Alira

  It was finally over. A month of painstaking negotiations, haggling over every insignificant detail for an alliance that was held together by hopes and dreams.

  The treaty itself was a masterpiece of ambiguity. It offered no real commitments—just a string of ifs and whiles. The elves promised no military aid, and their much-vaunted spy network didn’t even stretch this far east. On paper, Malachor gained nothing tangible.

  I couldn’t decide what was worse: that everyone around me was smart enough to recognize the treaty’s emptiness but too disillusioned to point it out, or that they were genuinely oblivious to the glaring facts. Either way, the result was the same: I was suddenly the kingdom’s rising star.

  Invitations poured in. Lavish parties hosted by people whose names carried weight and expectations. Refusing them all would have been unwise to say the least, so I gritted my teeth and attended. Everyone wanted my opinion—on possible wars, trade agreements even city planing . The irony was laughable. I’d joined the intelligence service specifically to avoid this kind of attention.

  The worst of it came from my mother. Every night, a new guest graced our dinner table, their voices droning about business ventures or court alliances. And I had to sit there, nodding and pretending to care because my mother, as always, saw some angle, some advantage.

  The monotony finally broke at the portal in our garden. Two children—lost, hungry, and frail—stood there looking and dressed straight out of a nightmare. The letter they carried only exacerbated the horror they must have endured.

  The siblings’ condition shook me. At least my newfound influence wasn’t completely useless. I leveraged it that very evening. One of our dinner guests happened to be a director at the Academy, and after some persuasion (and a promise of a future favor), he agreed to enroll the children. The boy was technically too young, but there were special programs for cases like this. Small victories.

  Now, though, I was left in limbo, staring at a decision I didn’t want to make. Everyone—the court, my colleagues, even my family—was pushing me to leave for the elven capital and take up my post. I was the ambassador now; refusing outright wasn’t an option.

  But I didn’t want to go. I couldn’t. I had fulfilled my duty to the kingdom with this treaty; I had no intention of continuing the charade.

  Which left me with the only alternative I’d sworn to dismiss. My former boss had proposed it weeks ago when word of my new position reached him: travel with an elf diplomat as an attaché to Ascalon—the enemy kingdom. “It’s an intelligence dream mission,” he’d insisted. At the time, I thought the idea was reckless, even by my standards.

  But the closer I came to my departure for the elven capital, the less reckless it seemed. Traveling to Ascalon, embedded as a diplomat, could give me firsthand insight into their growing unrest. Tensions were months away from boiling over into full-scale war. Maybe I could help stop it. Even if I couldn’t, every bit of information I could scrape could prove useful.

  So much for my promise to stay home, to put down roots and find a quiet life.

  Before I left, I made one last stop by the siblings. I’d been visiting them regularly, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps I told myself they were an escape from the monotony of entertaining people and the weight of my facade. But deep down, a voice I couldn’t ignore whispered that it was more than that. They were a tether to something I’d nearly forgotten. A connection, innocence, hope.

  “Hey, Nadia,” I said as I stepped into the small courtyard. She looked better with each passing day, her frailness giving way to the vibrancy of a girl who might finally grow into her fourteen years.

  She turned at the sound of my voice, her face lighting up in a way that tugged at something deep in me. Before I could react, she ran to me and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. It was the first time she’d done that, and the unexpected warmth of it caught me off guard. My throat tightened, and I blinked a few times, desperately trying to keep my emotions in check.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, pulling away just enough to look up at me.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked, trying to shift the focus back to her.

  Her face lit up again, and she straightened her posture with the kind of enthusiasm only youth could bring. “We’ve been preparing for the day we choose our class! They keep making us take all these tests to see what we’d be best at, but I already know what I want to be.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?” I asked with a smile.

  She tilted her head as if imagining herself in the role. “A powerful mage!” she declared proudly.

  I couldn’t help but grin. “That’s a good plan, but don’t forget, it might take some time to reach the powerful part.”

  Undeterred, she added with determination, “I want to cast lightning bolts like Tiberius and use portals to travel anywhere I want.”

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  For a moment, I debated whether to temper her expectations or let her dream. The voice of reason warned me to tell her that Tiberius was a special case, that not every mage could do what he did. But another part of me, the quieter voice, said she’d had enough disappointment in her life. Let her dream a little longer.

  When she arrived that first day, she barely spoke a word. Only when I read the letter and told her I was the friend, he mentioned, she finally opened up. Even now I can’t help but smile at the first thing she asked, his name.

  “Where’s your brother?” I asked after a moment.

  “He’s training right now. Two more hours, I think,” she said, her excitement dimming slightly.

  I knew what I had to say next would crush her, and I hated myself for it. “You know how I’m an ambassador, right?” She nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, my next mission is taking me to another kingdom.”

  Her joy faded in an instant, her gaze falling to the ground. The heartbreak in her eyes was undeniable, and it left a heavy weight in my chest. Gently i pulled her into another hug, my voice soft. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t leave unless it was important.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her silence spoke volumes. Unable to bear her sadness, I couldn’t help but say, “Look on the bright side. By the time I get back, Tiberius should be here, and we’ll visit you together.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Maybe a glimmer of hope in there somewhere. I pushed further, though I knew I shouldn’t. “I’ll even convince him to teach you a spell.”

  The effect was immediate. Though her tears lingered, her curiosity lit up. She began asking about spells, how hard they were, and what she could learn. For the next half hour, I explained about magic and just how difficult magic could be sometimes, though I wasn’t sure that she listen to the last part.

  Still, her smile returned, and that quiet voice in me whispered again. Maybe this was why I kept coming back.

  The portal hummed softly as I stepped through, Ena, the elven ambassador, at my side. Her composed presence was a steadying influence, even as my thoughts churned. Over the past month, she had proven herself as more than just a titleholder. Unlike many of the elves I’d met—Isla included—she showed a genuine willingness to see things from our perspective. Her disappointment with the final terms of the treaty mirrored my own, a rare solidarity that had deepened my respect for her.

  The palace gardens stretched out before us, serene and immaculate, their tranquility at odds with the tension brewing in my chest. Rows of soldiers flanked our arrival, dressed in ceremonial finery and standing like statues. Their stoic faces unsettled me, the pit in my stomach deepening with every step. Something was off. The feeling buzzed in my thoughts like an unwelcome guest I couldn’t shake.

  A contingent of nobles approached, their smiles and warm greetings slightly easing my nerves. They seemed genuinely pleased to meet not only Ena but also me, though I wisely let her take the lead. Among them was Ren, a representative of their governing body. He was polished, charismatic—a little too perfect, if I were being honest.

  As the formalities unfolded, I couldn’t shake the sense that his enthusiasm for peace and trade was rehearsed, even forced. Tensions between our kingdoms were at an all-time high, yet he spoke as if diplomacy was second nature. The skepticism in my mind whispered louder, and before I could stop myself, I spoke up.

  “While I’m glad peace is the word of the day,” I said carefully, “I can’t help but wonder why relations between our kingdoms have cooled so dramatically in recent months.”

  Ren turned to me, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. His hesitation sparked another ripple of unease, but he eventually responded. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, his voice tinged with what seemed like genuine regret. “And I’ll admit, this isn’t the best venue for such a conversation.”

  He glanced around, signaling to an aide nearby. A quick spell shimmered in the air. Maybe a privacy spell?. The gesture set my nerves alight. Secrets whispered in quiet corners rarely meant anything good.

  “Our kingdom is divided,” he began, lowering his voice. “I’m part of the noble faction, advocating for open trade and peace. But the army is another story. Their leader, well, let’s just say his history with your kingdom makes him... less inclined toward diplomacy.”

  My inner voice scoffed. Of course, there’s a military faction itching for war. There always is.

  Ena interjected with calm precision. “I take it something has shifted recently?”

  Ren nodded gravely. “Until now, the two factions were in deadlock. But a new element has tipped the scales. I’m sure you’ve heard of the gods’ sudden silence.”

  The mention of the gods made me tense. Of course, the disappearance of the gods would trigger a new religion. I was actually surprised I haven’t heard about any back home.

  “As you can imagine,” Ren continued, “their absence has frightened people, and fear has driven them into the arms of a new religion. The Followers of the New Path have risen rapidly, gaining immense influence. At first, we suspected your kingdom of funding them.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “We now know that isn’t the case. Their doctrine is... troubling. They preach that the gods are disappointed in us and will only return if we reclaim our former glory.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “By ‘former glory,’ they mean the restoration of the Great Kingdom of Asturia?”

  Ren winced but nodded. “Exactly. The army is ecstatic, ignoring the obvious dangers of how quickly this group has spread. The noble faction is losing ground, and even within our own circles, there’s talk of giving in. If this continues unchecked, war is inevitable.”

  Ena’s measured tone betrayed none of the alarm I felt. “I assume you didn’t invite us here without reason. What do you propose?”

  Ren’s expression brightened, hope flickering in his eyes. “The elves are renowned for their wisdom and fairness. The Followers are beyond reason, but if you can meet with the army’s leadership, you might persuade them to reconsider. Without their support, the Followers’ influence will wane.”

  My mind raced. The army wouldn’t welcome me, a foreign ambassador they likely viewed as a spy. If war broke out, it wouldn’t be a mere border skirmish—it would engulf entire kingdoms.

  “When can we meet with the army representatives?” I asked, trying to focus.

  Ren hesitated, his earlier confidence faltering. “They would never agree to meet with you,” he admitted, his gaze flicking toward Ena. “But they are eager to meet with you, Ambassador.”

  Ena inclined her head. “Then you must arrange this meeting as quickly as possible.”

  Ren signaled to his aide again, the spell dissolving with a faint shimmer. His tone shifted back to formal diplomacy. “Of course, Ambassador. The army delegation will meet with you tomorrow at the palace.” As for you, he said turning to face me,” Perhaps we can meet tomorrow to discuss the trade disruptions that have become all too frequent.”