But Ferym was right—though he might keep Tessarion waiting, the king would not be refused so easily. He and Krujha helped Alwyn bathe and dress, so he looked as presentable as possible. Though he was well enough to walk for short distancesnow, Ferym still insisted he take a carriage to and from the castle instead of walking there and back.
Alwyn sat staring down at his bandaged hands for the entire short journey, trying to keep his mind from running away from him with worry. When they arrived, Krujha helped Alwyn out of the carriage, then followed him into the royal courtyard, where the castle’s grand entrance loomed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Krujha
“You’re coming with me?” Alwyn asked, frowning.
“To make sure you don’t trip,” Krujha said, grinning down at the elf and hoping the worry he felt wasn’t obvious on his face. He had no intention of letting Alwyn out of his sight anytime soon. The summons might have been for him specifically, and they might not have been able to refuse a king; but surely a second eyewitness account would be just as welcome. Alwyn looked up at him with an uncertain expression for a moment, but then relented, gesturing for him to follow.
Though his focus was on Alwyn, Krujha couldn’t help marveling at the enormity of the castle as they walked through a courtyard, full of vibrant greenery and flowers despite the season, and up the stone steps to a pair of massive doors. He had never seen a castle before—the thought of a single building taking up so much space, all for a king, was hard to wrap his mind around. The walls were made of gleaming white stone, each of the many windows polished to a mirror shine, with a myriad of decorative plants and vines making it look almost as if it had grown out of the earth.
At the grand foyer, Alwyn showed the summons to a guard, who directed them to wait there until the king called for them. He and Alwyn had only just found a comfortable position to sit on the hard stone benches that lined the walls when the guard returned, gesturing for Alwyn to come with him.
The guard hesitated when Krujha rose, too; but he followed as casually as if he’d been expecting the summons himself, and the guard didn’t refuse him. The elf led them through the castle, just as elegant and airy within as it was outside. Eventually, they were brought to a long hallway with a single wooden door in the center, where another elf guard stood watch. The door was carved with a design that looked almost like willow branches, inlaid with silver and gems. The first guard knocked twice on the wooden door, then opened it and gestured for them to enter.
A familiar sense of static on his skin passed over Krujha as they crossed the threshold—some kind of magic, obviously meant to protect the office’s resident, the elven king himself. He wondered if he could only detect it because it was the same feeling that had clung to him since that day, Alwyn’s lingering magic within him, but pushed the thought from his mind as they stepped inside.
The room was neatly arranged with bookshelves lining the walls, and several small tables and chairs on each side to create a clear walkway to the larger desk near the back of the room. Krujha had never seen the king and had only caught glimpses of his son, Prince Taegan, during his time in Drol Kuggradh. The elf sitting behind the desk bore only a passing resemblance to the memories Krujha had of the prince, but had a regal countenance that left a far more lasting impression.
Though he was dressed in a simple, deep burgundy robe with a plain circlet atop his curtain of dark hair, his presence seemed to fill the room. It wasn’t magic, Krujha thought, but the aura of a man keenly aware of how much power he wielded.
The king’s eyes were fixed on both of them as they stepped inside. Beside him, Alwyn immediately lowered himself into a deep bow; Krujha hesitated, then followed suit. For now, he would simply observe, letting Alwyn take the lead in a situation that he was surely more familiar with.
“Rise,” the king’s even voice came from the far end of the office. “You may approach. Please, sit.”
“Thank you, King Ruven,” Alwyn said, keeping his head bowed even as they stepped toward the desk and each sat in a chair facing the king. They were sized for elves, so Krujha lowered himself gingerly, careful not to lean too much of his weight all at once into the cramped seat. “I am High Sorcerer Alwyn Alara. Please forgive my slowness, your majesty. I was injured in the battle and am not entirely well yet.”
“There is nothing to forgive. Thank you for answering my summons on such short notice,” King Ruven said, waving a dismissive hand. He paused, his eyes flicking to Krujha. He felt his back straighten under his scrutiny. “I am afraid I am not familiar with you, sir.”
Krujha lowered his head as Alwyn had done, keeping the same pleasant smile on his face. “I’m Krujha of the Shifting Sands, your majesty. I was part of the group sent by Gorza to help Alwyn and his team with their mission.”
“I see,” the king said. His tone was entirely unreadable. “And you are assisting High Sorcerer Alwyn while he is still injured.”
“That’s right,” Krujha replied, nodding.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. Whatever the king thought of all this, Krujha couldn’t get a beat on; the dark-haired elf had evidently mastered the complete stoicism that so many elves aspired to.
Finally, the king’s eyes landed back on Alwyn.
“I understand you were the one who slew Zesh and his co-conspirator,” he said.
Alwyn hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, your majesty,” he said. His voice already sounded less sure.
“I see,” King Ruven replied. “Please explain to me your reasoning behind this decision.”
“I...” Alwyn started, his brows furrowing for just a moment before consciously smoothing his face back into neutrality. It was an endearing habit when it was only him and Krujha alone—now, though, Krujha could see the distress it was bringing him. “That is, Krujha and I were separated when we arrived in the rebel camp. I was brought to a private audience with Zesh and Yarug, his druid, where they indicated to me they were aware I was working for Aefraya, as well as Krujha. They wanted information from me, or they would kill me.”
For the first time, he saw a hint of emotion on the king’s face—a very slight narrowing of his eyes. Krujha thought he might have been annoyed or frustrated, but still couldn’t quite get a beat on why, or where this conversation was leading.
“You acted in self-defense,” the king said. “That is understandable. But it is unfortunate that your original mission could not be carried out. The death of King Zorvut’s brother at the hands of a representative of Aefraya, regardless of the rebellion he was attempting to incite, will be viewed in a poor light by many within our kingdom and outside its borders.”
Alwyn glanced sidelong at Krujha, who returned the look; the elf looked as confused as he felt. Krujha wanted to defend Alwyn—he had only been doing what he was told, after all—but maybe it would be better to hold his tongue, at least for now. He might not have interacted with royalty, but even he knew how dangerous it could be to contradict a king.
“Your majesty,” Alwyn finally said. “If I may—the group’s mission was to bring Zesh to face King Zorvut’s justice, yes. But I was obeying my secondary orders from the Mage Princeps.”
“From the Mage Princeps,” King Ruven repeated, his voice carefully neutral now. “And what orders were those?”
