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Voice lifting, he called out, "Etalsah."
Cera had to grip the table to keep from jumping up as Isael's door opened. Two servants with veiled faces filed in, each carrying a tray. Neither spoke as they set the trays down onto the table between Cera and Isael. Cera bit back her own words of thanks, following the high lord's example of regarding them in cool silence.
It was surprisingly easy, as she found herself feeling strangely irritated with them both, as if they were willfully intruding on her privacy. She felt a particular dislike of the woman who worked to set the dishes out on the table. Each time her hand strayed close to Isael, Cera felt the urge to clear her throat, or perhaps even to swat at the offending hand.
She felt relief when they left, some of the heat and tension easing from her body as the door clicked shut behind them.
Still gripping the table, she asked, "Does anyone else know?"
"There are some who suspect," he said, brushing hair from his shoulder. "Though they more likely suspect as you did, that I am Avalrashael himself. Such rumors work in my favor, so long as they remain fringe beliefs."
It was another secret between them, but this one felt too big.
Trying to wrap her head around it, she asked, "What would be the harm in letting them know? You ended the war and you've ruled the elves in peace for centuries. Who could fault you for your parentage?"
"Oh, many," Isael said. As he spoke, he sniffed at the jar of honeyed wine, then carefully poured it into two crystal glasses. "The elves have longer memories than humans, but even they grow restless after a few centuries. With each year between the war and the present day, more of them question why they need an aesolin. Even the elves who lived through the war now wax nostalgic for the days before the unification, when each territory was a country unto itself. They wish for me to return to Ishvalier, guard the north, and leave them to rule themselves in peace."
"Then why don't you?" Cera asked, accepting a glass from him. "They don't want you here, and you don't want to be here."
Isael lifted his glass to his lips. "Do you know what a power void is?"
Cera took a sip of her own drink while she considered how best to answer. The wine was every bit as delicious as the one she had the night before, although now she couldn't help but remember Sidryne and Maewyn cautioning her againsttainting her vesselwith unsavory drinks.
She said, "After The Draconic War, Mytr the Great unified Kyta. The unification was bloody, but swift, and once it was done he ruled in relative peace for twelve years. The moment he died, his heir was assassinated and Kyta was plunged into civil war for over thirty years until Ciran III managed to reconquer the mainland and establish himself as king."
"Precisely," Isael said, lips lifting with his approval. "The civil war in Kyta is just one example of a phenomenon that happens the world over. Any time a great power is lost, lesser men scramble in to try to fill the void. My presence in Viranhildr isn't to dissuade the dragons, it's to remind the elves that they are one, unified people. The moment I leave, they'll be at each other's throats over old grievances, contested lands, and the like. I'll either have to return to quell them, or remain in Ishvalier and watch them tear each other apart for a few centuries.
"The trouble is that it's not like it was before the war. Back then, the territories were stable and self-sufficient. No one had more land than they could hold, more people than they could support, and their leaders were multifaceted in their capabilities. Now, the territories are very different. It's not a bad thing, it's just that they've adapted to being part of an empire, rather than a house unto itself."
As they drank, he elaborated on what he meant. He explained how Atindel, an eastern territory near to Atera, was responsible for nearly half of Esryia's food production. Its borders were flanked by rivers that in ancient times had been guarded by powerful users of water magic, deterring invaders. Their weaker contemporaries could do little more than water fields with their magic, and innovations in engineering would make the vast rivers easy enough to cross if their neighbors wished to invade them.
"And invade them, they could. Kyrindel surrounds them on all sides and they're the descendants of warriors, not farmers. And above them both is Gerodir, miners and weapon smiths that depend on imports of food from other regions. So, you have defenseless farmers in the south, hungry blacksmiths in the north, and warriors between them. You can imagine how long that region will remain stable, and that is just one example."
To the west of all three, Isael explained, was Virashindel, the territory that surrounded the capital and was ruled by Lord Casean. Casean, who was feared by other lords mostly because of his proximity to the high lord, but also because of the great wealth of his lands. It had gone to his head over the centuries, and he viewed himself as something of Isael's second.
"The day I leave, Casean will position himself as high lord of the central territories. The central lands are soft and weak from years of comfort and peace. Some will go along with him because they'll want to maintain the status quo. However, Janira Esolin of Lysidia will likely..."
Time slipped away as Isael went into great detail about how Esryia might fall apart in his absence. He painted a vivid picture and Cera soaked up every detail, as if absorbing a piece of speculative fiction. She marveled not just in his foresight, but also with how frankly he spoke to her of things that she should have had no business knowing.
Drinks soon gave way to dinner. There, Isael had a surprise for her. Amidst the typical elven spread of fruits, nuts, vegetables, breads, and spreads was a covered dish, and under that, a cooked pheasant seasoned with peppers, herbs, and lemon. She knew it was likely because she'd been deprived of meat for weeks, but to her mind it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. She had already eaten a breast and was working on a leg when she remembered Sidryne telling her never to eat the flesh of beasts.
But then, would advice on elven conception be wholly applicable to her and Isael? It was fitting that it was while she was pulling flesh from bone that the full weight of his confession finally hit her.
The ritual, the drinking of Isael's blood, it had made her as he was. Not an elf, but an aggregation of magical beings. Part elf, part fae…part dragon?
All that magic, burgeoning within her, becoming stronger by the day. When would it stop? Would it plateau, or would it continue to grow until she became as Isael was?
She shivered at the thought.
Isael, frightfully attentive to her every movement, paused in his eating and arched an inquisitive brow.
Setting aside her utensils, Cera polished off the rest of her second glass of wine. She was feeling more at ease with Isael by the second, a realization that was at odds with everything she'd learned tonight. It had to be the wine.
"Do you see me as a liability?" She asked.
"Yes," he said bluntly.
Cera swallowed. "Do you regret making me as I am?"
