The boy’s shirt was twice his size, and he wheezed as he breathed. His face was soft and round. He stood with his eyes downcast, ashamed for breaking into an old man’s home.

  “For how long have you known the fae?” Regilon asked.

  The boy paused mid-bite, forcing down a morsel before slowly pushing his mug and saucer away.

  “About two weeks,” he said.

  “It’s in Verimae’s nature to deceive,” Regilon continued. “She’ll tell you many true things, but lace them with lies. It’s better not to believe everything she says. Your masters warned you about this before allowing you and Hamis to meet her. I suppose she had you believe your relationship was meant to be secret.”

  The boy’s lips parted. He wanted to argue but realized how young he was.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Regilon said. “Facing enemies of that kind is never easy. Faeries, monsters, Swayers—they’re full of tricks and mind games. Personally, I prefer foes I understand: the physical ones. They won me many points at Se Fina.” He snorted. “I graduated with seventy points. Fourteen rivals—and I came out on top. No, I dominated.”

  “Was Jacqolin among them?” the earthen asked.

  “He was. Still, he’s not as good as the media would have you believe. Jacqolin is a showman, but during the toughest battle in our country’s history, he wasn’t much of that. These days, he fights petty wars against weakened foes to look better than he is. I’m still the greatest ascender this world has ever known.”

  Regilon poured himself a glass of water. “How many points do you have?”

  “Thirty-one,” the boy murmured.

  “And the Deus boy?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  Regilon winced. “That’s disappointing.”

  The boy gave in. “We were on the same points, but I… I lost ten as a penalty for what I did to Ren Gallant…”

  He led the boy down a hallway, stopping before a portrait of the Great Regis Regal, High Commander of the Gold Alliance. “Our household is the youngest in the country and the most short-lived. It began with my father and ends with me.”

  Regilon lingered behind a portrait of his father in military uniform. He leaned against the railing, staring at the hollow red eyes and gaunt, unsmiling face. He looked at the earthen and then back at the portrait.

  “My father was a Solvarian soldier in the Sunset War. When Thorel destroyed Arden, he surrendered and sought asylum in Henrik City. He took the name Regal and married a Henrikian woman.”

  “How was he?” the boy asked.

  “Intense, obsessed with achievement. It made me who I am today.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  Regilon paused to think. Then he asked the boy to follow him down the stairs.

  “Can I come another day? It’s late.”

  “Leave, and I’ll report you to the authorities for breaking and entering,” Regilon snapped. That silenced the boy. He followed Regilon out into the cold evening as they left the forest, heading toward the nearest Ring.

  On the way, Regilon spoke less, but whatever he said was valuable. He taught the earthen to be smart with ascension in combat. He explained why relying on astaphite was foolish, how it made youth reckless, and why true strength came from discipline.

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  Once they reached the Ring, Regilon input codes for a portal to take them to Norsidy, a narrow town with streets too tight for two-lane roads. The people of Norsidy walked along the sidewalks, busy, never able to notice a strolling Gaverian—especially not one they had been accustomed to seeing for the past two decades.

  They passed through the market, half empty, with many sellers unable to keep their businesses running. The remaining vendors called out to buyers, hoping to sell off their vegetables.

  “This is where I come to buy all the things I need,” Regilon said. “Do you know how to cook, Jenne?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “That’s good. There’s nothing women find more attractive than a man who knows his way around the kitchen. How many girlfriends do you have?”

  “None, Sir.”

  “How about Schemel’s daughter?” he asked. “She seems to like you.”

  “No. Not like that. I don’t think so. Do you think so?”

  Regilon chuckled.

  They arrived at an open square with four narrow walkways leading in different directions. A man stood near his half-empty taxi, conversing with others as he waited for more passengers. Banners hung from apartment windows, reading, ‘Son Solvia, come home soon,’ and ‘Bring us good news, Son Solvia.’

  Regilon crossed the busy street with Jenne struggling to keep up. After several turns and stops, they reached a local church courtyard. The building was small, built a hundred years ago by Rheina’s followers. Like all churches in the country, it had statues of the Six and a bell for Sacred Days and Sundays.

  Inside, volunteers swept and wiped the pews, preparing for the night service. Candles and lanterns illuminated the room. Regilon bowed as he entered and sat on the last bench; Jenne sat beside him.

  “I had the chance to make the world a better place, but I did not. Everything my father did to make me who I am today, I do not appreciate. If I could be someone else, I would.”

  “Is that why Genevie hates you?” Jenne asked. “Because of your choices?”

  “Because of my choices,” Regilon confirmed.

  Jenne yearned to hear something he’d never been told. No history book could tell a story better than a man who had lived it. Regilon had longed for someone to listen, and perhaps he found it in Jenne.

  “As all our stories go, it began with the Great Oppression. Rhens and earthens turned on each other, and we fought. From the start, we Gaverians fought on our natural side until a few deviated to fight for the earthens instead. Genevie was one of them. She knew the risks, especially as the wife of the most fearsome fighter in the land. But she told me everything she was doing. Genevie asked me to switch sides and help the earthens bring down the Assembly once and for all. I did not think it was realistic—I knew the earthens were fighting a losing battle, despite the help from the traitors.

  “The priests broke their neutrality oath in favour of the earthens. They planned to combine their power to invoke Shaphet’s Law. In one act, they would strip power away from every ascender on the continent. This would leave us vulnerable—not just to the earthens, but also to the Yunnish, the Sexites, and anyone else who wanted a piece of Henrikia. They called it the Night of Godsend. All the traitors knew about it.”

  “I was convinced. Until then, I hadn’t realized just how much I hated Regis, how much I hated myself, how deeply I resented senseless violence. And I was the perfect weapon to defeat the Gold Army. Regis trusted no one more than me. I knew that at the time, but I still had doubts. I would stay up at night, wondering when my father would summon me to the House of Sentry to question me. What would he do to Genevie? What if I died and Regis raised my son? I couldn’t bear the burden anymore and told my father everything.

  “I reported myself and Genevie and gave up the names of all the traitors working with the Black Army. In exchange, I asked that she be exiled along with my son.” Regilon shut his eyes. “Regis agreed and told me to wait until the time was right. If we act then, the priests will escape. So, we waited until the day of the ceremony, when all the priests gathered as one to perform the ritual. And at my father’s command, I burned them all.”

  Warmth surrounded them. Sweat built up on his brow. Regilon’s fingers curled.

  “What did Genevie say?”

  “She did not say much; she did a lot, thought. Genevie banished me to the Dark World, and there I fought all kinds of monsters who wouldn’t let me return to the Living World. But I did, and when I did, I found my father’s head on the altar, staked through with a black dagger.”

  He shuddered.

  “You never saw her again after that?”

  “More or less.”

  “And she took your son away?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There is nothing I want more than to meet my son before my time comes. Going through life without anyone to call your own is harsh. I do not deserve his love, but it does not stop me from seeking it.”

  All at once, the earthen’s heart pounded. He bowed his head and gnawed his tongue. His breath whistled louder than before as he tried to force down a knot that would not go.

  “I haven’t been honest with you.”

  “There is a Solvarian in Blackwood,” said Regilon. “They smell like wax.”

  “Yes, but she’s fae,” the boy said. “And she is my sister.”