Page 1 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

Juramentum

Kilian

A little over thirteen years ago.

The heat was not as bad in September, but there was an ember of choking humidity in the air of Sitara. Perhaps it was the swelter coming from the Sea of the Dark that served to keep its cold-blooded creatures alive. Golgotha had settled here hundreds of years ago along with all of his creations after his realm had been destroyed. Times had changed. Realms no longer prayed to monsters, they loathed and torched them. Lack of belief crumbled heavens and demoted gods. It was how Golgotha had landed on our realm. A god amongst humans, yet he was shunned not only by his peers but us lowly creatures of lesser worlds.

The rock I’d sat on overlooked the bay ahead. An empty, creaking and soulless bay, perhaps the only of its kind in the whole of Adriata. Our seas were bright and warm, filled with life and were welcoming to ventures and exploration. Not this one. No one dared venture beyond the shores of Sidra or Sitara. Not because Adriatians were afraid of the eudemons creeping beneath the surface of the black water, but because of a silent treaty our domains had fallen to agreement with. Eudemons remained in their sanctuary and we remained away from theirs, it is how it always was. Peace was a fickle thing amongst humans, but sacred to the old demon god—he’d kept it for hundreds of years.

“You always think too much,” a strong male voice called from behind, one that had gone a tone deeper from the last time I’d seen him. He took a seat next to me and pointed at Mal. “Is he still set on testing if he has nine lives like an Aitan sphinx?”

“Malik!” I called loudly, warning my brother who’d taken the opportunity of my distraction to set foot right on the edge of a cliff. “Move back from the cliff or this is the last time I will bring you anywhere with me.”

My brother sneered and blew me a raspberry, but did as told.

Sigh.

“Has it gotten worse?” he asked.

I nodded, still tracing the movement of my little brother. He’d bloomed his blessing fully and that meant my father took every opportunity to ruin his innocence of a child and shape him into a man at only ten years of age. Last, I’d caught him strapped to a chair, bleeding from his ears and nose, my father’s magic clinging in the air while teaching my brother what pain of the soul was. No one deserved to know that much suffering. No one. And especially not my ten year old brother.

“It will get better,” I said. I lied.

“Is your father still sick?”

“If you hope to catch a glimpse of my sorrow, you are mistaken. If you are here to catch me satisfied, more severely so. And if you hope to catch my excitement in becoming a king, I warn you, Eren Jonah Krigborn, I will forever name you a little shit.”

He grinned. “I am older than you—you are the little shit.”

“Missed my point.”

“So,” he prodded, taking off his jacket, probably already beaten by the heat of my lands. “You might become king soon.”

“That would make her my queen.”

He snorted. “Is that all that came at the thought of what I said?”

“She would hate it, no?” I still had not gotten used to how her name rolled on my tongue. Snowlin.

“Probably.” Eren fiddled with the sword he’d rested on his lap. “Probably little less if my father made her queen of Isjord.”

I spun to face him. “You are the heir.”

He sighed, but it seemed to be a reaction of relief for some reason. “Heir is chosen, Kilian.”

“Why would she be queen?”

“Father, he…he treats and trains her like a ruler is expected to be trained and treated before taking the Isjordian throne.”

Something bubbled in me and I shot straight up. Last I’d seen Eren be treated and trained like the heir his father expected him to be, he was covered all inches of his skin in purple, had an arm cast, a limp and two broken ribs. “Has he hurt her?”

“She is stronger than you think.”

“It was not what I asked,” I tried to say calmly despite the rippling anger surging through my veins.

He reached inside his satchel and pulled a stack of papers out. “What you asked for. This is the last time I do you a favour of this sort. Albius refuses to sneak me into Adriata again.”

I took the letters from his hand, still glaring at him for leaving me unanswered, but I was fairly sure I’d gotten my answer. He had hurt her.