“Typical,” Declan retorted dryly, riding up alongside Luscia as the trail began to widen.

She nodded, because it was true. While the Unitarian provinces provided the realm with various goods and reliable crops, Bastiion’s nobility rarely contributed anything besides excessive legislature and needless finery. In their quest for personal fulfillment, Unitarians occupied the remainder of their time in pursuit of the next pleasure, often on a daily basis.

“What about Pilar?” Creyvan yelled excitedly from the other side. “The Pilarese Beauty is famous, but I heard she has a tongue like a Tavish horsewhip!”

“Though not as lovely as you, Ana’Sere, of course,” Böwen rushed to counter his twin’s enthusiasm.

“Tadöm. I’m well aware of my reflection, Böwen, but I do appreciate your reassurance.” Grinning in his direction, she found Böwen blushing behind his short, golden beard, barely longer than a day’s stubble.

Throughout her youth, Luscia had heard her physical beauty affirmed enough to accept the claims. Her fair eyes, one nearly the translucent hue of the kuerre, were prismatic like the warmed waters of the Dönumn, where the Najjan tempered their sacred luxiron. Tiergan lineage was always self-evident to any who knew to look for it in the eyes. Accented by thick, distinct brows and crisp cheekbones, hers was a fearsome beauty. Glancing down, Luscia noted how the sun highlighted the pale tresses that framed her face like ribbons of bone, a stark contrast against her ferocious mane the color of driftwood.

Even from afar, the daughter of Orien Darragh was unmistakable.

The Najjan favored women who bore sparks of Boreal’s otherness, so they celebrated a woman who appeared as hauntingly beautiful as their homeland. Yet Luscia was no longer in Boreal, and she wouldn’t blame the eastern Unitarians if they didn’t share that same appreciation. At best, she imagined they might classify her northern features as striking. At worst, rather unsettling.

“I can’t attest to the rumors, Creyvan,” she said at last. “Frankly, the al’Haidren to Pilar avoided me like war-taint.”

Which was probably a blessing, Luscia added silently.

From their brief encounter, she had surmised the western al’Haidren to be a perfect reflection of Pilar; cultured and steeped in snobbery. The House of Pilar operated as Orynthia’s center of learning. Devoting their lives to discovery and advancement, their shotos spent years studying and debating topics most in the realm couldn’t begin to comprehend. While Bastiion’s Peerage of Nobility functioned as Orynthia’s political network in the foreground, Pilar’s Shoto Collective supported it from behind a curtain of bribery and deceit. Backed by an economy stocked with rich mariners and continual profit from naval contracts, Pilar had become the wealthiest of the outer Houses, second only to Bastiion.

“Well, Darakai, then. Surely you remember that barbarian,” Declan rumbled.

It was true—Luscia would never forget the Darakaian boy, though she’d certainly like to. She could still hear his melodic laugh at her expense, one that crinkled a pair of eyes the shade of fresh sage. She recalled thinking they were lovely one night, while admiring the way the older boy’s glance caught a flare from fireworks shot across the water. Incredibly lovely, in fact. That is, until he deliberately pushed her overboard into Thoarne Bay. With Luscia’s transition through puberty unfinished, her bones hadn’t yet achieved their unearthly resilience. Her right arm had broken in the fall.

It had rapidly healed, of course, but that was hardly the point.

“Briefly and unflatteringly,” Luscia managed. “Ana’Mere swears he apologized, but I doubt there was any conviction behind it. The House of Darakai doesn’t apologize for what they’re proud of—like inbred brutality.”

The House of Boreal’s opposition to the House of Darakai was expected, and had been constant for many centuries. While both territories prided themselves on strength and their capability in battle, Darakaians reveled in the violence it required. Orynthia’s House of war craved bloodshed like a pack of rabid dogs, and their barbaric doctrine taught Darakai to misjudge Boreal’s self-restraint as weakness, and their ability to heal as mystic witchery.

“If Darakai is wise, that House will muzzle their ambassador.” Declan’s thumb stroked the exposed hilt of his dagger. “Ana’Mere is more merciful than the Najjan. Unlike your aunt, we won’t hesitate to strike an animal when he refuses to heel.” The promise pinched fissures in his ginger brow, deepening as he stared into the distance.

A weighted emptiness resettled in her abdomen. Luscia had been trained for this honor, but the partnering burden became heavier with the surrounding air. The House of Boreal needed Luscia, their newly Ascended al’Haidren, to shift a generational bias by navigating a nest of vipers. The Quadren, consisting of one Haidren from each House, operated as the most intimate set of advisors for each Orynthian ruler. The House of Bastiion provided the fourth Haidren in order to offset an inherent bias. Though the royal descendants of Thoarne were also of Unitarian nobility, Orynthian regents could not personally represent Bastiion and still maintain an impartial posture toward the outer Houses.

Therefore, serving as both the legal and public representative on Boreal’s behalf, Luscia’s seat on Prince Dmitri Thoarne’s Quadren offered her unmitigated influence, as well as unavoidable expectations.

Being firstborn in line behind their predecessors, ties had already formed in her absence between the other al’Haidrens and the prince himself. She had always respected her father’s choice to seclude her from court life, yet found herself increasingly disagreeing with it of late as she faced the ramifications. Her upbringing had been enriched by isolation but with great consequence. Luscia would be entering the walls of Bastiion essentially blindfolded, unaware of any preexisting dynamics within Dmitri’s Quadren.

Alora often alluded to hidden alliances between the active Haidrens to Pilar and Darakai, but she couldn’t assume those had been adopted by their successors. All Luscia knew for certain was that the voice of Boreal had become discredited over the years, especially during Alora’s seat. Not a difficult task, if the opposing Haidrens wished to achieve a mutual goal. And so, with the House of Boreal’s reputation now plagued by jealousy, distrust, and wariness, the political road before her would be riddled with unending hurdles.

Yet that had not always been the case. Though the regents seated on the Orynthian throne had begun to forget their shared history, the bloodlines of Thoarne and Tiergan were as intertwined as the mossy vines encircling the nearest pines. Luscia would have to find a way to remind Orynthia’s prince what had been forgotten, what remained, and what would always be.

“Ana’Sere.” Böwen gestured forward to a steep, rocky trailhead, where Noxolo halted the line. “Are you ready?”

She regarded the winding trail that plummeted into the Valley of Fahime, steeling herself for the task ahead.