“Aye, that it was,” Hawke murmurs.
I know he’s saying that mostly because the Upir are on the side of the Fae. Not all the kings are… yet.
As we approach the gates, a welcoming party emerges. Their skin is as black as onyx, absorbing the fading sunlight while somehow seeming to glow from within. Golden eyes—all of them—shine like polished coins against their dark complexions. Long, slender pointed ears rise elegantly from beneath their hair, which falls in various styles—some with intricate braids woven with golden threads, others wearing it loose and flowing down their backs. Their clothing is stark white with golden accents and cords, the simple, almost spartan design only emphasizing their natural regality.
At the center stands Jarlath Kergadras, King of the Upir and temporary steward of Camelot. His imposing frame is draped in a white cloak fastened with a golden clasp, his long hair pulled back in warrior braids that reveal the full length of his pointed ears. Beside him stands his Queen, Sahsa, her elegant bearing somehow softer despite the same sharp golden gaze. Several golden cords wind through her elaborate braids, catching the light when she moves. Two small children—a boy and girl with their mother's delicate features and their father's watchful eyes—peek out from behind royal guards clad in the same white and gold.
"King Stormblood," Jarlath calls as we dismount, his deep voice carrying across the courtyard. He clasps forearms with Hawke in the warrior's greeting. "I wish your visit came under better circumstances."
"The tremors have continued?" Hawke asks, his voice low. “The cracks look worse.”
Jarlath nods grimly. "Yes, the east tower lost another chunk of battlement this morning."
The castle is crumbling.
My wolf surges forward with a ferocity that nearly brings me to my knees. A growl rumbles in my chest before I can swallow it back, my fingers curling into claws at my sides, nails digging half-moons into my palms. The metallic scent of my own blood fills my nostrils as I struggle to maintain control. My vision sharpens, the world bleeding into primal hues of threat and prey.
"Fenrir," Wraith warns, taking a step back.
I close my eyes tightly, jaw clenched so hard my teeth might crack, focusing desperately on the memory of Astrid's scent to ease the pressure beneath my skin. The beast reluctantly retreats, but remains coiled and ready just beneath the surface. It helps, but it's like trying to sate thirst with the memory of water.
“I’m good,” I promise, giving him a quick nod.
"Wraith," Sahsa says, stepping forward and kindly acting like she didn’t just see me fighting for control. “Brother you look tired. We prepared a warded chamber for you to sleep in tonight."
“Thank you, sister.” He embraces her and sighs heavily. “Your kindness is much appreciated.”
"None of the High Council are in the castle today, but we should continue this inside in private," Jarlath suggests, eyeing the busy courtyard. "There are many visitors here."
My nostrils flare at the thought of being confined inside walls that could collapse at any moment. The wolf, barely leashed after its recent surge, paces restlessly beneath my skin. Every instinct screams to stay where escape routes are clear, where the sky stretches open above. But the need for secrecy outweighs even my beast's survival instincts.
"Aye," Hawke says. "The servant's passage through the kitchens?"
Jarlath nods, and I inhale deeply, tasting the air—stone dust, fear, and the faintest hint of decay. The scents tell a clearer story than any words could… the castle is dying. The wolf understands too, hackles raised, but I force it down. Better to face whatever danger lurks within than to expose our plans to potential enemies in the courtyard.
"Let's go," I growl, falling into step behind them. "The sooner we understand what's happening, the better."
Jarlath nods and we move together.
The kitchens of Camelot bustle with activity, but it's not the usual pre-feast chaos I remember. Instead of cooks arguing over spices and servants rushing with platters, we find Fae artisans working frantically alongside the kitchen staff. Their hands glow with Yggdrasil’s energy as they press palms against cracked walls, murmuring spells that make the broken stones shiver and coalesce.
"The damage is worse here," Jarlath explains as we weave between the workers. "The tower is so close. We had a really bad tremor last night."
Sahsa keeps their children close, a protective arm around each small shoulder as they navigate the crowded kitchen. The young ones' golden eyes are wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear as they take in the cracked walls and busy workers. The boy reaches out toward a particularly wide fissure, but his mother gently catches his hand.
"No touching," she murmurs, her melodic voice barely audible above the chaos. "Remember what we discussed about the castle's wounds?"
The child nods solemnly, tucking his hand back into the folds of his white robe.
I watch their family unit with an unexpected pang of longing. For a moment Astrid's face flashes in my mind alongside the image of a child. I shake the thought away before it can fully form.
A massive crack runs from floor to ceiling beside one of the main hearths, wide enough to slip fingers into. A Fae woman with silver-streaked hair presses her hands against it, sweat beading on her brow as stone grudgingly flows back together under her command.
The active magick in the air prickles across my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms. I can almost taste the resistance of the stone and how much it fights her will. It’s like watching someone try to stitch a wound that refuses to close, the edges pulling apart even as the needle draws them together.
The woman's face contorts with effort, her breathing labored, and I can hear her heartbeat thundering from across the room—too fast, too strained. She's nearly burning herself out for something that shouldn’t be so difficult. Whatever's happening to Camelot because of the queen is deeper than surface cracks.
"How are the repairs progressing?" Hawke asks, pausing to examine a newly sealed fissure that still shows a faint line where the break had been.
