Aureate Fates

27

                            VEINS OF A FEATHER

                                   —NYALL—

Her face was everywhere.

Portraits of her and Captain Orvar at their wedding decorated the walls of Ziralem, becoming points of admiration for most people who believed they were their salvation and the key to solving the famine and plague.

The strangest thing was though—it was working. Whatever cursed prophecy the Kingdom of Verskyia had drafted was fixing their problems, day by day.

And Nyall hated it. He despised seeing Marisol in the Captain's embrace. He wondered how she could have agreed to marry him. But perhaps it was all there was left to do—she had no choice.

The Captain was a hero now, too, along with that miscreant of a man, Reese. Reports of the extent of his magic flooded the papers, and all the country talked about was the five of them. Reds and Blues.

The plague did not have bias, nor did it have preference. It killed whoever, and whenever, it wanted. This bestowed a sense of forced unity among Red and Blue populations. Everyone was hungry, everyone sick. No one was safe, and the only shred of hope they had was in Verskyia, a kingdom long forgotten. 

Nyall had been invited on more than one occasion to help heal populations in Red Quarter, and he had been paid generously for it. The Reds didn't seem to sneer or gawk at him; in fact they welcomed him, and told him they appreciated his work.

The world was turning on its head, and he knew this was the prophecy's doing. The chancellor had locked himself away, and such a betrayal prompted outrage from Red populations. His investors, council members, and confidants, were Reds, but the moment he slammed the door on them, they were in his corner no longer.

And, as Nyall took one long look around Ziralem, he began to wonder if this was the end of the blood feud. Violence remained in full force, but only at a dilemma they faced together.