But, it didn’t matter now. Now they moved with the force of the Empire Solaris. Their ranks were fat with soldiers from Soricium and there would be no way some ragtag Northern clan would be foolish enough to attack so many. Black Legion Firebearers fearlessly led the way, burning through the brush without a care for leaving an obvious trail. Tim watched them with appreciative eyes. Eyes that had never really paid them much heed prior.
She clenched her fist in her gauntlet and wondered, not for the first time, what it was like to feel magic. The village elders had bemoaned the existence of magic for as long as Tim could remember. They had bemoaned it for the Knights and fools it brought through Mosant in hunt of the crystal caverns. But, she’d found herself developing a fascination for it after the sandstorm – after she’d first truly seen the might of the Windwalker.
Tim focused on their northern headway, trying to put the questions from her mind. She’d only ever really spoken to one sorcerer in her life. But, Tim knew the crown prince wouldn’t be answering her questions ever again.
No one had told her much of anything. It seemed that when the real Windwalker had returned in the fight at the Pass Tim’s service was immediately up and no one cared any longer what she did. Tim had wanted that for weeks, but now she wasn’t certain any longer. There was a new craving for a world she had only been able to glimpse into.
Her eyes shifted to Elecia Ci’Dan. Tim could ask her… they’d met a few times in Prince Aldrik’s tent. But the Lady Ci’Dan was about as cuddly as a pinecone and as warm as fresh-fallen snow. Even if Tim could rouse the courage, Elecia spent all her time tending to the comatose prince. There would be no way Tim could get a single question in.
ERION
Baldair was tipsy.
Which, was rather impressive when one considered the sheer size of the man. Erion knew the Golden Prince’s tolerance as well as his own and knew just the right mix of spirits to get Baldair to the place he wanted him to be. Tonight, that place was just enough to loosen his tongue, but not enough to impede his performance. The prince looked like he could use a tumble in the sheets and Erion knew better than to get in the way of that.
It wasn’t that he relished in getting his sovereign inebriated. But, alas, sometimes it was necessary and this was one of those times. He blamed the young woman who had been Jax’s shadow for days on end. The same young woman who had just turned Daniel into a simpering puppy. The same young woman who had Baldair running to her the moment he arrived in Soricium. Yes, that young woman, the one he was nearly certain was the Windwalker and yet no one would confirm nor deny.
It was so irksome.
“Brother.” Erion let a little slur slip into the word, giving the impression that he was equally sauced. “You’re not yourself this night. Usually your return is more joyous. Tell me what’s heavy on your brow.”
“But I am joyous.” Baldair tapped Erion’s mug with his, taking another sip. “For I have returned to find that you and Jax have yet to burn down the place.”
“Burning is more Jax’s fashion.” Much to the lament of his own family, Erion mused. Erion should have been born a Firebearer to continue the Le’Dan line.
“Too true!” Baldair gave a full bellied laugh. “And he is rather wild with it.”
“You are not one to talk when it comes to being wild.” Erion smirked. “Tell me, when will you put the others aside and just take Raylynn for a bride.”
“She does not want it, and neither do I.”
“So you claim, but you spend an awful lot of time together.”
“Time does not mean marriage.” Baldair slung an arm around Erion’s shoulders. It was a heavy but familiar weight. Erion was far closer to the prince than he was his elder brother by blood. “Affection for affection’s sake is also possible.”
“And now you sound Eastern.” Erion shook his head in amusement. The prince was close, relaxed. It was time to strike. “Speaking of Eastern… The one who left with Daniel, she has Eastern eyes.”
Baldair stiffened, and it told Erion everything. “What of it?”
“Just an odd mix in the West.” Erion made a show of sipping his mug. “Much about her is odd. Much about your reaction to her has also been odd.”
“My reacting to a woman is not odd.”
“But she’s not your type.” Erion knew Baldair’s type: curvy, full-lipped, strong, tall, and generally breathtaking. The young woman who went by the name Serien Leral was none of these things. “She’s the type you make sport of to get a rise out of when you’re bored.”
“Truer than you know.” Baldair laughed more to himself than anyone else, looking beyond the Camp Palace in which they sat. Erion wondered what memory of the woman he’d triggered in the prince. “She’s more like family, I suppose.”
“Family?” Erion considered this for a long moment. “A new potential recruit for the Golden Guard?”
“She’s shaping up with skill enough,” Baldair agreed. “But, no, my brother would char me should I do something that he could perceive in the slightest as laying claim to the girl.”