Last Alliance (Book #3 of The Divided Region)

Dillian paced back and forth in the castle courtyard, the promise of spring doing little to soothe his nerves. It was a particularly long and cruel winter; one of the coldest Vlencia had recorded in years, with Istrille taking the brunt of the Eternal Ocean's icy winds. Dillian glanced at the ever-clearing sky, searching its blue expanse for some divine telling. The king was dying. While he foresaw his father's decline months ago—and was, in many ways, thankful for it—even he was taken aback by the speed of the monarch's decline. It seemed the old man could depart any week now, which brought a great strain to Dillian’s master plan. Dillian glanced at the blue sky. Despite its soothing expanse, it did little to dampen the anxiety that ripped through him. His father was dying. The king was bound to his quarters. Even the most basic of conversations proved too taxing for his withering state these days. This sudden decline brought great strain to Dillian’s plans. The earls of Clard and Bleim were still no closer to recognising his kingship—not without proof of Darius’ demise. Westrun was the only city willing to support him, in no small part to his generous donations. The others weren’t so easily persuaded. All he needed was one more earl on side. Just one. If Dillian failed to achieve this by the time the sun set on his father, Alastar would assume the role of interim king. That could not happen. Dillian stopped at the castle gate, a troubled frown marring his brow. The doors groaned open and the sharp edges of a hoof poked through the opening. The familiar sight of Reuben settled his nerves as he trotted into the courtyard. Dillian’s closest confidant was right to be wary. Intrusive listeners were all around. Especially here, in the capital. Reuben slung his leg over the saddle and slid off the horse in one smooth motion. Most noteworthy was his flat, featureless face. It neither promised good news nor bad. “You’re late!” Dillian said. “Forgive me. The journey wasn’t without its obstacles.” “What type of obstacles?” “I’m afraid a certain pain in our backsides wanted a brief chat.” A fire lit in Dillian’s chest. Alastar always had a knack for hindering things. “What did the old fart have to say this time?” “He simply made the comment that he sees too much of me these days. He wished to know where I was headed and why. I convinced him I was merely trading some wares with an associate of mine. Still don’t think he believed me.” “I fear he is growing more suspicious of our partnership by the day,” Dillian said. “As do I.” “We’ll have to revert to meeting covertly. Perhaps the castle cellar could be a base of operations.” Dillian mulled over the idea. “Anyway, do you bring any news?” “I have a development regarding the bones.” “Go on.” “There’s this relative in Westrun—” “Of course they reside in that armpit of a city,” Dillian quipped. “Your people would sell their own children for coin.” “I’m not sure you’re a shining example of morality, lord,” Reuben countered with a wry smile. “They will hand over the remains, but they want more than what we’re offering. Lots more.” Dillian arched his neck. “How much exactly?” “Three bags of silver and another of gold.” “I will not succumb to such demands of lowly people!” Reuben shook his head. “I implore you to rethink your stance. The bones belong to a man of twenty years and of similar height to Darius. Better yet, he was laid to rest eleven summers ago.” Dillian leaned in, excitement stirring like a hive of bees. “The others were buried too soon or late after his exile. This is as close to a replica as we’re going to find in the time we have.” “How certain are you the parents will surrender this young man’s remains?” “It’s the sister, actually.” “What of the whereabouts of the mother and father?” “No idea,” Reuben replied. “And you didn’t think to ask?” “It is of little significance. Gold is what matters. For the right price, I’m sure she will allow us to exhume the body.” Dillian sighed, running a hand through his hair. The decision was a simple one—he needed to pay. But that didn’t make it any easier to agree to. He stared off at the wispy clouds forming high above. The sun shone through them and onto the capital, covering everything in a yellow haze. Seagulls rode the wind, squawking as they dipped beneath the castle walls to catch whatever the crashing waves offered below. Soon, summer would arrive and bring with it all the usual festivities. Tradesmen and farmers from all over the kingdom would descend on Istrille to flog their wares and harvest. While spring was his favourite, the coming season was his father’s preferred time of the year. It was sad to think he may not see another one, for even his stubborn ways were no match for poor health. It stacked greater urgency on Dillian’s shoulders. He feared his hair would grey before he inherited the crown—if he did. The goal was anything but straightforward: he must prove to the earls that Darius was dead, and that he was the legitimate heir to the throne. If news of his brother’s prison escape reached them, everything he had worked tirelessly towards would go up in flames. “What is it?” Reuben spotted the worry on his face. “Offer the young woman an additional bag of silver. If she refuses it, kill her.” Dillian’s voice was cold and even, betraying no emotion. “We have little time to waste, and I cannot afford for some peasant girl to jeopardise everything.” “Very well, but before I go…” Reuben gazed down at the cobbled stone. “I’ve received word of Darius and those pagan fiends of his.” Dillian’s pulse skipped a beat. “Don’t tell me what I fear you’re going to say.” “They’re still alive. I’m sorry.” “It cannot be…” “Hellhands chased them to the Elronian border. That was the last I heard.” Dillian exhaled deeply, trying to contain the nausea that ran rampant within. His eyes suddenly flared with disdain. “You said… they would get caught or killed.” “I believe they will. They are just proving elusive.” Dillian sneered. “You better hope they travelled to the northern border!” Reuben couldn’t look him in the eye. “No,” Dillian shook his head. “Do not say it!” “They fled into the Forbidden Forest.” Dillian’s blood ran colder than a sheet of ice. The forest was all that separated his brother from Vlencia. It was too close for comfort—dangerously so. “It’s only a matter of time before they turn up dead or captured,” Reuben said, though his words lacked conviction. “I want to know where they are now!” “With all due respect—” “Respect?!” Dillian leaned into Reuben. “I’ll kill you where you stand if you fail me!” “It takes weeks for updates to reach me this side of the border.” “So what?” Dillian hissed. “For all we know, Darius and his cohort could walk among us right at this very moment.” “You worry yourself too much, lord.” “And you haven't got the foggiest clue what mess this could bring!" Dillian tempered his tone. Barely. "I want to know what they are doing, and where they’re doing it! I do not care if it’s that they eat oats for breakfast and shit twice in the afternoon—report everything. Do you understand me, Reuben?” Reuben nodded. “Good.” Dillian stepped back, heaving a sigh. “Do not disappoint me again.” “He’ll not survive the forest a second time. I assure you.” “This is Darius you’re talking about.” “Yes, but he is no god.” Dillian took solace in Reuben’s words. Not that he believed them, but they made him feel better. “Once the matter of bones is resolved, I will send men to the forest’s border on the chance Darius emerges.” “No, I need them there now! We cannot risk his return to Vlencia. Why else would he choose to go through such a trial again?” “Fine, but it’ll cost.” “I don’t bloody care! Just get it done.” “As you wish. Men will be there within the day.” Reuben climbed onto his steed. Before riding off, he said, “I’m expecting an update in the coming days. When I receive it, I shall find you.” “You will.” Dillian’s words had a certain edge to them. “Fetch those bones, Reuben.” Reuben half-bowed his head. “Lord.” With that, he steered his horse around and rode out of the gates. Dillian watched as he shrunk downhill and towards the whitewashed buildings. Placing his hands on his hips, he gazed up at the sky, which no longer proffered the peace it did earlier. Perhaps Reuben was right and Darius would perish in the Forbidden Forest. But what if he didn’t? Such a possibility sent shivers down Dillian’s spine. The Void would sooner ice over before he ever allowed Darius to inhale Vlencian air. He had to be stopped—and stopped he will be.