Journey onto the Storm (BOOK 2)

Chapter 44

LAUCAN

Her Navei song came out cold and distant, and her dress fluttered in the wind when she left him to crawl up the split staircases of frosty marble. He stood alone on the lift dias, in the shadow of the largest crystal chandelier dripping blue light from the candelabras. Numbness drained the ice in his soul when he tried to move his arms, but needles tugged on his flesh and he stood there in the glittering silence. The weight of the crown dug into his brow, but he brushed strands of white out of his face before smoothing out his feathers to resolve all his problems Father and his forebears left him in one fell swoop. To find the truth in the curse over their land; how it connected to the fall of Irimount — what lay deep within Yuven Traye's memories and Adara Sazaka's magick. He kept his heart in his chest at the Traye prince's ruthless refrain of movements to finish him as the Traye Loyalists assassinated Father. Until the 'barbaric' King Reyn jumped into the fray with a melodic grace full of certainty and an unwillingness to back down, as Hanekan's were known to do. Barbarians. Laucan frowned at the older lord's views, and he bit on his tongue for echoing them.

I do this so you can see the sun, sister. I do this so you don't have to dream about what Yoko—Ser Yokonei told you that day. You can experience it for yourself. It's so wonderful, beautiful — ruined only by the crimson monsters plaguing the other lands, but at least they have the sun and not what we've been trapped with for thousands of turns. He found the strength to ascend the steps to put the plan Blackwall suggested into motion. The first step was payment for the Ice Shards to compel them to finish the contract Father started. Out of the cistern to the icehearts, he set his shoulders straight and tried not to cower in his sister's shadow anymore. If he was to be king, he had to continue walking the steps of his coronation, a never ending spiral into the heavens where wyverns resided. Around the corner, he stopped by a Sentinel when they brought themselves to attention at his approach. Cold. "Retrieve Keeper Blackwall from the library and tell him to meet me at the carriages. He will know what we are to do today."

"As you command, Your Winged Grace." They hit the shaft of their glave against the marble before following their rigid steps to obey his orders.

But I don't have wings. Laucan fixed the symbolic ribbon tied around his chest to droop across his back, fashioned into fabric ones. Servants worked to set up the main foyer of the palace for the festival and the upcoming massive ball, and he shuddered at the thought of being too close to people. It drained him more than the icehearts, but the palace never failed to sparkle along with the pearl streamers outside that his people decorated their houses and tall roof trellis. He passed one window, where on the streets below kids bounced along in glee, throwing snow at each other, only to be barked at by an older adult from inside a house, causing them to stop and their feathers to fizz out in alarm.

He turned his back on the view of the grand city to head into the royal wing of the palace and took a different route from his room, to the royal vaults. Sentinels stood at their posts and acknowledged him with stiff postures, glaives at the ready to spear any daring thief — though one would find it difficult to get into the vault without the magick of his bloodline. He stopped at a giant, painted wall where wyverns danced and found joy in the sunlight above the clouds, diving deeper into the rainbow fires of the night. He raised his hand through the endlessness of the flow. He drew two fingers upwards, to create the first point of time. Ice-touched gold spun with his movements, quickening along the hands of his glyph. Every second drew closer to perfecting the circle, sending whispers of mist at each click to open the flow. It pulsed when it reached the highest point, and it curdled with ringing bells to signal days and nights unseen. He stepped through the energised opening it created, into the frozen stacks of the vault. Hidden in the annals of the palace, the truth of their strength — left only to their blood. Through the carved stacks, he checked the closest ones for any crystal marks, to check on what they gained through taxes, and the numbers spiralled in his head, with the cycle of the aristocracy funnelling back into them.