Erith.

Elian’s voice was faint. Distant.

Erith.

He lay at the edge of a pond, watching the stars shimmer across the rippling water.

Erith.

He rolled forward into the pond.

But before he plunged, pain returned—sharp and intense.

He opened his eyes.

Someone was pulling him upright, lifting him from a pool of blood against the cobblestone.

“You’re really not as heavy as I thought you’d be, but any help right now would be nice, Erith.”

His arm was slung over Amun’s shoulders. Amun strained, dragging Erith across the street.

Erith’s vision blurred. He tried putting one foot over the other.

“That’s it. Maybe we both won’t die here after all—hey, no falling now.” Amun tightened his grip, trying to steady him.

Shouts rang out, but the pain in Erith’s chest drowned out everything else.

He tried to breathe in. It barely came. Agony hit all at once.

Amun dragged toward the cart as he stumbled. He could barely see anything in the alley.

His mind could only focus on the pain. The dread of the feeling rising in his chest. He coughed. Letting out a wail of horrible pain. Specks of blood flecked onto Amun’s shirt.

“We’re almost there Erith,” fear cracked through Amun’s voice.

Amun pulled Erith into the cart, propping him on his side and throwing a blanket across him.

“Stay on your side. Focus on your breathing.”

The pain was insurmountable, coming in crashing waves with each cough. The bustle of the cart moving along intensified it all.

Erith could not tell if seconds or hours had passed. Amun’s voice came and went.

A persistent chill overtook Erith. He was lightheaded. The pain drifted—distant.

Eventually, the cart came to a stop.

“Been a while, Erith.”

Was that Tal’s voice?

His body was moving. Drifting along.

“Help me with his shirt.”

Erith blinked his eyes open. Firelight blurred his vision.

His cheek pressed against wood. His bloodied shirt lay beside him.

“Get him the duskroot. He’s not going to want to be awake for this.”

A cold glass was placed against his lips.

“You’re doing fine Erith. You’ll make it through this. I’ll make it through the Balance.” Maeric’s words were soft.

We’ll see what comes next, thought Erith, as his mind faded away.

A breeze brushed against Erith’s face. He could hear the chatter of familiar voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

Cloth draped against his skin, and his body swayed gently. Somewhere nearby, something large dipped into water with a soft splash.

Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. It was bright—too bright. He could barely make out a few figures near him.

“Am... Am I on a boat?” His voice was dry, hoarse.

“Ah, welcome back to the world, Erith.” It was a relief to hear the familiar amusement in Rin’s voice.

“Take it slow, Erith. You’re still recovering.” Maeric’s words carried warmth—and relief.

“Why… are we on a boat?” Each word stung in his chest.

Rin chuckled. “He cuts a stone balcony clean off a building and wonders why we are on a boat.”

Erith kept his eyes closed, but gave a weak smile. “How’d you hear about that?”

“When the King is coming to Verael, it’s all everyone in the city talks about. But when someone cuts a stone balcony off the Morvathi Diplomatic Estate…” Rin let the pause linger a moment.

“Well—that’s a story that’ll work its way through every corner of the three Kingdoms.”

“Did news of it travel fast, or… have I been out for a while?”

“A little more than a day I’d say. We sailed down the Twins, and now we’re on the Caelor sailing toward Velmoran.”

Rin’s tone became more measured. “We agreed a city where we could pick or choose whether to enter Aldarath or Loradun would be best.”

“I didn’t think they got that good of a look at me.”

“We didn’t know if they did either.” Rin’s voice dropped a knotch.

“But they’d recognize a story about a boy from the Pining Frost sensing Murasi from far away, fending them off with only his hands. That’s enough for them to come find me and my family.”

“Mum got us the boat and got us packed. She left with Arden, said she’d meet us down in Velmoran.” Amun chimed in.

Erith had yet to open his eyes, but tilted his head slightly toward Amun’s voice. “Thanks, Amun. For getting me out of there.”

“No problem. Next time, land with your magic—and don’t get shot. That helps.” Amun’s voice was light, but tired.

Erith’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Sure, Moons. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Pain flared across his side as he tried to shift.

“I wouldn’t recommend laying on your other side for a bit.” Tal’s voice came gently.

“You must have hit the street hard. Here—drink the rest of this. It’ll help with the pain.” She placed a small vial to Erith’s lips.

Erith raised a hand to the glass, he blinked his eyes open just enough to see his hands, tightly wrapped in bandages.

As he swallowed the drink, a coolness rushed through his body, making skin prickle.

“Moons has it right,” Erith muttered, his voice rough.

“Getting shot complicates things.”

Rin laughed. “If you’re up for it Erith—care to tell us if it was worth all the trouble we’ve put you through?”

Slowly, Erith began recounting the events of that night.

The drawn blade.

Ismira’s willingness to speak.

What she said about the assassin—about Morvath’s intentions behind it all.

“It’s hard to tell if she was being truthful,” Erith said.

“Or if she just told me whatever she thought I wanted to hear.”

Rin nodded. “We won’t know, but if Morvath really wanted to push Aldarath into a war with Loradun, killing Maeric and his father would certainly be the way to do just that.”

“What is this guy royalty or something?” Amun asked, raising an eyebrow.

Erith caught the look on Maeric’s face—pressing, as if he wanted to answer, but hesitated.

Rin gave a wry smile, “For a while there Moons, yeah. The Estorath name’s been around royal courts a long time—don’t worry, you don’t need to kneel when you’re around him.”

He crossed his arms, pensive. “But it’s been nearly a hundred years since they’ve stood out more than just a noble family—not until Ranoric, that is.”

Maeric eyed Erith nervously. “How did the… well… the chaos unfold?”

Erith closed his eyes for a moment, then met Maeric’s gaze.

“She told me what I wanted to hear.” His voice was quiet.

“The guards knew something was off the moment I stepped into the room.”

He paused, reliving the events of that night in his mind.

“She said she’d buy me time if I let her go. First chance she got, she threw a knife at me.”

“Did you…” Amun trailed off.

“I don’t really know. I didn't have more than a moment to react.”

Erith drew in a breath, exhaling slowly.

“Before I knew it, I put her—and most of the room—through the wall.”

Amun blinked.

“Oh.”

Erith shifted slightly, turning his head toward Tal. “Do you think she could have…survived?”

“I can’t say for sure.” She paused, studying Erith as he lay.

“But I know what happens when a knife gets thrown at someone. You gave her mercy. If she didn’t make it—she took that from herself.

“So… you blew apart the estate, and rode your way out on a stone balcony.” Amun looked at Erith with quiet awe.

“I panicked. Cutting the balcony was the quickest way out short of fighting the whole garrison.”

Amun shook his head. “Neither of those are real options for actual people.”

Maeric gave a low chuckle, looking warmly toward Erith. “I’m glad you made it out as quickly as you did, as peacefully as you could.”

Erith smiled back at him. “Yeah, I am too—except for the arrow.”

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦