Cerya

  Until Aelinore returns or Theriya arrives, there are no friendly faces to confide in. Not here in the central chamber where our alliance with Vylia is being celebrated in ways that reduce me to being an ornamental conversation piece—or worse, looked at as an appetizer for when Theriya or Aelinore arrive. What must be the majority of our grove is down here in the central root chamber or one connected with root ways. Seers young and old from all across Lunaria scry in via an abundance of mirrors held by Lunarians offering to carry each Seer’s point of view into the ceremony’s many proceedings and exchanges.

  Both of my remaining stone donors, who call themselves mothers for the physical features and lessons they’ve imparted, are busy fretting over the state of my hair. Neither is physically present to do anything about it, so much as dictating to a pair of volunteers—Watchers, because anyone with less than perfect vision just wouldn’t do—what adjustments should be made on their behalf.

  Apparently a single hair out of place is one too many during the day of my binding to Aelinore.

  As much as I want to fight them on it, running around keeping everyone distracted has done little for maintaining my appearance. Even if the Crescent Moon Seers aren’t long for this world, better they distract themselves fussing over my appearance than find reasons to be vigilant for foul play on Vylia’s part. Or so I keep telling myself.

  In agreeing, I may have gotten more than I bargained for. Neither of the Seers vexing me through hand mirrors are willing to compromise in presenting me as a happy middle ground between two distinct visions for what it means to be a Crescent Moon Seer. Behind closed doors on any other day, I might have been willing to delicately navigate appeasing both of them. In full view of over a hundred Lunarians, I resent being treated like an ornament with no say.

  As soon as I push back on the subject of the matter instead of picking a side, their attention turns away from my hair and towards my choice of dress. My frustration mounting, I draw the line at alterations to my dress. “No, mothers. The pin stays. My bound pinned this scale to my dress themselves! It is most definitely not to be replaced with anything resembling a crescent moon! If the two of you must make alterations, I ask that you confine your attentions upon my hair. If neither of you can agree on something, then I will consent to having it traditionally braided!”

  For reasons that elude me, this actually seems to pacify them. Having already chosen a gown which leaves my shoulders bare and my arms and back exposed, it’s not like I’ve left my stone donors—themselves draped in elegant but concealing mantles—much room to create a likeness between our clothing.

  I had worried how they might react to my choice, but on this matter at least, it seems I can afford to be a little rebellious. Sometimes it can be amusing to see what I can get away with, until dwelling on such inevitably reminds me of what I can’t.

  Today is about me—to the extent that I can be afforded a degree of self expression, be allowed to stand out. Especially as I myself am merely riding the robe sleeves of Theriya’s significantly impressive achievements and meteoric ascension.

  Speaking of whom, once my sheer-robed and ascendant Waning Moon of a sister arrives, I expect events will rapidly spiral out of our control and into the hands of the Castellan and Grove Tender, for whatever desired ends they have in mind.

  Until then, I can only try my best to appear to be enjoying this brief family reunion, feigning attentiveness as my stone donors fret over the fading tone of my skin. Apparently I’ve grown much too pale. No doubt a result of condensing as much of my anger into ice as I do—not that I intend to explain that.

  My confrontation with Aelinore’s First Blade and apparent champion to a goddess must remain under wraps now that the chamber is filled with gossip on her duel with the Ninth Prince Threnodias.

  Course, my mothers wouldn’t care about any of that. My stone donors would be quicker to point out my every perceived failure to approach such a confrontation in a manner befitting a Crescent Moon Seer. Namely I should not even consider doing so without a full complement of Watchers armed with implements and bolt throwers at my side.

  All to fend off the pallor of my face from emotionally exerting myself. On the topic of my skin, I resign myself to letting them talk and compromising by nodding when it feels appropriate. It’s not as though they can subject me to any changes I don’t consent to through their mirrors. Although, the memory of Aelinore’s hand—frostbitten from contact with their mother through just such a mirror—does provoke a sudden and unexpected shiver.

  I need to control my thoughts better. For all they need to know, such a thing should not be possible.

  My grip on my emotions must have slipped, for both my mothers have clearly noticed. In my haste to maintain the farce, I pass the hint of concern off as one of the Watchers tugging at a knot in my hair.

  Apologies are offered by the Watchers. Threats are leveled by my mothers.

  Meanwhile I find myself shrinking in both posture as well as any degree of confidence that I can or even should be trusted with anyone’s best interests.

  Regaining my composure takes time. Thankfully, such time is afforded to me by my mother’s demand that both Watchers be replaced. It is only when they are satisfied with the replacements that they resume needling away at every aspect of my appearance like nothing ever happened.

  My horn, the first of my personal touches, is apparently growing much too large. While they had even encouraged the change not six eclipses ago, they must have been hoping I would have allowed it to fade as I explored how to nudge the side effects of gemstone resonance to instill other alterations upon my body. Now that it is of a size I can no longer hide it beneath my hair, it has apparently become a problem—they perceive a prominent singular horn as a feature more closely associated with the New Moon Seers.

  The moment they reveal how petty the reason for their distaste for my appearance is, I find I am done with the topic of conversation.

  Their surface level concerns trail ever downward as they judge every aspect of my form and find each wanting. I am quickly reaching the point where I have to prevent their words from registering on an emotional level. My replies become rote. Scripted. I tune out everything around me. Thankfully, non-committal responses and agreements made only in the most unsatisfyingly singular syllables are the bane of their attempts to sculpt me to their liking.

  Unfortunately for my Stone Donors, the mental skills I need to tune them out are a part of my training that Eluned has been quite insistent I learn before I work with larger gemstones, which come with greater backlash. Had they ever paid me enough attention to truly know me, I don’t imagine they would be pleased that I apply such skill to denying them my emotional availability.

  It does, however, give me an opportunity to withdraw within my thoughts.

  To be surrounded by those who lay claim to how I’ve developed is supposed to be touted as a point of pride. Conversation throughout the night will highlight strides that are being made in the depth and breadth of emotion which can be contained within and reproduced by gemstone resonance. To have such experienced minds giving me their attention is something I could probably be leveraging for my own gain. But to do so would demand I open myself up to being influenced by a way of thinking I ultimately find revolting.

  I know where these stones come from.

  Astraea has made it clear we’re not the first to exploit them—not that I can expect to find much sympathy here. When Lunaria’s Seers are tasked with burning any hint of written knowledge or insights outside what our elders approve of, how can I expect anyone to sympathize if the book comes in the form of a living gemstone? While the blighted ones are filled with anger, spending the morning resonating and sympathizing with living repositories of the world’s memories alongside Aelinore will make navigating any such discussion regarding them with another Lunarian difficult to stomach.

  As my responses become more muted, I can’t help but find my attention wandering beyond my stone donors. It’s not just them, but so many of the older Seers are quick to turn their attention to assigning blame towards each other.

  Finding and correcting faults in those beneath us is meant to be how we guide others towards improvement. Not…whatever this is.

  I’m not against adopting guiding principles or a purpose as a Seer. But sharing a room with so many strong personalities, I can’t help but characterize how the Primeval Seers preside over the day’s proceedings. They might dress up their agendas and schemes as if they come from years of carefully curated knowledge and a wealth of experience. But to my ear, their words are little more than artfully disguised verbal cudgels intended only to convince others into bending to their whims.

  While they are happy to express delight in having as many Vylian nobles present as this ceremony justifies, they do little more than expectantly guide conversations towards knowing our Cinder Blighted infestations will soon be a thing of the past—enough to skip to the trade agreements without affording the ones who will do the fighting and dying to make it possible any of the credit or leverage in such negotiations. And why should we get any credit? It’s not like Aelinore has had time to carry out any expeditions to resolve the problem. Every written communication I receive from a Primeval Seer is filled with some untenable expectation that I’ve already agreed to a demand they’ve not made.

  Lunaria’s rulers are just as unkind and inflexible to dealing with their own. It’s not just their enemies. What does Lunaria even stand to gain from stolen power that demands we dull ourselves to feeling anything? Are we all expected to just become more compliant? Crush the rebellious stones, harvest all the others they deem useful.

  I catch myself before indulging in an impulse to scream. I’m getting too worked up.

  Need to refocus.

  Maybe this is why I’m fond of Snapdragon and Aelinore. Like me, neither have been afforded an opportunity to explore circumstances outside those which were planned for us. Deviation always ends in being subjected to violence.

  Why not convince us that what the Lunarians—or the Castellian—would craft us into is superior to all other paths instead of consigning conflicting information to flames? But no. Such questions are perceived as betrayal of ideals. Ideals that they themselves don’t truly believe in. So why should I?

  Neither Snapdragon nor Aelinore have had to contend with the same exact incentives or punitive measures that were used to control me, and yet we have each arrived at more or less the same position. The belief that something has to change.

  That either of them should even have to worry that any changes in their own self expression or their purpose for living might offend…

  Hatred is not the word for what I’m feeling.

  If I ask myself, do I want the Elder Seers who have designed, shaped, and enforced our lives to die? The answer is no. I recognize that we are young and that very real threats assault the walls every single night. Ideally the Elders would listen to reason, but we’re not going to find convincing arguments that run counter to their agendas within the garden they are aggressively controlling.

  Try as I might, I won’t change many hearts or minds here. Not the ones that matter. Better we convince who we can, then leave. Flee as far as Astraea and Amari are willing to take us.

  Even knowing that a violent change to the fates of Lunaria and Vylia is approaching, I have not so much as dared to hint that the Vylians might be here with less than friendly intentions.

  A part of me, the part that struggles to share Snapdragon’s hope that things can be made better, thinks the world would be better off if Vylia and Lunaria destroyed each other.

  And yet. I can never forget that both sides have allied in order to kill deities. The scale of the death and destruction a drawn out fight between the two nations would result in is probably measured in ways none of us would like to think about. After much discussion between us—Aelinore, Theriya, and I—we agreed there is no scenario in which both nations won't be left weakened by the coming assassination attempt. Which means the safest time for us to attempt to flee will be when the assassination attempt plays out.

  While my loved ones make arrangements, I must stay on top of any unexpected developments.

  With my hair presentable enough, I offer my stone donors a choice bit of gossip as an expression approximating thankfulness. “If anyone desired proof that my dearest Aelinore slew last night’s drake, one would only need to resonate with the stone Theriya embedded in the Fourteenth’s chest.”

  That should give them something useful to tantalize and distract others with. Better than allowing anyone to attribute credit for a Quill Tailed Drake falling under the purview of Lady Wyrmsbane. Aelinore might not approve of me playing up the resulting title of Wyrm Eater, but with Astraea declining in the eyes of most, I am deciding to make do for now.

  Consequently, I’m not the only one attempting to reign in talk where Astraea is concerned. Without her expedient capture to appease tensions, the Primeval Seers have pivoted to ensuring neighboring groves take measures toward preventing her escape from Lunaria’s borders. If the Castellan’s plans are not as immediate as I hope, such developments may manifest in measures that prevent our escape.

  I gesture for a Watcher to carry written offers of assistance to those making any such arrangements. As a much younger Seer, it will be hard to convince most that I’m worth factoring into any planned responses. Hopefully offering up an inaccurate idea of what she is capable of bog down the logistics of implementing any such measures or coax them into making plans that cause them to dismiss a large caravan of Lunarian refugees provided we can convince Astraea to hide within the carriage.

  Without Fia or Selescia readily available, I have to rely on other Lunarians which risks anything I send being read by unexpected parties. Thankfully this matter should not demand I be anymore guarded than usual.

  Fia and Selescia have been putting on such brave faces. Their confident bearing and open praise for Aelinore has adequately wet the appetites of inquisitive Seers eager to learn what kind of leader Aelinore is. More than that, openly associating themselves with Threnodias’s brides has largely kept them safe from the worst kinds of attention—from those that might try to gain leverage over Aelinore by threatening them.Although, now that I’m reminded of overt threats, I quickly search the crowd for the Nineteenth Princess.

  So far, a pair of carefully timed messages—delivered via Watcher —have sufficed to reduce her to little more than a distant disquieting presence. One which never manages to catch Fia or Selescia during the brief periods they are left unattended. The ease with which she's been cowed doesn't mean I can relax. She treats her own dolls poorly enough that I’d rather I never learn what her interest is in cornering Fia or Selescia. Thankfully, she still seems dead set on acting directly, and without the aid of well considered delegation.

  Even Aelinore, ever mistrustful of those not a part of their own retinue, has adapted well to being the center of attention, smoothly adjusting to the need to make arrangements via Watcher when it became clear they were never going to get a moment of alone time to speak with me or their dolls.

  I almost sent them back an apology for all but ensuring the Seers were properly starved to meet the main course themselves. But Aelinore is obviously already at ease with how Lunaria held court, so I let it lie. It’s enough to make me wonder how different Vylia’s courts really are from ours.

  Threnodias, the Twwelfth, and eccentric but friendly Headmistress have each retired to separate side chambers. Maybe eschewing public forums in favor of backroom dealings is the more Vylian way of handling things?

  As far as true threats are concerned, I’m fairly sure the only one to worry about is Primeval Seer Fel’Daen.

  It is almost laughably easy to categorize interest in Aelinore based on how someone refers to them.

  Those hung up on whether to call them Prince or Princess do not have my interest at all, whereas those who call them Ayre are failing spectacularly at coming off as familiar. Predictably, Wyrm Eater and Princess Aelinore become common only once Primeval Seers have had an opportunity to meet my beloved and taken an interest in truly getting to know them.

  Of particular interest is how Fel’Daen and Freide refer to Aelinore as Fell Wyrm. As a Vylian who only put up a token resistance towards Astraea fleeing and whom in all likelihood has a part to play in the planned assassinations, Freide's relative familiarity with my Beloved comes as no surprise. But a part of me wonders if I should worry about how Fel’Daen, someone whose head is supposed to be on a chopping block in the immediate future, joined the exclusive circle of individuals who have picked up on the most recent title Aelinore claimed for themselves.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  It was a lot to take in, and there was a lot to glean, and as such, I’ve largely been quite pleased with my decision to hold court in the central chamber. It is much busier out here, but at least I can make a note of when and where Fel’Daen dispatches Lunarians operating on his behalf.

  Iitharna. One more name I’ve been keeping an eye on, but while I haven’t seen or heard from the Crimson Moon Watcher in a while,my last inquiry informed me of her departure to retrieve the naga once Aelinore arrived. Unalarming at the time,, but now that Aelinore has been gone for a while I’m increasingly unhappy the longer they both spend out of sight of anyone.

  In making inquiries, I seized an opportunity to ask about that Iron Ice dagger gifted to the Twelfth Prince. A fringe benefit of being surrounded by Primeval Seers:they’re happy for the chance to demonstrate their own superior knowledge, indulging my curiosity into magical weapons whenever I engage them in small talk.

  According to the Seers, the weapon is attuned to an elemental spirit of ice. Such spirits apparently need to be cared for with regular offerings as if they were incredibly minor deities. Such an upkeep would be trivial for the Twelfth Prince, provided he cares for how precious a dagger has fallen into his possession.

  Short of divine intervention, weapons attuned to elemental spirits are said to be the most reliable way to harm an elder Vylian noble. It goes without saying that the punishment for carrying one in Vylia must be quite severe. Not that anyone I’m willing to ask bothered to inform me what exactly that punishment might entail. Short of asking the Ninth Prince or one of his wives, I am content to let that particular line of inquiry drop. It’s not as if I’m all that enthusiastic about what kind of answer Twelve or Nineteen will give me.

  None of this stops me from making a mental note to retrieve it from the Twelfth Prince’s corpse in the event that he perishes due to ‘unfortunate’ circumstances. I wouldn’t want something so dangerous falling into the wrong hands now would I? That would simply be irresponsible of me as a Seer.

  As I settle back into the flow of written communication between the ceremony’s many guests,t isn’t long before I find myself engaged in less clandestine concerns, expressing a willingness to update a Primeval Seer’s inquiries into Moon Wrought implement stockpiles in light of the repeated attacks by the Cinder Blights upon the shipping caravans we’ve sent out..

  It is during a lull in such mundane exchanges that I begin to amuse myself by drafting variations on the vows I intend to swear to Aelinore and Theriya, only to have my intimate thoughts interrupted by the sound of someone at my back. I quickly clutch my vows to my chest in the hopes that none caught a glimpse of them before turning to face The Ninth Prince, Threnodias.

  “You’re trembling.” He notes coaxingly, despite applying a touch of concern in his voice.

  My first thought is that The Ninth Prince has certainly looked better but—No. That’s not not quite true anymore, is it?

  “It’s alright if you’re nervous. This binding ceremony must be rather abrupt for you.” He continues with an easy confidence in spite of partially healed wounds and hints of exertion. Every measured step he takes towards the opposite end of my table brings with it the slightest tell that he’s still in some amount of pain, but what’s more, as I find myself scrutinizing him, I can’t help but notice he moves gracefully despite his wounds. And that he sounds distinctly more like a she. It doesn’t help that he—she? Manages to fit a broad frame so comfortably within a backless umbral dress that shows off beautifully iridescent golden scales.

  I should probably stop staring at their figure like I’m some freshly budded sprout and reply at some point. “No. You just caught me taking a moment to be indulgent in what I say before binding myself to Aelinore and Theriya.”

  His face softens somehow, despite the intensity of his features, only half healed after his duel. “If it’s important to you, I could let you get back to it.”

  I shake my head. “No, please. You’ve made enough of an impression on me and mine that I’ve actually been looking forward to finding an opportunity to speak with you.” And if I can get nothing out of him politically, I can at least draw the conversation towards inquiries that would be of personal interest to Aelinore or Snapdragon.

  But first, I’ll have to try and get a read on why he chose to approach me directly, rather than send one of his wives, who seem to have largely taken over in handling matters for him since his duel with Astraea.

  The last I saw of him, he whispered something into Aelinore’s ear. Then, the two of them departed from the festivities with almost unseemly haste. The only responses I received to my written inquiries returned that it was a Vylian matter and that I shouldn’t worry. The Implication being that I should keep my nose away from where it wasn’t wanted.

  Hopefully I can get some answers now that I have him alone.

  A quirk of his lip suggests an almost approving smile intended only for me even as his words project the opposite to anyone who might be loitering close enough to overhear our conversation. “I must admit surprise. In the short time I’ve been here, my wives have informed me that you have conducted yourself quite adeptly. Surely one’s vows must be a trifle compared to everything else these ceremonies have thrown at you.”

  I play along with his performance, batting my eyelashes at the lengthy lead in as I decide which characterization of me to lean into. The adept courtier, or the fumbling romantic? “Oh? I certainly hope you’ve come to offer more than well wishes. Half the Seers here already expect me to be in their pocket. If you wish to even get my attention, I would suggest you make an overture towards removing a concern of mine. Maybe you can start by kindly asking Nineteenth to refrain from attempting to approach dolls that do not belong to her.” Maybe a little harshly said to someone I suspect might be on our side, as much as that is possible for a prince of the Vylia. I can’t stand the idea that Fia, Selescia, and Amari are considered property to be owned by anyone and speaking of them as though they are grates on my tongue, but those are the words I’ve heard fall from the lips of the Twelfth and the Nineteenth. As such, they’re the ones I’ll default to until I know it’s safe to do otherwise in front of the Ninth. “Really now, I am growing quite tired of having to contrive distractions for the least of your Princesses.”

  Far from being irritated by my tone, Threnodias holds up a hand, palm out. “On the contrary, our attempts to smooth over this night for you have been interrupted by your own arrangements. If anything, I’ve come to surrender. Perhaps to form a temporary arrangement. One in which I run anything by you first.”

  That can only be a ruse. Even if he immediately waves down the Bitterbloom Watcher lingering nearby to address a message to the Nineteenth from himself and on my behalf.

  I’m content to sit in silence as Threnodias offers me an opportunity to look the message over before it’s sent. A simple and direct order serving to remind that displeasing either of the Seers of Aelinore is grounds for provoking the Castellan’s ire. If there’s any hidden subterfuge behind the words, I can’t detect it. I can only wonder if it’s true what his writing has revealed—that the Castellan would be…provoked if either me or Theriya were to be upset by her children’s actions. Only at my approval does Threnodias begin to show a more open smile.

  He’s a generous player, but I still don’t know what the game he’s brought me is, or what he wants beyond his earlier attempt to offer Fia and Selescia independence if they harbored any discontent with Aelinore’s treatment of them. As far as I’m concerned, that aspect of his goals has been partially resolved by Fia’s own protests. Selescia still seems to have taken an interest in what his brides are offering her, but they’re in an adjoining root chamber, ostensibly approving floral arrangements for the binding ceremony, and beyond my ability to influence for now.

  Threnodias takes an opportunity to glance at the arrangement of half written letters addressing the number of raw gemstones, finished implements, and expected outputs requested by various Seers arrayed in front of me with clear amusement. “I see they’re already including you in the tiresome logistics of what you can factor into future invasion plans.”

  I shrug, feeling no need to hide the concerns of Primeval Seers who might not even survive the night. If he’s here to make sure I am not warning any of the Seers, then I will be happy to prove I have nothing to hide. To the Ninth, it should look as though I'm playing my part any Seer might, entirely unconcerned with the idea that all the time and energy I am investing into these communications is going to those he and his family intend to kill. “Is it any wonder? Aelinore and I will likely be expected to rule over any newly claimed buffer territories if Lunaria’s campaign goes as planned.” Hopefully I’ve done enough to mitigate any concerns that we intend to reveal the assassination plans revealed by the Castellan.

  Threnodias makes a show of relaxing into a seat across from me. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Such concerns, while of great importance, are still weeksfrom coming to fruition.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Should I not make arrangements well in advance to secure our positions in the eyes of my allies?”

  He lets out a full-throated laugh, “Perhaps. I suppose it is commendable to see that you’re keeping your future in mind.”

  So which is it? Should I not worry about my immediate future? Or should I only be concerned with my dealings insofar as they relate to Vylia and its nobles?

  Threnodias voice, still lighthearted, intrudes upon my thoughts. “Has anyone ever told you that you conjure up a withering glare when pressed?”

  “I can’t say that anyone has been uncouth enough to claim as such directly to my face, no.” I draw a tight lipped smile as I decide to needle him more pointedly. “But without The Twelfth here to confirm I can’t be sure I can’t simply recall all of my memories now can I?”

  Threnodias’s expression hardens.

  His next words actually sound remorseful. “Cerya, I hope you will believe my sincerity when I say that I am truly sorry one of my siblings agreed to subject you to such a depraved form of punitive measures.” Threnodias reaches for a blank letter. “But such matters are well within the scope of what I’ve come to address.”

  We continue to trade empty platitudes back and forth until he finishes penning something substantive for me to read.

  I found it quite irregular that you and Aelinore were chosen for this binding.

  So young and untested in comparison to Theriya, the only one of her planting of Seers to survive a string of ten harsh winters.

  And Aelinore, so young. Not forty-two days from their initiation lessons as a Prince and already the Castellan is pushing them into one of my carriages to be the centerpiece of a number of frivolous ceremonies.

  I blink, rereading how Threnodias refers to the passage of time in ways Lunaria rarely sees outside of what comes out of Vylia’s academies. Years and winters take the place of measuring by the passage of eclipses. Days instead of moons strike me as archaic.

  I keep reading.

  Something about it felt wrong, so I made some inquiries. The only characteristic the three of you share in common is that each of you has been observed displaying inclinations that do not align with Vylia or Lunaria’s typical mold for a Prince or Seer. And yet, the Castellan has threatened more than once to unmake any of her brood she so much as suspects of allowing something to happen to any one of the three of you.

  Finished reading, I respond to his letter by giving Threnodias another withering glare. We both know I can’t afford to voice a reply to most of what I’ve read. Not without provoking undesirable attention.

  “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention personally, and accept it in the spirit it’s been given, as an apology for private Vylian matters robbing me of my betrothed.” There, that should connect this to me making inquiries into Aelinore’s disappearance.”

  “Of course, think nothing of it. Your understanding in this matter is much appreciated.” He even manages to sound appreciative.

  I have questions. Should I ask Threnodias, or is Aelinore a safer avenue for such inquiries?

  Even if Aelinore could tell me, what might I learn from Threnodias’s perspective?

  Do I care about Threnodias’s interest or approval?

  Not enough that I am unwilling to make him wait.

  “Actually, If you’ll give me a few moments to finish these to the Primeval Seers, there’s something else I’d like to discuss since you’re here. How to go about meeting a Vylian Prince’s…domestic needs.” Threnodias gives me that tilted corner lip of a smile before nodding. “By all means. You’re welcome to my attention all evening, I’m to escort you down the aisle afterall.

  Ah. Now that I think of it, Eluned was escorted down the aisle by Morganth, the Second Prince for her own binding to the previous Fourteenth, wasn’t she.

  I turn my attention away from Threnodias for a moment, making a point of sending out responses to the inquiries that were already in front of me when he approached, before finally turning back to address the Prince, my manner deliberately more relaxed with business out of the way. “Ninth, before we speak further, might I inquire if there is any particular forms of address you prefer?”

  He seemed genuinely surprised at my question. “I—I must confess that I’ve scarcely given it any thought. It’s so rare that others ask my preference.” A sigh escapes his lips. “But having recently met Aelinore, not to mention that succubus, Astraea, in person, it should hardly surprise me at this point that you might ask.”

  “Oh? I do hope the two of them made a good impression. They’ve been such a treat to welcome into my home.”I can’t help but worry that after their duel and her escape, he now holds a grudge against Astraea.

  Threnodias smile turns pained. “You could certainly say they made an impression. But in answer to your question, truthfully, I rarely feel comfortable being referred to as a Prince by anyone other than my brides. To my siblings I am the Ninth. To the rest of the world, even those I rule, I prefer to present myself not as a Prince, but simply as Threnodias, someone quite replaceable.”

  As he speaks, his gaze seems to turn inward, towards happy memories. “I must admit to having developed a fondness for my modest station. Seeing to the daily concerns of those I am responsible for is a task I find myself content to lose myself within. Few of my siblings take such direct responsibility for governance of their own territories, or so I’m told.”

  I can’t help but offer him a sad smile. “If anything, you sound like the rare Seer who finds themselves content not in the pursuit of stone cutting but simply with ensuring their grove’s harvest is bountiful. Those who see their grove as their personal garden to be tended, if that makes any sense to a Vylian.”

  An inclination of his head before I continue suggests it does. “I am glad that the title of Prince is one that you’ve claimed some affection for, even if it is only in private.”

  Threnodias’s lips part slightly before tightening into a firm line, shutting me out rather than opening up further.

  I consider that it might help if I share as well. Something genuinely heartfelt. “In my time with Aelinore, and with another who is dear to me, I’ve come to understand that there are those who greatly appreciate being referred to by something other than what is expected of, or was assigned to, them. To do otherwise, or to stand by as others pile expectations and unwanted titles can cause harm in ways many would turn a blind eye to.”

  “It is… As you’ve observed.” Threnodias admits, his expression pensive. “I confess that I arrived at your lovely grove with a number of worries that I felt compelled to address. I am always keeping myself apprised of the bigger picture, you understand? I cannot always afford the time and attention to linger upon more personal matters. That said, following the development of my younger siblings is a task I take upon myself, in spite of the cost. It is they, after all, who will have to carry on with our passing.”

  I appreciate the sentiment, even if my picture of Lunarian Seers makes me loathe to trust it.

  Threnodias continues, his words projecting a dangerous amount of sincerity. “If I were to admit to any personal reason for approaching you, it would be to impart insights to one whom I judge can be trusted to care for the most troublesome aspects that come with being of the Castellan’s brood.”

  Invaluable, if he speaks true. “After seeing the way their body handles scars, overcompensates for a broken bone, and hearing how much antivenom they demanded, I would be lying if I claimed anything short of wanting to learn all I can. While their capacity to heal and change is remarkable, I suspect it is quite inefficient in more ways than one.”

  The look of concern he wears deepens. “It’s normal for young broodlings to struggle with the adjustment. Going from living in the depths to functioning members of Vylian nobility. Feeding upon older and more established siblings like Aelinore has can speed up this process. I worry that the youngest are rushed into positions of importance based on Vylia’s external pressures, not given the time necessary to develop the emotional resilience required to maintain a stable form and sense of self.”

  “Is that so? And is this something I can look out for? Something I can help them shoulder?”

  “It is a relief to know you care enough to be mindful. If I can give a singular piece of advice, it would be this: reign them in after grievous injury or exertion. The days following such injuries those acquired in my duel have a tendency to cause our kind to spiral into introspection. We risk losing sight of what holds us together. Lose too much, too quickly, and we might be lessened in ways that are difficult to reclaim. That Aelinore has taken so quickly to a form and name that reflects who they are is a good sign for their stability. But dragon kin from whom to feed upon won’t exactly be common.”

  His concerns are heavy, but I can address them at least. “I’m already quite mindful of urging Theriya to rest, to ground herself after periods of strain. And while the details are not mine to speak of, I believe I’ve already found a few ways to accommodate Aelinore when they’re feeling vulnerable. It is enough to claim comfort in knowing I am someone they can confide in. As for maintaining their changes, I think it would be best if you made time to speak with them at length about your own experience. They’re overall quite fond of the scales their body is producing. But the second batch of scales ended with them shedding more than a handful of the first.”

  “Distressing, but not unusual. I’ll be sure to do just that.“ There is a warmth in his tone now, and a palpable relief at my words, at the lifting of a burden. “I worried that I might be in the unfortunate position of trying to give you advice on how to convince them to open up to you. As much as that puts me at ease, not everything I hoped to speak with you about feels appropriate without Aelinore themselves here to give their blessing.” The warmth fades. “Suffice to say that the Castellan subjects her brood to a rough upbringing. Even under the best of circumstances, it might take time for them to fully recover. To hear how the Twelfth tells it, Aelinore’s circumstances are far from ideal.”

  I stiffen when the Twelfth is mentioned. “I’ll not press them to open up about this if they’re unwilling.”

  “While that is probably for the best, I would take it as a personal favor if you contact me should that ever be the case.”

  Feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of keeping someone apprised of anything bothering Aelinore, I press for clarification. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific about what makes this worth a favor.”

  “I don’t like losing siblings if I can help it.” He pauses to gather himself, keeping the emotion out of his voice as he continues. “Get in touch with me if Aelinore develops sudden changes in their appetite or attempts to abstain from feeding. Such developments are dire enough that they’re worth the exchange of a favor that can be repaid when you and yours are settled into your new roles as newly bound.” Threnodias leans forward conspiratorially. “To that end, I would like to make myself as well as my wives available for future conversations via scrying on this matter. So that I will be available to repay the favor, of course.”

  “Oh, of course.” I hesitate only briefly before coming to a decision. ”I think I would appreciate that greatly. We will of course need to become better acquainted if we intend to scry with any regularity. But I hope you’ll understand that such a decision feels best run by my dearest Aelinore and Theriya before committing.”

  Threnodias leans back, seemingly satisfied with what I’ve offered. “Of course. I’m not here to strong arm you. Amari will know how to contact me should you wish to arrange a meeting in the coming months.”

  On one hand, he’s offering me the time and space necessary to solidify my bonding before intruding upon our lives to get to know his own kin. On the other hand, his note outright states that the three of us are less than ideal in how we fit the molds of what is expected of us. This could just as easily be an attempt to keep tabs on us no matter how far we’re willing to flee.

  If I refuse, will they attempt to stop us? How far might they chase us beyond their own borders?

  Furthermore, what kind of insights would I give up by letting this opportunity pass us by? Threnodias and his wives could offer up so much insight into the lived experience of sharing the Vylian blood hunger with others that could prove helpful to Astraea and anyone else who partakes in Vylia’s noble blood.

  For now I content myself with the kind of harmless small talk that gives me a better idea of who I’m talking to in a broad sense. We avoid the deeper and more meaningful lines of inquiry that would enable one another to scry into each other’s personal lives beyond tonight’s celebrations.

  Thankfully, people are so much more substantive than the exact dimensions and composition of every stone set into a room everyone can agree to scry into. Even if Threnodias attempted to read into the answers I am comfortable giving him, it would take him far longer than tonight to establish a meaningful chance of scrying upon us before we attempt to flee for something like real freedom from this life he has contended himself with.