“I know. But I won’t be far,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Alwyn nodded, and they stepped into the foyer. “I suppose this is where we part.”
“Not for long,” Krujha replied, winking at him. Alwyn sighed. It was hard to remember how good he was at all of this when he was being so completely obtuse. “See you soon.”
A guard in the foyer gestured for Alwyn to follow him. As they stepped out, he could see Krujha take a seat at one of the stone benches, now alone. The plan was in motion.
The guard led him to a parlor on the ground floor where the small award ceremony would be held; because of the secretive nature of the Order, no grand displays would ever be awarded to them, but modest commendations were not unheard of. Then the guard pulled open the heavy wooden door and announced Alwyn’s presence.
“Ah, here he is,” the king’s voice came as Alwyn stepped inside. “The man of the hour. Please, be welcome.”
A stark contrast to the stiff formality of their last meeting, King Ruven had a slight smile on his face, his demeanor almost warm. He was dressed in fine, but subdued robes of a deep navy blue. Something too resplendent would draw unwanted attention, but it made Alwyn feel less self-conscious—his own robes, though finely made, were relatively plain.
At a quick glance, the parlor itself was similarly modest. It was big enough to comfortably fit the handful of chairs that were facing the front of the room. The long table pushed up against one wall, overflowing with goblets full of ale and honey-wine, and all manner of fruits and desserts, was the only indication that this meeting was a celebration. Alwyn spotted Tessarion near the king, of course, but was surprised to notice two more familiar faces: Galred and Fionia, standing together in one corner. The few other guests were instructors within the Order, but no one he particularly cared to greet.
The king gestured for Alwyn to approach, and he took a few steps closer before bowing deeply.
“It is my honor, your majesty,” Alwyn said, keeping his head downturned. “The opportunity to continue serving the crown is thanks enough.”
“I am happy to give credit where credit is due,” King Ruven said. “Though there are some unfortunate specifics, the fact of the matter is that this rebellion has ended before it could boil over into something worse, and we have you to thank for that. But I am giving away too much of my speech. Please, avail yourself of the refreshments. While we are truly in winter now, I am pleased that I can provide some of the best of Aefraya’s harvest to you here.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” Alwyn said. The king turned back to Tessarion, obviously dismissing him. He hesitated, wondering if Tessarion would say anything to him; but after a beat of silence, he stepped away.
Alwyn’s eyes kept darting over to Galred and Fionia as he stood at the refreshment table. They were speaking with each other in low voices, but occasionally Fionia’s eyes darted in his direction. He hadn’t thought of Galred once since they’d left Drol Kuggradh, but after Fionia had split away from the group, he had worried about her. It was a relief to see her alive and well, and he hoped he would get the chance to speak with her in private before everything went down. As he picked up a goblet of honey-wine, Alwyn glanced nervously back at Tessarion; but he and the king were now speaking to each other, paying no attention to him.
He needed to know where the adjoining room was, he remembered; he turned slowly and looked around. Opposite the entrance he had come through, there was a smaller, unassuming door. It was the only other exit out of the room that he could spot, so that had to be it. The door was closed, but he knew it would lead to a small connected parlor used to expand the space for larger parties. It didn’t seem very private, but he could only trust what Krujha had told him about the plan.
Before he could think too much more about it, though, Fionia came up beside him.
“Hello, Alwyn,” she said, her voice prim and proper, as if their last meeting had been over tea. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. Master Tessarion told me you had been injured.”
“Hello,” he replied, keeping his voice as even as he could. “He told you true. I am not fully healed, but I’m feeling much better now. Thank you. I’m glad to see you made it home safely, too. What about the elves you accompanied?
“Yes, luckily everyone arrived healthy and whole. Or as much as possible, I suppose,” she replied. Before they could say anything else, the king cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
“If you would all be so kind as to be seated,” he said, gesturing towards the chairs arranged at the far end of the room. It seemed Alwyn had been the last arrival.
Alwyn’s heart thumped in his chest as he joined the shuffle toward the chairs, finding the one in the front row marked for him. Fionia sat on one side of him, Galred on the other—an unpleasant shiver crept up his spine as he realized Tessarion was sitting directly behind him. He took a deep drink of his honey wine as the king stepped to the front of the room, moving with a perfect elven elegance.
“Thank you all for joining us today, despite the short notice,” King Ruven said, standing before them. “Though the Order of Twilight cannot be recognized publicly, I do not wish to diminish the work of its members. The work the Order does is often unglamorous, but in many instances, it has been integral in assuring the continued safety of Aefraya and its citizens. This is one such instance.”
The king’s eyes landed on him, that hint of a smile returning to his face. Alwyn took another nervous sip of wine.
“High Sorcerer Alwyn Alara,” he said. “You embarked on a dangerous journey to enact a plan that had no guarantee of success. While the events that transpired did not turn out exactly as we had hoped, it is undeniable that your actions quelled the orcish rebellion threatening the peace we have so briefly enjoyed. You displayed remarkable bravery and tenacity, continuing to pursue your goal even when it came down to you alone. For this, I am pleased to present you with the Mark of Greatest Courage, in thanks for your service to Aefraya. Please, join me.”
Alwyn stood to his feet and stepped toward the king, bowing again. From a small table just behind him, King Ruven opened a delicate, glass-topped display case and pulled a glimmering golden brooch from within. It was in the shape of an eaglefeather, representing courage and perseverance in the face of hardship, just as the king had described—one of the highest honors Aefraya offered.
It didn’t feel as though he had been brave, Alwyn thought, as King Ruven pinned the brooch to his tunic, just above his heart. His actions had all felt like desperation, resigning himself to death with only the hope that his partner might survive. The thought made his throat feel tight; but he kept his face still and stoic as he turned toward the small audience and bowed his head deeply to polite applause.
He stood there with his eyes trained on his own empty chair as King Ruven made similar short speeches commending Fionia and Galred, presenting them with minor awards for their roles. Mostly, he worried about how the next hour would go, and tried not to look at Tessarion. Distantly he felt a brief tinge of annoyance that Galred was getting the same award as Fionia, considering she had made sure several Aefrayan citizens returned safely to their homes, while he had done nothing of the sort.
“And, finally, I would be remiss not to note that it is Mage Princeps Tessarion’s diligent work and commitment to his students that allows this all to be possible,” King Ruven concluded, snapping Alwyn back to attention. His tone was as warm as ever, betraying none of the obvious displeasure he expressed toward Tessarion during their last meeting. “As always, Mage Princeps, your service to the crown is deeply appreciated.”
Tessarion stood up from where he was sitting. “You honor me, King Ruven. To see my students awarded for their bravery is commendation enough for me.”
Alwyn had to force himself not to scowl at his words. It was all fake—both the king and Tessarion were just posturing at this point. Maybe it was necessary, but the politics, the scheming—itall felt like bile rising in his throat. The lingering taste of honey-wine in his mouth turned to vinegar, and all he could think about was leaving it all behind.
King Ruven concluded his speech. He, Fionia, and Galred bowed to the small crowd once more to polite applause. They started to step down, but Tessarion quickly joined them, a small smile on his face.
