Chapter 18
Torin
Two Months Ago
“No, there has to be another way into the city. No place is built with only one exit point. That would be suicidal!”
“Folami insisted that there was only that one way. It was the only entry and exit point she used while in the army.”
“Yes, and my information is most likely skewed by time and experience.”
The voices of my commanders fought for dominance as they echoed through the dining room that we’d commandeered in Lishahl Manor. Through very little coaxing on our part, Lord d’Leocopus transformed his estate into a makeshift rebel camp, complete with tents for any soldier who didn’t fit inside the manor.
This room was originally Lord d’Leocopus’ private dining space, but after his insistence, we’d transformed it into our battle and strategy center. Maps of Elyria and Vespera hung on the walls alongside any information we had regarding theirMage Academy, Mage numbers and designations, and troop movements.
Admittedly, the information was sparse at best. We still had no one on the inside—no one to ferry information about the Warlord and his closest friend, his general and second-in-command, Rohak d’Alvey. Which meant we had less than zero information about the Academy, what they were training for, how they were training, and what they were predicting to happen. Moreover, the lack of intel we had on the city itself was alarming.
In no short words, we were fucked.
I ran a hand down my face, closing my eyes briefly, as my closest friends and advisors fought amongst themselves. It’d been days since I’d shaved, the scruff along my jaw now closely resembling a beard. Sighing, I stretched as I walked away from the table, the voices of my advisors dying at my exit.
“Torin?” Peytor questioned, surprise and concern lacing his tone. He’d put on weight since we’d rescued him, his skin and hair returning to their normal hue and length. Externally, he’d all but recovered from the months of torture and torment in the mines. Internally, I knew he was still fighting his own demons. There were moments where his vision would cloud, his eyes darkening with some unseen memory, just like they did now. It seemed to happen most often when I walked away or appeared angry.
It was like he took my anger and frustration personally. Almost like he was afraid I’d leave him if he didn’t prove himself useful.
I’d never do that—even if he wasn’t Peytor d’Aelius, the last heir to the seat in Hestin and a close personal friend. I knew what it felt like to be abandoned, and I would never consciously do that to another person.
“Torin,” my second-in-command, Folami, barked, and I turned to gaze at the three of them huddled over the dining table. I ran my hands through my hair, blowing out a breath.
“We need someone on the inside,” I said for what felt like the thousandth time this week. By the groans of exasperation and Folami’s eye roll, they thought the same.
“Yes. We do,” Folami continued. “We’ve all agreed that we need someone on the inside. What we can’t agree on is how we get that tohappen.”
“I’m sorry I’m not more useful,” Peytor apologized, again. “We never visited Vespera as a family. And the only information I have about the Academy is from when I attended there for a year. Information that I’m sure is outdated. Plus, I never really paid much attention to the layout or weak points of the Academy while I was there.” He ruffled the back of his hair in embarrassment, and I waved a hand in his direction.
“Why would you have?” I countered. “You only knew of the Warlord’s deception and depravity recently. I do not fault you for planning for something you couldn’t even fathom.”
Peytor’s cheeks pinked before he grabbed the back of his neck—a nervous tick he’d displayed more often recently.
“No one blames you, Peytor. What you’ve given us has been invaluable,” Folami reaffirmed, her deep, lilting voice instantly relaxing the d’Aelius heir. He shot her a small smile, one which she returned warmly, before turning her chocolate eyes on me. Where she held warmth and understanding for Peytor, they only contained hardness and expectations for me.
We’d been friends for nearly a decade now. She fled to the Stepstones and the rebellion after a rather harrowing time in the Warlord’s army. Folami didn’t speak of it much, but the ghosts of her service still haunted her, as did the scars around her wrists and the mottled skin that once contained a Bonding mark.
I’d tried pressing her for information over the years, but she expertly avoided the subject. When we started putting information together about Vespera and the Warlord, Folami gave us bits and pieces that she remembered, but refused to go into greater detail.
Part of me wondered if she’d blocked out that portion of her memory—the suffering too great to experience again.
“Torin!” Folami exclaimed in exasperation, and I jumped slightly. Of the two of us, she definitely had the more commanding voice.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” I mumbled, and Peytor barely suppressed a laugh. “I . . . have an idea.”
It wasn’t a fully formed plan, but it was all we had at the moment.
Better than nothing.
“Care to enlighten us?” Folami crossed her corded forearms across her chest, widening her stance as she did so. She was an intimidating woman—her ebony skin was covered in scars from her past, and her braided black hair hung to her waist. She’d woven small golden charms into her braids so they clinked softly whenever she moved; it was such a disarming sound when paired with her skill with a spear.
Folami was nothing short of deadly. Even I would be skeptical to go up against her, and I had command over four elements and needed neither crystal nor Vessel to access my powers.
