James had much time to himself since the end of the war. He had not expected that. Since the time James Colton was just an heir, he had spent all of his time either learning to talk, learning to speak, practicing the sword, or even how to drink a cup of wine among other nobles. As restrictive this regime was, James was glad to have done it all, as they were all used now and again when he visited other lords, or they visited them, more often the latter than the former. But after the war, there was still much to do to rebuild what they destroyed then. He may know the secrets untold about the war, but the people didn't. He had to work hard to have the people trust the other clans, and the process was slow but sure. He spent a lot of nights alone in his study, reading documents and building legislation that his advisors would help him pen into reality. If not that, he was checking the walls for cracks of defense, walking around town in disguise sometimes to see what the people thought about specific topics or what he or other lords had done as of late. Meetings with the Paladins were sparse, and the time was shorter than years ago. But as of late, things seemed to be boiling again across the land. The unease was impossible to ignore.

But having time for himself was something always treasured. A friend of his once told him that a good long look at a sunset or simply watching the sway of the forest could help you calm the mind and think more clearly. He was always a simple person, that man. James never considered this a negative attribute. On the contrary, he felt better about it. The garden he sat in made that very possible to do now. This green pasture behind the fortress was like a sliver of the forest was cut away and purified; the silence and darkness no longer apparent. His great grandmother, queen Vermall Colton, had it made and the seeds planted at his grandfather's birth. The garden was regularly cared for and often, in winter, decorated with colorful ornaments to keep a sense of liveliness. He always enjoyed walking here, even now. With his wife. Time to forget that he was a king, that people depended on him. Out here, he was just James Colton, a guy sitting in the middle of flowers and grass, enjoying the sun. Such simplicity. Maybe he would have enjoyed being a farmer.

While he wished he had a clear mind, something tickled on the edge of that calm lake. He could feel it, even now. The power from that pendant is stored away in the floorboards of his bed-chamber, inside a box with enough magical wards to kill someone if needed. He kept it all these years, never wearing it but knowing that its powers must be used once again someday. His instinct was right on that one, and he was grateful himself for his restraint when showing Lyse it. The powers sometimes call to him in his dreams. Call to be used, to form whole inside someone. But he knew the consequences, and he vowed never to use it again, even if he could. His hands itched beneath his gloves, but he did not let it bother him. He kept his eyes on the trees before him, his legs crossed on the grass, unbothered by the slight chill in the air. He felt at peace here. There were no Frostlanders, no Shi'Asedians, and nothing Talin involved. Just him, alone.

"I suppose you need time for yourself?" he heard voice wade into the lake of calm. Not disturbing it, but he acknowledged it. Novia stood before him. She wore a dress today, a rare occasion from her native land. Dark brown wool sat beneath a gray cloak and shawl, with a silver belt decorated with Sapphires held against her stomach. A sash of sorts with various bands of color and beads running its length also adorned her shoulder, made from straw or other fiber. Her grey skin complimented all of these things, her beautiful face making them cohesive. Her vibrant orange eyes studied his own like she saw a puzzle ready to be solved.

He sighed in comfort. "To clear one's mind is always a good way to spend time," he told her. He gestured to the ground beside him. "Perhaps you should join me. You are always so stressed, and it's hard to tell if you ever relax, Novia."

She held back a snarl but kept her annoyed tone. "Relaxing is for those who don't want things done."

Despite this, she did sit beside him on her knees. Her dress covered the ground around them. She sighed, not out of comfort but compliancy. "My king, I wish to ask you something. I understand if you do not wish to answer, but as one of your Paladins, and more importantly, a friend perhaps, I believe I may be of service to you if I am up to speed with your dealings."

Friend? She only calls him that when she needs something urgent done. Out of all the Paladins, he found her demanding him of things instead of the other way around. Not in front of others, but the facts remain. Even Lupurious, someone he grew up with, made sure he kept his tone and demands reasonable. Aurelius never asks him of anything, although he wishes he did. A real bull would be less to handle sometimes when things did require his trade. That trade is war. Aurelius had been in service of the throne for thirty years, and his experience as a general most definitely lingered now as a Paladin. But Novia was a different beast. She's a cunning fox compared to them.

He raised an eyebrow at Novia, now opening his eyes to meet her gaze. "What is the question? I'm sure it will be reasonable, as always."

She didn't dignify that with even a mention. "That boy, Lyse Opal. I dug and found that his father, Wilbur, was one of your advisors in war and even helped complete the trials. And his mother is Celia, who adventured with you when you were younger, no. Their names are quite popular amongst the nobles, but they fell into obscurity just a decade and a half ago. Is this the reason you took such attention towards him?"

He had to fight the startlement that would appear in his eyes, keeping them as calm as a smoothened lake. He'd be a fool not to expect that name, Opal, not to strike recognition. "No. He simply beat my record, and that deserves honor bestowed upon him. He's a fine lad, that one. You are lucky someone like him has decided that his future lies in exploration."

She seemed to consider that for a moment, but it was brief, and she returned questioned looks at him. "He has left. Some fiends kidnapped his sister, and he intends to bring her back. Fate has it; he doesn't die. Are you sure that this is the extent of your interest, my king?"

He couldn't help but frown. Novia was sticking her nose into something she had no business prying. At least not yet. Granted, that is what he chose her to do. Check him where he needed checking. To check everyone who needs it. The Paladin of exploration was also the Paladin of reason, as far as he was concerned. And she imbued that nature more than anyone in his eyes. Place on top of that being one of the most skilled Umani. Also, a knight with a considerable will and her ability to focus on what's important. Far too often, he sees veterans lose themselves, but not her. Even when she was in the direst of circumstances, she would always come out fine. This quality was, for as long as he had known her. She and Lupurious were probably the closest things he had to friends before Wilbur, and always someone there to support him when others would not. His mind began to drift to distant memories.

"Remember when you were out in the territories, the Formir Valley?" he spoke with thought. "You were only a knight yet proven, the first Umani knight. You were alone with twenty others holding down an outpost, waiting for reinforcements. Then suddenly, you were attacked? By two thousand Shi'Asedian Sand Striders. On all accounts, you were braver than most. Two surrendered, and several others committed suicide. The Shi'Asedians are known for harsh torture. But you did not bend your knee. Like a viper in its nest, you held them at that outpost for two days and a night. With only seven people, you held out."

Her frown deepened on him. "Are you trying to change the subject? It won't work. This isn't some laughing matter, James. If you change the subject, make it something pleasant we both can share at least."

He looked up at her with a small but confident smile. "You were found with severe wounds, a fractured skull, a broken arm, and one eye damaged almost beyond repair. You decided that, despite this, you'd carry your way to the cart rather than be carried. And as soon as you healed, you went back to the front lines. You are quite the hardened warrior, and I trust you to do what is necessary despite the cost."

Her eyes twitched, the slightly off-color in them a little duller than the other. "So are you saying that I trust you to do what needs to be done? If your record shows, I shouldn't trust you to put the right ingredients in the soup. You would put a moldy nut or two just to spite me."

He chuckled. "You have a point. You have a point. Can I at least ask you one thing, my friend?"

Her back stiffened, but her eyes did soften a bit. "What is it?"

His smile vanished, usurped by a more thoughtful expression. "When the time comes, I ask you to be there for whoever sits on that throne. Even if it is not me, even if you do not favor their way of thinking, be it Lupurious, Aurelius, or even Celia."

It was hard to read the expression on her face, but he guessed it was on the edge of sudden worry and an effort not to be angry. "As a Paladin, I swear my life on the throne, my blood for the empire. Are you planning on dying soon?"

"I don't think any man plans on dying unless they are deliberate fools," he sighed to let go of the knot in his chest and release the pain in his resting hands. "Something is going to happen, Novia. Something out of our control. Old enemies rear their heads, old enemies, and perhaps new ones."

"New enemies," she echoed in a melancholy voice. The empire didn't have new enemies. Being as old as it is, it seemed to make every enemy it could and leaving none else to oppose them. While the Empire of Clans and Shi'Ased are at peace, they are still wary of the others, always waiting for another war. The frostlanders are the most significant threats now and have been for the past thousand years of the Empire's existence. New enemies, any enemy that would be, should have made themselves apparent centuries ago.

"Tell me who these new enemies are," she told him, but he shook his head.

"Not now," he told her. "Not yet. There are things I must do before I reveal this enemy who clings to our shadow. But till then, keep your eyes peeled and focused. If you could excuse me, I think I want to enjoy the sun while the sun is still warm and shines."

She pursed her lips, and that hard and pestilent face rested on her he was so familiar with. She wished to press but knew that any ground she gained could be lost in just a few words. He would have to take his world as is and have to trust that he will tell her what needs to be said. So she gave him something in between a sneer and smile and bowed, curtseying in the way noble girls did, and walked off. He was not sure he would be as confident if she had her swords floating about her, able to turn him into paste at the slightest swing. He was convinced that Novia didn't want to kill him, but those swords had minds of their own, as far as he was aware, like whole people within those blades. The very thought made him shimmer.

He had meant somewhat of what he had said to her. He did intend on soaking in the sun before winter finally struck. But there was a more pressing motive to urge her away. Midway through their conversation, he sensed the presence of something moving in the nearby thicket of trees. It was a familiar one, but not one that brought exactly fond memories. It had that distinct flow to them that matched many other mages who trained in Torlak. Like a calm river ready to turn rapid. This man stepped out into the open sunlight once Novia was nowhere to be seen. James noticed a slight shimmer as he moved, like a sheen of oil on the water that surrounded his body. Parts of him seemed to fade in and out of view, no doubt a spell of some sort, and no doubt, he was completely invisible to all other eyes. He was a gangly looking fellow, not of Clan make at all. A long red cloak hung on his frame, made from delicate fabrics and stitching. A black vest and dress shirt sat underneath; a symbol stitched into the breast pocket was an emblem, six spires pointing to a character from an ancient language, a sign of knowledge. A pocket watch rested there, hanging and thumping against his chest. He was twenty years younger than James was, but he had that knowing look in his eye that spoke of wisdom only a mage could have. He carried no weapon or anything to channel aura, and his hands were firmly in his pockets as if he was actively trying to avoid using magic. His tousled brown hair sat under a wide-brimmed hat, red and flat, made to shield the eyes from the sun. His eyes, he saw, glowed a faint blue color in the shade. A hint of a beard was there, although not well kept.

"So the child returns," James sighed, looking up to the man with a cold stare. He was never sure how to deal with someone like him, so wariness was always his go-to emotion. "I knew you'd show sooner or later. I guess Remmus is busy?"

The man seemed to smile faintly at that. "Not everyone can lounge around. No, my master is kept busy running the world's largest network of magic users. So coming for a chat isn't in his schedule. However, I can pass any information he needs to know."

James closed his eyes but continued in a natural tone. "Theurgy must be reborn, John."

The words may be simple to say, but from the darkening glance on John's face, he was indeed picking up the meanings he intended. One of the most important was one thing that the others feared as much as him.

"Does this mean Talin is returning, my lord?" John looked like he needed something to lean on.

James nodded; the sun's light seemed to have diminished at the word. "They attacked Wilbur and Celia's family. Wilbur died in the process, and they sought those who could use the pendants. Most likely, those related to us. I fear for others. Celia's boy, his name is Lyse. You must lead him to the pendants, not in our care."

John digested all that he had heard, everything he could understand at the moment. He, like others, devoted his life to one of the members of Theurgy. Specifically Remmus. For the past decade, he had been keeping an eye on others. But focusing on the Torlak has kept him motivated these years. Letting one of them die on his watch twisted his spine inside out. She should have been there. His skills allowed him to be in situations where he could observe and help when needed. But she was not there when two former members were attacked, and one of them died. And now, there was a war on the horizon with Talin once again. So James was right; the pendants are a significant priority.

Fate can be cruel, can't he? His thoughts drifted to the blue sky as if talking directly to Fate himself. Maybe he was listening. But who can tell with him? He seems never to do what is wished. Perhaps this is why I have been called? Or is this just another means to an end?

"The first that will be found in the pendant of death," James told him, shifting and placing his hands on his chest. "It is one of the most dangerous, and Talin will undoubtedly misuse it if they find a way to use it. Maurice kept it locked away in his hometown. I've had no reason to look for it or retrieve it as none other besides a member of Theurgy can enter his tomb. It is in a city, John, near the border of Liontari and Koraki. "

John gave him a skeptical look. "You do not expect me to go after such a thing."

Jame's eyes furrowed. "Of course not. I don't want you even to touch it. Simply lead Lyse to the damned thing and maybe drive home that this is destiny. He will be drawn to the pendants as soon as he lays eyes on them. They can be quite the snare to man."

"Something you are familiar with?" John asked him, earning an earnest frown. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that it was directed towards him and not towards himself. "I will inform Master Remmus on your words and then wait in Tulum for this Lyse fellow. Is there any more you wish of me, Lord James, or should I be on my way?"

"You may leave," James sprung to his feet. His mother always told him to see men go standing up. His father always told him to stand when speaking to others. Hearing their words in his actions always struck a sad chord, but not at this moment. John nodded to him once in respect as he turned to walk back into the thicket. Once he passed by the nearest tree, James felt his presence disappear suddenly, like he was never there in the first place. As mysterious as always, the Torlakian Mages. It made him chuckle that he was friends with one of them. Remmus will undoubtedly drop what he is doing once he here's the news. Lizbeth will probably barrel into his castle and demand him to hasten the resurrection of Theurgy. She was always hot-blooded, unlike her sister in spirit and mind. But the feeling that he had when he thought about Talin, the twist in his gut as if something was going to happen, only tightened when he thought about the other members. He was not the only one who was caught on this web. He hopes that at least the others can make it out before something devastating occurs.

(X)

Life as an heir was never something to envy, at least in Jame's eye. You have no friends as an heir. No one sees you, and really, they see the next name to be etched in the hall of kings. He had to visit the gallery of kings once a week to pay respect to his forefathers, his grandfather, and great-grandmother. And his father, whose marble bust sits alongside countless others in a legacy that spans the length of the clan's history. He never liked going, but he knew that his mother would pull off his ears to drag him into communion. He walked beside her now, the woman still in her early years, dark oily hair braided down her shoulder. He shared her blue eyes and thin lips, but everyone says he takes more from his father. James hated the resemblance or even the comparison.

"Why do I have to do this now?" he asked irritably, walking past some of the earlier busts of kings and queens. The day of his thirteenth birth was just in a few days. He should be spending this time with his "friends." At least then, he could fake enjoyment instead of being forced to.

"How often have I told you," she bit at him. She wore one of her many gowns, a white dress she wears every time they came here. A bouquet of daffodils, roses, and oleander flowers wrapped in clothing cradled In her arms. She was one of the madest clothing, nothing too special and nothing as gawdy as he saw on his sister or aunt. "We offer this as a blessing to our ancestors, that our empire . . ."

"May prosper for future generations, may Fate be or guide," he recited in a melody of a voice.

"I'm sure I've been drilled on that enough already."

She gave him an icy stare but continued. "Your name will be put up here as well. And your children, and their children."

He scoffed. "Not if Nunally has any word about it."