the gates to the manor were in sight, Ingrid felt about ready to burst.
“U-Um, thank you, Instructor,” she said meekly, “We’ll just be going then. We’re both quite exhausted–”
“Invite me inside.”
Ingrid blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
His eyes were harsh. “Invite me. Inside.”
There was no room for argument. She stepped forward, casting open the gates. “O-Of course! Please, come right in.”
Labhras gave a brief nod, marching straight past her and towards the manor proper. Ingrid looked at Mattias. Her brother looked just as confused as she did, giving an awkward shrug that she knew roughly translated to ‘I have no idea what’s happening.’
Closing the gates, she made her way over to where Labhras was impatiently waiting by the front door. She was walking up the steps when Chimsley opened the double doors, happily nodding to Ingrid and Mattias. He seemed ever so slightly surprised at Labhras’s presence, but recovered as quickly and smoothly as ever.
“Ah, it’s good to see you, Master Owen. Shall I prepare tea?” he asked politely, inviting the three inside.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not going to be here very long,” Labhras said calmly, “Things are about to be beyond busy at the castle, and I’m going to need all the time I can get. I only came to deliver a message.”
He glanced at Chimsley, then at Ingrid and Mattias.
“Privately, if that’s not too much.”
Chimsley bowed, giving a warm smile. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of intruding. I will be in the kitchen preparing an early lunch for them should you need anything.”
“Right. Thank you again.”
Labhras’s eyes followed the man as he exited. The door clicked shut. Another few seconds went by in complete silence, anticipation building in Ingrid’s chest as she wondered what was happening. Before she could process it, Labhras grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Gods, why the hell did you come back?” he hissed. Ingrid was taken aback. Not just by the statement, but by the fear in her teacher's voice.
“I-Instructor?”
“Just say Labhras, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that both of you need to listen very carefully. Understand?”
Ingrid and her brother exchanged a glance. Mattias spoke up.
“If this is about our actions in Amalthea, we had no idea that things would go like tha–”
“No, no, no,” Labhras shook his head, frustrated. “It’s not that. It’s only even tangentially related to the coming war.”
“Instru–Labhras, what are you talking about?”
“I need to be getting back, or they’ll know something is wrong. I guarantee he already suspects it. I’ll leave it at this: whatever you do, do not let your guard down around Chulainn,” he urged them, letting go of Ingrid.
“The King? Why?” Mattias asked.
Labhras was already making his way to the door. “Because you’re both incredible, in your own ways. You two are some of the most gifted practitioners of magic Cordelia has ever seen, and you have the potential for even more.”
“Labhras?”
He looked back at them, his face contorted with worry. “Chulainn will try to leverage both of you to get what he wants. Don’t let him. Things are about to get complicated, Ingrid. You too, Mattias. Get your rest. Gods know you’re going to need it.”
Neither had the chance to say anything as he marched out the door. The silence remained as they stood bewildered in the foyer.
Ingrid was the one to break it.
“Do you think we’re in trouble?”
There was another pause before Mattias spoke.
“I think I’m going back to bed."