'So...'

The word reverberated off the smooth stone walls of the Chamber of Counsel, located in the centre of the ground level of the Temple of Aeon. Three raised thrones sat in a triangle arrangement in the centre of the room, all facing in towards the small round platform on which the counselled was to stand.

Seated on the one occupied throne in the room, Einar looked down his nose at Hal from the dais and continued, 'Care to explain?'

The menial glanced at the two empty seats behind him and raised an eyebrow. 'I thought this was a Counsel.'

'It is.'

'With only one out of three Tyrants? Aren't you Titans supposed to live by the Teachings and all that nonsense?'

Einar scowled and ignored the objection. 'Explain, Hal.'

The menial rolled his eyes. 'You're going to have to be more specific than that, Einar. What am I supposed to explain? Aramir passing the Rite? The Goddess's Blessing? Why all your "elite" aeonite-wielding Titans froze on the spot when the Fal'mor was about to attack the stands? You should know the answer to that last one at least. If you don't, then we're doomed because you've been buying into your own bullsh—'

Standing behind him, off the platform, Ove Toveschild, Marshal of Menials, sighed and cleared his throat loudly as he realised that he'd have to intervene. He'd known that this meeting was not going to go well from the moment Einar had told him whom to summon.

'Hal,' he said slowly, voice full of reproach.

Hal treated him to a side-eye. 'Ove,' he replied, delivering the word in the same exact tone.

The Marshal clenched his jaw as a familiar sense of frustration bubbled up within him. He quickly did his best to quash it. Losing his temper would simply bite him and the other menials in the rear later.

Ove may have been Marshal, but Hal was the one with power. He needed Hal more than Hal needed him, and they both knew it too.

'I believe the Lord Tyrant is referring to the ward,' Ove continued, his tone just barely even.

Hal rolled his eyes. 'Of course he is. Doesn't mean he can't take his shiny, glowing sword out of his ass and ask me about it properly.'

Fist shaking over the hilt of his sword, Einar drew it and leapt to his feet. 'You are a menial and you dare—!'

The slam of metal on stone cut the threat short. Looking towards the door, the three men found Ylva standing at the chamber's entrance, her knuckles white against her spear as she glared at all three of them.

'That is enough,' she said. 'You are men, not children.'

'Reminds me of when they were warrior-trainees,' rumbled Thearris's voice from behind her. The Tyrant of Soldiers bared his teeth as he entered the room, his warhammer slung over his shoulder. 'Constantly arguing and getting into fights, these three were.'

'Until two of us became menials,' said Hal with a snort.

'That was fifty years ago,' Ove muttered to his feet.

'Which just goes to show that you still haven't grown up,' Ylva shot back. Gliding across the room, she took her chair. Spear still in hand, she crossed one leg over the other and fixed her gaze on Einar's face. 'I'm very disappointed in you, Tyrant.'

'You know better than to convene Counsel without us present, Einar,' said Thearris, his heavy footsteps echoing in the Shieldmaiden's wake. Setting his hammer head-first onto the ground beside him, he took his place on his throne. 'To do so defies the Teachings.'

The veins in Einar's neck pulsed as he clenched his jaw and resumed his seat. Only Ove should have known about the summons, and in the eight years he had served as Marshal under Einar, the man had demonstrated his ability to be discreet.

Eyelids lowered with suspicion, Einar watched as Ylva and Hal locked eyes with each other for the briefest of moments.

With a grimace on her face, Ylva swept her gaze around the room and called for the Counsel to be reconvened.

Einar barely heard her, his mind instead occupied by the quick, silent exchange.

Now that he'd seen it, the answer seemed obvious: the mutant and his mind-speak – that was how she had known. Long had Einar suspected the Shieldmaiden of being able to hear it, but he knew better than to make an accusation without proof. Of the three of them, she had ruled the longest. The woman had claimed her position as Tyrant back when his grandfather had reigned. He was certain that she was well over one hundred years old. It was a miracle – magical – that she hadn't started to wither yet.

For sixty-four years she'd held her position, her influence spreading through the Clan like poison through a well. Under her rule, the Trials had changed from deathmatches to mere beatings. The terms of the treaty Einar's grandfather, his predecessor of two generations, had negotiated with the Aeren had almost been reversed. He strongly suspected that if it weren't for him standing opposition, she'd let the menials run free as well.

Einar gritted his teeth. As far as he was concerned, the woman was the reason the ranks of soldiers and shieldmaidens were now full of weaklings. The reason why a walking blasphemy like Hal was able to get away with showing him such disrespect without so much as a word of sanction. She needed to be dethroned. Only then would the strength of the Seren be restored.

'—Einar.'

The Tyrant flinched and looked up at the sound of his name.

Ylva's pale golden eyes met his, the silver flecks in her irises seeming to dance and shimmer as her gaze bored into him. 'Would you like to share your thoughts, Tyrant?'

He smirked in spite of himself. It had been a long time since he'd let himself get so distracted. 'I wasn't listening. What are we discussing?'

Thearris shook his head. 'As the primary convener of this Counsel, you should be paying attention. We speak of the repairs to the barrier.'

Einar scoffed. 'Isn't it simple? The menials broke it. The menials fix it.'

'We did not break anything,' Hal shot back. 'Which, if you were listening, you would already know. The runes that power the ward were made by the Aeren. They are far beyond the knowledge of any menial on this mountain. Only its creators can restore it.'

'Then we get the Aeren to repair it.'

Ylva placed her fingers to her lips and laughed. 'Oh?' she said. 'How? Our treaty with the Aeren no longer obligates them to aid us should the magicks that they placed for our ancestors break.' Her eyes glittered as she added, 'Your grandfather saw to that.'

Thearris groaned and put his hand to his forehead. 'Ylva, don't provoke the boy.'

'Provoke? Thearris, I am simply stating facts.'

'Facts that are designed to rile the boy up.'

'My grandfather gave us back our independence,' snarled Einar. 'If you had things your way, Shieldmaiden, then we'd be reliant on those winged blasphemers for the rest of our lives.'

'So you consider creating a deal where we spend the rest our lives using our strongest children to provide them with material for their blood experiments to be better instead?'

Thearris sighed as the arguing continued, the voices of the other two Tyrants rising higher with every exchange. Without a word, he grabbed the shaft of his warhammer, lifted it off the ground, and let go.

The resulting crash was deafening enough to make both Ylva and Einar fall silent.

'None of this squabbling is helping us find a solution,' said Thearris, voice flat. 'As Hal has stated, the magic on this mountain was built by the Aeren; thus, our only option is to summon them and have them repair it.'

'Using what leverage?' demanded Ylva. 'Aeren act on self-interest alone and we have nothing to offer.'

Thearris raised his brow. 'You know that's not true, Ylva.'

'No.'

'It's the only option.'

'No.'

For a moment, her eyes flicked over to Hal. The menial raised an eyebrow in return.

'You have no idea what he might ask, Thearris,' Ylva hissed.

'He?' asked Einar.

The question went ignored.

'You can persuade him,' said Thearris.

'Persuade him? I can barely stand to set foot on that bloody tower, let alone meet with him!'

'It's for the good of the Clan. Without the barrier, there can be no more Rites, which means we cannot initiate any more Titans. If we cannot initiate any more Titans, we cannot fulfill our side of the treaty with the Aeren.'

'You think I don't know that? You know as well as I do that the Aeren Treaty should be – '

'Hold! You want to send her to be our delegate?' demanded Einar with a sputter. 'If we're going to send a Tyrant to handle negotiations, it should be me, the Tyrant of Titans. She hasn't visited the Aerie since she was a Titan herself! My grandfather brokered the treaty between our Clans. I can do the same.'

'And what will you use to bargain with them, Einar?' asked Thearris, calmly.

'I...'

Forgotten amidst the arguing, Hal cleared his throat and raised his hand. 'If the Lady Tyrant doesn't want to talk to the Aeren, then I'll volunteer to do it for her.'

Every head in the room whipped around to face him.

'No,' said Thearris and Ylva together.

'A menial going through the Gate? Absolutely not,' Einar spat.

'No one would allow that,' muttered Ove.

Hal just spread his hands and shrugged.

As Einar resumed his attempts to convince Thearris send him instead of Ylva, the Shieldmaiden continued to stare at Hal instead. At his ever-youthful, pretty face. At his silver-flecked, golden eyes. At his short silvery hair. They lingered on the bony growths sprouting from his back. Fingers drifting to touch the crown of white flowers sitting atop her hair, the Tyrant pursed her lips.

'Very well,' she said to Thearris, cutting Einar short. 'If we have no other option, then I will do it. I'll speak with the Aeren.'

'Then it's settled. Tomorrow, Hal shall send Ylva through the Gate.' Before anyone – specifically, Einar – could object, Thearris picked up his hammer and made a swift exit. 'Counsel dismissed!' he bellowed from the corridor.

Expression still pensive, Ylva silently followed him out.

With mocking bows to both Einar and Ove, Hal did the same.

Einar remained seated, his chin resting on his fist as he brooded. Thearris Ulfredschild was close to withering, but he clearly still had his wits. The one-armed Tyrant knew just how aggressive to be in order to get his way. He should have expected that from a warrior who had claimed the crown of Tyrant despite being maimed.

Still, Einar was patient and charismatic. Measured and pragmatic as Thearris was, he knew that the older Tyrant was driven by a devout belief in the Teachings just as he was. Both he and Thearris knew the true meaning of strength. He was certain that if it weren't for Ylva's constant presence, the old man would already be on his side.

The Tyrant of Titans chuckled to himself.

'Lord Tyrant?' asked Ove. Obedient as ever, the Marshal had yet to leave the room.

'It's nothing, Ove.'

Dusting off his armour, Einar got to his feet, a small, private smile on his face as he considered the wheels he could set in motion while the Shieldmaiden was away.

─ ☼ ─

'Mother, please wait.'

Ylva Alveschild winced as Hal's voice seared through her skull. Gods, she hated it when he did that without warning. Looking over her shoulder, she slowed her pace so he could catch up.

'Is something the matter?' she asked.

Hal quirked an eyebrow – a gesture that made him look disturbingly more like his father than she liked. 'That's what I wanted to ask you,' he said. 'What is this "leverage" that you plan to use against the Aeren?'

You, thought Ylva bitterly. She hesitated, the word on the verge of slipping from her tongue. Surely, she told herself, telling him now wouldn't cause any harm. There was every chance that he had figured it out already, assuming he hadn't simply read her mind. Even after sixty odd years, she still didn't know if he had that inherited power.

The Aeren, on the other hand, were uncanny like that. All it took was one look into their glassy, silver eyes, and they could read a person's most prominent thoughts, tell truth from lies, and with the sound of their voice, compel their captive to say or do anything they wanted. It was a useless skill against pure-blooded, golden Seren – their lack of magic seemed to render them impervious. But for those like her, Hal, the menials, and any other Seren born with lighter hair or paler eyes, it was a very real threat.

They were half-breeds, impurities – the unsuspecting products of Einar's grandfather's renegotiation of the original Aeren Treaty. Ironically, it was the Aeren blood in their veins that made them vulnerable to the winged immortals' mind-magicks at all.

And if it weren't for that vulnerability, perhaps Hal wouldn't have been born at all.

That was the thought that scared her. It had haunted her since the day of his birth – when she'd realised that her baby boy had been born with the start of wings. Her first instinct had been to destroy them. To get rid of him. To abandon him at the doors of the Clan Mothers' and pick another as her own when they came of age to protect her position as Titan.

But then he'd opened his eyes and she realised that they were gold flecked with silver just like hers. After that, she hadn't been able to do it. Instead, she'd kept him hidden for as long as she could, smuggled in books and spell tomes for him to learn from later, and did her best to prepare him for the life of unfairness he was bound to receive.

However, the thought of having another child just like him was too much to bear. So long as she was a Titan, she was bound to serve the Treaty, and the only form of resignation for a Titan was death. That was why she'd become a Tyrant – so that she'd never have to set foot across the Gate again. So her son could never be exposed to the Aeren's corruption.

Anger bubbled in her chest. Thearris knew all this, yet he was sending her to the Aeren's accursed tower regardless. If the man had any sense, he'd help her change the treaty instead.

'Mother...'

Hal's hands clasped over hers, and Ylva realised that she was shaking. She swallowed as she looked down at him. Was it her imagination or was there more silver than gold in Hal's eyes compared to when he was a babe?

'Mother, if you really don't want to tell me, you don't have to,' Hal said softly.

Ylva let out the breath she'd been holding. There was no trace of compulsion in his voice – no reason to fear looking into his eyes.

'It was only my curiosity speaking,' continued Hal, oblivious. 'Naturally, given my position as a menial – and a perfectly ordinary one at that, it would make absolutely no sense for a Tyrant such as yourself to reveal to me any secrets you hold against another Immortal Clan. I simply thought I would try – like when I suggested that you send me beyond the Gate. By Seras's Sword! Did you see Einar's face when I said that? I thought the bastard was going to explode – '

Without thinking, Ylva smiled and ruffled his hair. Hal may have been over sixty by Seren measures and treated like an adult by the rest of the Clan, but in reality, he was still just a boy – a curious, forward, uncalculating, sometimes overly-talkative, ageless boy.

She needed to remember that.

Caught by surprise, Hal quickly stepped away. 'Mother, what are you doing? Such displays of affection from an important person such as yourself towards a lowly menial such as I will spread the most atrocious rumours!'

Ylva blinked and laughed. 'Hal, were you not holding my hand just a moment ago?'

'Well, yes, I was – but it's different if the lowly one initiates it. Everyone just thinks it's insolence then.'

'And you're fine with people thinking you're insolent?' asked Ylva, hiding a smile.

He gave her a funny look. 'Of course I am. What are they going to do? Make me a menial again? Give me duties in the Cages? I will have you know, Mother, that I already spend three times the amount of time the others do in there.'

'What if they made you a helot?'

Hal went silent for a moment, then scoffed and dismissed the idea with a flap of his hand. 'I think it's fifty years too late for that, Lady Tyrant. Ove and the menials wouldn't know how to manage things without me. Speaking of, I better head back. The others are probably keeling over with anxiety about what happened with the ward. I need to reassure them.'

He started walking away, but paused and turned back as Ylva touched his shoulder.

'Before you go, Hal, there's somewhere we need to visit.'

'Let me guess. We have to check on Taitenschild? The real one, I mean.'

Ylva stared at him. He was right on the mark. 'Hal,' she said quietly.

'Yes?'

'I really must ask... you can't read my mind, can you?'

This time it was Hal's turn to stare. 'Mother, I may be capable of doing ridiculous things like speaking directly into other magically-blessed Seren's heads, but I'm pretty sure that nonsense like "mind-reading" doesn't exist.'

She just smiled sadly and gave his shoulder a reassured squeeze. 'I'll tell you about my "leverage" before I leave tomorrow.'

'You don't have to – '

'No, I do. I think it's time you heard it.'

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All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.