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“Exactly. The Howling Mountains span the northern coasts of Beltharos and Rivosa. It’s not surprising that the Beltharans have not tried to mine the eudorite ore; they’ve been led by a weak, unstable king for decades, and their country has been plagued by war these past several months. Rivosa, however, has had no such troubles.”
As he spoke, Hyperion crossed the room and sat in the large armchair by the hearth, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. Auberon sank onto the settee and handed him one of the teas the steward had poured. The Emperor accepted it with a grateful nod, but made no move to drink it. His fingers curled around the cup, whorls of steam dancing in front of his face as he stared into the crackling fire.
Finally, he said, “Based upon the limited information we have, we believe eudorite ore forms only in the Howling Mountains. When forged into a blade, it is supposedly sharper than steel and harder than a diamond. If King Domhnall is mining it, he will be able to supply his soldiers with weapons and armor impervious to common weapons. His troops may become unstoppable, and we would be their first target.”
Unease filled Auberon. Rivosa and Erduria had a long history of bloody battles for control of the Tranquil Sea, and the enmity between the lands had only grown since the king of the Selannic Isles closed the ports to Erdurians and gave Rivosa sole access to the master shipwrights of the islands eight years ago. If King Domhnall had them outfit his ships with eudorite hulls and weapons, his navy would become all but invincible.
“As far as we know, he isn’t doing anything,” Auberon said. “So, assuming there is an ample supply of ore, he either isn’t mining the Mountains, or he’s doing it in secret.”
“Precisely. I want you to find out what you can while you and Drystan are in Innislee. King Domhnall is too clever to leave such a valuable resource just sitting in those mountains.” A shadow passed across his face, and his fingers tightened around the mug. “Creator have mercy on us all if he really is mining eudorite, for his troops will have none when they land on our shores.”
A shiver of dread crept down Auberon’s spine. “I won’t let you down.”
The ghost of a smile passed across the Emperor’s lips. “I know you won’t, my son.”
* * *
A thick blanket of clouds had swept over the city by the time Auberon arrived at the lower district that night. After leaving the outer chamber, he had cleaned the cut in his arm, bathed, and changed into a fresh—albeit worn—tunic and trousers. The simple garb was a far cry from the finery he wore at the palace, but it enabled him to move unnoticed through the poorer sections of Torch. Unlike the upper district, with its wide avenues and well-maintained lamps, the road he followed was lit only by the occasional lantern. Despite the late hour, people flowed in and out of the taverns, chatter and music spilling through the open doorways.
When he reached a narrow, slouching building in the middle of the next block, he turned down the alley and climbed the twisting metal staircase affixed to the side of the building. On the street behind him, the sound of shattering glass cut through the music, followed by a burst of drunken, boisterous laughter.
He jogged up the stairs and climbed onto the building’s flat roof. It was the middle of the night, but everything within him felt alive, charged with energy. Too much of his time was spent shackled to the court, listening to the bickering, preening nobles and their petty disputes. Tomorrow, he would set sail for Rivosa. And despite the countless warnings he’d been given about entering the court of his enemies, the prospect of traveling invigorated him.
Auberon sat cross-legged at the edge of the roof. A musician sat strumming a lute on the street corner, an overturned cap at his feet to collect coins. An elven woman danced in the road before him, the plunging neckline of her dress exposing a swath of pale, flawless skin. The tips of her pointed ears stuck out from her dark locks, but that wasn’t all that made her stand out. It was the sultry, self-assured way she held herself as her hips swayed with the melody. She hailed from the upper district, without a doubt, and had come to the lower town for a night of revelry and perhaps a bit of sin. She would dance and drink to her heart’s content, then stumble back to her manor in the early hours of the morning, bursting with stories to delight and amuse her highborn friends. Auberon knew the experience well; he had done it plenty of times himself when he needed a break from the monotony of the palace.
Sometimes, he would sit in this exact spot, seeking a moment alone with his thoughts. Other days, he charmed his way into a group of strangers, making friends for the night and treating them to drinks until his coin purse ran empty. He savored the way their faces would light up when he volunteered to treat them to another round of drinks, or to buy a song from whichever traveling minstrel had set up shop in the tavern that day. The people he met that night would forget him by morning, he knew. He would be nothing more than a kind stranger who had entertained them for an evening. That was enough to appease the restlessness within him for a short while, but it always returned with a vengeance.
Even now, a pang of something akin to longing lurked underneath his good mood. It was a constant companion, a strange sort of tether that pulled him to the lower district on nights like this. Something always drew him to this spot, a place where he could both be an observer and participant in the night’s revelry. Seen and unseen. A half-forgotten memory clouded with the haze of drink. He stood with a foot in each world—one in the opulent, dazzling halls of the palace, and the other here in the dirty, rundown taverns, the smell of alcohol and the blue-gray haze ofaljarsmoke hanging in the air.
“I thought I’d find you up here.”
Auberon glanced over his shoulder to find Walther standing at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in all black and would have been nearly invisible in the nighttime darkness had it not been for the oil lantern dangling from his hand. Despite his towering height and considerable muscle, he knew how to blend in, how to move silently—perks of being one of the crown’s highest-ranking spies.
“You know me too well.”
“Unfortunately, aye.” Walther sat next to Auberon and set the lantern on his other side, its warm light limning the sharp planes of the man’s face. “I’ve known you since you were fourteen years old, and you always come here to sulk.”
“I’m not sulking. I just needed out of the palace.”
“So you chose to spend your last night in Torch sitting on some rooftop feeling sorry for yourself? Or are you just practicing that wholedark, mysterious princenonsense for all the beautiful women you’ll meet in Rivosa?” He set a hand over his heart and affected a rather atrocious impersonation of a lilting Rivosi accent. “Oh, but he’s just so distant and emotionally tormented! I should go talk to him, because nothing could possibly go wrong with trying to romance a clearly dangerous man I know absolutely nothing about.”
For once, Auberon didn’t rise to his friend’s joking tone. “It’s not that simple.”
Walther sighed. “With you, it never is.”
He fixed his attention on the street once more. Down below, the elven woman tossed a handful of coins into the lute player’s cap, then approached a circle of people chatting outside a tavern. She said something that made them laugh and was swept into the group as they filtered back inside. Part of Auberon yearned to follow, an inexplicable wave of something like homesickness rushing over him.
“When I was younger, I spent a lot of time traveling, as you know,” Auberon began. He lay back, his hands linked behind his head, and watched the clouds churn high above the city. “I’d traveled half the northern continent by the time I was fourteen. These past few years, I’ve just felt…restless. Unmoored. Like I’m searching for something, only I don’t know what it is. This is my home—I should be happy here. But all I feel is lost.”
A few beats of silence stretched out between them. “I wish I knew how to respond to that,” Walther finally said. “I’m not good with this kind of thing. Stabbing people? I’m your man. Heart-to-hearts? Not so much. You just need direction, I think. Your entire life has been shaped by the decisions of the people around you. Sometimes you have to stop and think about what you really want.”
The words came to Auberon immediately. “I want to serve the Empire.”
Walther studied him through eyes that had watched courts crumble and kingdoms fracture. He suddenly felt as if he’d been laid out for the spy to dissect. “Do you?”
“Of course I do,” he snarled, annoyance flaring. He pushed himself upright and flung a hand out toward the city. “What else do I have?Nothing.”
When Walther spoke again, his voice was careful. “You have a lot more than that, and you know it.”
