Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 18: Bad omens

The sky was an angry red the day King Torin Eagan died.

That was the one thing on Ella's mind as the Bird dutifully recited the events that had taken place.

Long after the sun had gone down, miles and miles away from the battle, it remained red. Red like the blood spilt all over the tilled fields of Hampton. Red like the flags now planted all over Woolsmere, declaring it Ardowenian territory. Red like the fire that still swept over the lands.

She wondered, absently, if this was a sign from the Gods. If it was an omen. Then, she decided that was a ridiculous notion. If the Gods were real, they had just allowed the massacre of hundreds, if not thousands. They were permitting a war. If all they could show for it was a mottled-red heaven, then there wasn't much use in heeding any warning.

The bird rattled off the events in that uncannily monotonous voice, which, given how violent they had been, almost seemed comical. Like a bad, dead-pan joke.

The results were still murky, so soon after the battle, but a few things were clear—Ardowen hadn't been able to take Hampton. It had never been their intention. It seemed they had underestimated King Torin because, for all his impulsivity, he had planned an ambush as well. Whilst the Rhothomir forces were concentrated on repelling the elven armies from Hampton, the Nerean ships had descended on Woolsmere and taken the lands.

Woolsmere was now Faerie territory, a base away from home. However, Rhothomir had had the last laugh because just hours after the battle, before the King could truly celebrate his victory, he had been felled. Felled by his own blood, if the bird was correct.

It wasn't even the whole story. The bird detailed days' worth of double dealings, secret alliances, death, allies, traitors, and even Grayson's involvement in the debacle. Ella had started off the meeting standing straight and attentive, but by half of it, she was so shocked, she couldn't even pretend to be unaffected.

Her debriefing of the spy had taken well over an hour, due to the nature of the recounting, and it had left her reeling, knees shaking, long after the spy was gone.

There were a million things to do, she knew, as she paced the expanse of her room. The gravity of the situation was dire. She needed to tell Callan immediately before the news broke out. She needed to head to the barracks at the borders and warn him, give him the advantage of knowing first, and let him strategise based on the information.

However, the one thing on Ella's mind was Aedion. Aedion's father had been murdered, and she needed to deliver the news. It was enough to make her nauseous.

Briefly, as she ambled down the cold, gloomy hall separating their rooms, she considered not telling him.

All she could think was that he must have just gotten back from the barracks, if he'd even gotten back at all. He'd been gone since dawn the day before, hauling wounded soldiers to the barracks and aiding the fallen. He'd not even slept, and she was about to deliver terrible news.

Ella wished, for a moment, that she could shield him. Allow him to rest, to close his eyes and bask in blissful ignorance before she inevitably shattered any semblance of normality for a long time to come.   

But the idea of him finding out along with everyone else, maybe even in public, made her decide against it. Aedion deserved to hear of it before anyone else did. He deserved to do so in private, away from prying eyes, where he wouldn't need to shield his reaction. He deserved dignity.

Torin might have been a wretched man, but Aedion was not, and Ella would be damned if she allowed anyone to shame him for grieving.

Stomach knotted, she hesitated only for a moment, fist fluttering in the air, before knocking tentatively, almost imperceptibly. She crossed her fingers, childishly hoping that he was so deeply asleep, that her feather-light knock hadn't even stirred him.