Covenant of Shadows

The omen

Clythia was affixing her signature to scrolls required by the lords and ladies of DavinSaw for approval.

There was the construction of new infirmaries; despite the decree, it was challenging to break a habit suddenly, and people were still suffering from it.

Also, there were curriculum changes to be enacted when the new term started for Wigmond, Sravask, IlyanKram schools, and other smaller educational institutions scattered throughout the continent. Changes that accommodated the altered magic system. The curriculum that had withstood the test of time for countless millennia was now being dethroned by her seal.

There were also other requests she hadn't had enough time to approve in the past, now piled up like horrendous trash; perhaps she should hire a steward. Neither in her lifetime, nor in her parents' lifetimes, did she recall urgent matters with such magnitude. There were only minor tasks, and most didn't make it up to the royals.

So, it was a long day for her as she waded through them all, reading carefully one by one and signing them until her eyes stung. Having been at this task for the past two weeks, boredom was killing her.

In the afternoon, she was at the Dueling Hall, relaxing the muscles that were cooped up all day. If there was anything Clythia hated, it was sitting for an excruciating long hours; the reason why she wouldn't perch on her throne like the preened queen her mother was. When was the last time she visited the throne room? Decades ago.

She swung the spear with a wide sweeping motion, pivoting on her back foot, allowing the spear to arc to the side. Then vertical lift. Shift grip. Rotate spear around body. Twirl in an out of arm's reach. Straight thrust. Lunge thrust.

"Mom, I have been looking for you," a feeble voice sounded from the gate. Clen's voice.

Clythia whipped her attention to the gate, spear frozen in her hand, swiftly positioning her legs together.

"Back so soon?" she smirked. "No girl fancied you today?"

Clen would always leave after lunch, after setting the palace on fire with his loud singalong with the gardener, who hummed 'Cacti'—an atrocious alarm to wake Clythia—or with whatever ominous explosions resounded from his chamber.

Then, past midnight, he returned with one or more girls climbing on him as bees did on flowers. Clythia was thankful she didn't have to see the monstrosity as she tucked in early, but sometimes in the morning, she would see a girl scuttling away like a caught mouse or the bolder ones bowing to her before escorting themselves out of the palace.

"I don't feel so good," he stumbled forward. Clythia flung the spear to the floor and grabbed his body as it was heading halfway to the ground. His heavy weight pressed against her arms, making her stagger back. She grunted as she lifted him off the floor.

"What happened to you?" Clythia ran her fingers over his head, cheeks, and neck. "Ilyana save me, you are burning!"

Clythia waited to see if Clen's health would improve, casting spells and enchantments as they came to mind, but his state had deteriorated rapidly, with no witchcraft able to restore him to vigor.

He was shivering and sweating, his eyes shifting in and out of focus. She had brought him to his chamber, and no amount of blankets or the summoned ring of flames around his bed seemed to ease the coldness his body was fighting against.

The dark stone walls, prompted by the flames, scorched the atmosphere into an unbreathable thickness. Her body was soaked, and she whimpered as she inhaled and exhaled. But nothing blocked her lungs as much as the panic that ravaged through her upon seeing her son captured by a cruel malediction.