Chapter 2

The private port buzzes with activity even as the evening shadows lengthen and the sun dips below the horizon, casting a red ember glow over the rippling waters. Dockworkers haul heavy crates and barrels, their silhouettes outlined against the fading light. The scent of salt, fish, and tar permeates the air, mingling with the occasional waft of spices from distant lands. Galleons, their sails furled, bob gently at their moorings, their wooden hulls creaking in the cool air. Among these mighty vessels, a mammoth stands out—a colossal ship, its polished timbers, and reinforced masts just one of the recent enhancements. The emerald eyes of the ship's figurehead glimmer in the twilight. The voyager embodies both wealth and power.

I am in the service of The Merchant. Not a merchant. The Merchant.

An unscrupulous man who is deep-cunning. Unlike other criminals, he is touchable. Everyone, including the authorities, knows of his notorious empire that is built on nefarious means. He is a realm-renowned criminal who smuggles illicit cargo with an intricate shipping network hidden behind the guise of legitimate trade deals all throughout the provinces. He has a fleet of merchant ships with shipmasters that work for him, including seamen and merchman like me.

Gav and his companion walk ahead of me, striding purposefully along the cobblestone wharf. Their boots clatter against the stones, heading towards the grand voyager.

We board the ship and make our way to the captain's quarters, passing through richly appointed corridors adorned with tapestries and nautical charts. The door to the quarters is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and brass fittings.

"You lot still choosing to be tight-lipped?"

"Is the she-wolf scared?" Gav goads.

The other man opens the door and steps aside. Inside, the room exudes opulence. Dark mahogany panelling gleams in the lamplight, and plush rugs cover the floor. Shelves are brimming with leather-bound books and exotic trinkets from far-off lands. A large desk dominates the space, covered in maps, quills, and ledgers.

Seated behind the desk is a man whose of average height but with a bearing that suggests power and confidence. His hair is dark and neatly combed, his beard trimmed to perfection. His clothes, made of the finest silks and brocades, are tailored to fit him flawlessly. He seems harmless, but this is a man to never underestimate. A man who thrives on deception. His ships, ostensibly merchant vessels, have been evading the authorities with an artful system of hidden compartments and falsified documents. Here, in the heart of the ship, deals are struck, and fortunes made and lost, all under the guise of legitimate commerce.

"Welcome," he purrs, his voice smooth and honeyed. His eyes cast a cursory glance at the men indifferently. "Ye lads can shove off and leave the lass here to talk business with me."

Gav and the other man exchange wary glances. Gav swallows a protest and heads out of the room, closing the door behind me. Malachi stares back at me with unsettling fascination, steepling his adorned fingers. The luxurious surroundings and the trader's polished charisma belie the ruthless mind behind the facade.

"My she-wolf," he says with a marriage of reproach and reverence in his tenor. "I heard ye were tusslin' with Rowen and his lot again. This time most of 'em came out with busted ribs and bones. I'd be impressed if it weren't likely to cause me trouble."

"I didn't start it," I say quickly. "They made the mistake of messing with what's mine. So I corrected them."

Malachi let out a sparkling laugh. "Ah, I love that about ye—feisty and sharp as a cutlass," he says with contained excitement. "Fear not, my quarrel ain't with ye. But one of the lads ye thrashed is the favored nephew of a shipmaster I hold in good regard. Every move ye make must be by my command. I can't have ye goin' rogue. So, as penance, ye'll fix a problem for the shipmaster, which is also a problem for me, savvy?"

I snap a nod.

"With me."

He rises from his desk and makes his way out. I follow from behind.

"I hear your brother's fond of books."

My eyes fly up to meet his gaze with a fleeting glance over his shoulder.

"Ah, don't look so surprised—I've got eyes and ears everywhere. What I'm gettin' at is, with a recent import, I've come into a collection of new books that I've got no use for. Do well, and they're yours."

I don't say anything, because it seems strange to be rewarded for rectifying my own error. He leads the way, and we descend deeper and deeper, reaching the dark bowels of the ship. The brig is a place of palpable dread. The air is overwhelmed by the stench of mold, saltwater and sullied flesh. The smell wrinkles my nose for a while until I adapt. Partly. The walls are damp, slick, and mostly covered in patches of green moss. Chains hang from the ceiling and walls, their metal links rusted and crusted with salt, clinking ominously with the ship's every creak and sway.

"That same shipmaster reported a theft—a single item from the cargo hold went missin'. Wouldn't have been noticed if it weren't so valuable. Not to me, mind ye—just an old relic in my eyes. But to my buyer, it's priceless. Imagine how much I can squeeze outta a desperate man with deep pockets."

A single, guttering torch casts a feeble light, its flames flickering frantically, creating grotesque shadows that prowl along the walls. Malachi flags over a patrolling guard and commands him to open the gate. The light falls upon a small, barred cell at the far end of the brig. Inside, a prisoner sits huddled against the wall, his wrists shackled, and his clothes torn and filthy. His face is gaunt, eyes sunken and hollow, reflecting the dim torchlight with a mad glint. The gate clangs open, and the guard steps inside, his expressions grim and unyielding.

Behind him, we follow. Malachi's presence is commanding, as it is sinister. He offers the poor cod a cruel smile that never reaches his cold, calculating eyes. Surprisingly, the prisoner remains undaunted.

"Back for another round, are ye?"

I arc a brow at the arrogance. Malachi maintains his cool composure.

"I've had my fill of fun, but now it's her turn."

His stained stare shifts over to me.

"A woman? What's she gonna do, pleasure the secrets outta me?"

The guard looks back at him pitifully but says nothing.

"Yer know where I'll be."

He flutters his fingers in farewell with gold glittering across his knuckles before he disappears.

"What now?" the guard asks.

I inhale a breath and I let out a deep exhale, expelling something with my breaths.

"Help me tie him down."

The clinking chains amplify every sense of dread and horror. We shove him onto a wooden bench, securing his arms and legs with thick leather straps. The torchlight reveals the sweat beading on his forehead, his skin pale and clammy.

"So, you thought you could steal our master, did you?"

My words hang in the air, heavy with threat. The prisoner opens his mouth, but the guard cuts him off with a backhanded slap, the sound of flesh striking flesh echoing through the brig. My insides clench, but my nerve holds steady as it always does. Experience can never fully erode empathy, but it makes the next time more tolerable, easier even. And that is what my soul dreads most.

"Tell me the location of what you stole," I demand. "Thieves normally would have their hands cut. But this affront against my master will ensure this will be a very long night for you."

He cackles obnoxiously. "Should I be more scared of yer beauty or yer fancy talk? Sounds like ye belong with the highborns."

"I tried the noble route," I say ironically, then my tone flattens with formality. "I do not wish to harm you, sire, but I also have never failed my master."

After less than an hour, I barge into his quarters, and I cast a blood-stained parchment on his desk. Malachi looks at it for a moment, then his eyes flare with a frenzy, eyeing the blood spatter on my face.

"Should I be askin' if ye're alright?"

"It's not my blood."

"Guessed it ain't yers," he says with an amused smile. He gestures to a carrier bag adjacent to us, already packed with books. "I already knew ye wouldn't let me down. Arr, ye've shown yer true colors, loyal and true. When we cross paths again at week's end, ye'll be headin' home with a wagon full o' provisions that'll keep ye and yer kin well-fed through the wintertide. Ye have me word."

I bow my head in deference and in silent gratitude.

"Aye, take yer rest in one o' me finest cabins. 'Tis no good travelin' by night, not even fer a wolf. And don't ye even think o' arguin', woman."

When dawn comes, Gav escorts me home on horseback with a treasure of books, returning me to Einere, a region straddling the eastern border of the Prime province, leading to a pattern of scattered, remote farmsteads. When I'm close enough, I dismount and send Gav on his way with the bag secured to my back. Eventually, I see our spit of land on the horizon, and an imperial carriage drawn by bridled Arabian horses. The entrance of our farmhouse is flanked by soldiers uniformed in royal blue and gold. I recognise the colors of their uniform. They belong to Domus Valwa's guard.

When I enter, I deposit the bag on the floor. From where I stand, I see the kitchen table occupied by my weepful mother being comforted by Elrin. And our father, who trembles ever so slightly with a walking stick in his grasp. And a man whose tunic spoke of wealth edged in fine tablet weave, his shoulders lavished with a cape. The man's eyes mirror mine, a crystal green, with iron streaks through his hair and wispy beard.

"My liege," I mutter with required respect. "An honor, Domus Valwa."

He looks back at me with a measure of anticipation or expectation in his eyes.

I dip stiffly, but he stops me.

"I do not expect you to bow," he says. The calculated cadence of his voice carries something clever, yet something as sinister as Malachi. "You are, after all, my equal."

My eyes swell before I break into a short laugh. Confusion gathering my brows. My laugh fades once I see the distraught expression on father's face and my mother mopping her face with her hands, her eyes plagued with guilt.

"I am Domus Valwa of Regnum Valwa. And a member of the Decuria," he declares with the utmost importance. "And it was by the will of not only the High King but the ancient laws of Urium that each Domus submit their eldest pureblood descendant—"

"I know very well of your position, Domus," I say with confused anger. "But what does that have to do with me and my kin?"

"Not your family. Only you."

My eyes spear through my mother, and it reignites her sobbing.

"What do you speak of?"

I fling my gaze back at my brother, sorrowfully shielding his gaze from mine. And so, comprehension slowly starts sinking into me. Still, I reject a truth that is staring right at me.

"It was a long time ago," our mother squeaks.

Our father, Eres, shoots to his feet with his other hand on his belly, clearly not wanting to hear this story once more. He lingers for a moment to stabilize himself before he hobbles to the corridor. Erlin leaves her side to aid him to their room.

Domus Valwa takes over. And he regales his woes. "Fate has favored me little, with no heir for my line nor a son to inherit my titles. My wife had been barren since her youth, along with several miscarriages. My own father recommended, I remarry, but love bound me to her. I could not forsake her. But I did betray her," he confesses. Long-bottled guilt bleeds into his words. "Desperate for a son to secure my line. I strayed." He sneaks a glance at my mother. "Instead of a son, fate handed me a daughter."

"How tragic for you."

"Before I could do right by the child. My father tossed your mother out with a sack purse of coin, so she would not return. Your mother vanished with you with her. And when I did find her, you were no taller than her hip. And she told me to stay away from the both of you."

"And yet here you sit," I say, disdain dripping off each word. "I know who I am and the man you saw before. He alone is my father. You, my liege, you are a stranger. My better, lord."

I lower myself into a scornful curtsey and I explode out of the house. Domus Valwa follows, bolting out of the door and signaling for his men to remain as he pursues me. He tries to speak, but I struggle to hear over the noise. A storm catches in my head, sending my thoughts astir, my mind lost to mayhem.

"Have you not wondered why the man you call father and your half-brother are so frail?" he questions relentlessly. Ruthlessly. "Take stock of yourself, your health, and your‌ strength. Look me in my eyes and tell me you see nothing."

I whirl around to face him with a fury within me that blazes with the might of ten thousand suns, and yet our eyes imitate each other, reflecting the truth I dare not accept. The similarities, sharp features, are undeniable. Still, I reject it. I reject him.

"You may have fathered me, but that man is my father," I proclaim with snapped vocal cords. "He loved me. He raised me and gave me everything he had, which is more than whatever wealth you own. He gave me love. You abandoned me and my mother. My father did not."

Domus Valwa seeks refuge from gaze, temporarily looking afar. "I was young then and foolish, oppressed by my father's demands and expectations. And the politics behind my nobility. It was no excuse, as it was the biggest blunder of my life. A great wrong that must be righted."

I snort bitterly. "You are here because the High King demands it. I don't understand the correlation, but you need me for something." A fresh swell of rage. "Your desperation has brought you to me, strong-arming this reunion."

"Desperation makes us do things we otherwise would not," he says in accord. "As would love. What I ask is, how much do you love the kin whose blood you do not share?"

"More than life itself," I say, as if it were a vow.

"I do not know if the news has reached your ears, but the Dophan has perished with no other siblings to take his stead."

"I've heard."

"This has initiated the ancient protocol of Shalem that was founded in the First Age. The only way that could change the line of succession. Many Domuses in the Decuria saw it as their chance to make their sons contenders for the throne if it was ever left empty. To become the next High King by winning the King Trials."

My concentration peaks, rationality shoving my rage aside.

"The King Trials will be conceived by the current High King. A set of trials and tests that the candidates will undergo for him to ferret out the worthy amongst the nine. With tests that he chooses and deems fit, that will show the worthiness of one able to rule the realm."

"For sons of Domuses to compete. Herems," I point out. "Not bastard-born, lowly-lived, half-blood daughters."

"Whether or not it was implied. It only stated the eldest descendant and because you are the blood of my blood, you inherited the right to participate. And you are duty-bound to represent Regnum Valwa."

"I owe you nothing!" I bark back, my rage returning, palpable, radiating like the shimmer of the scorching summer heat itself. "I never knew of you and now that I do. I learn you are a coward who retreated to his life of nobility whilst my mother suffered."

"You can end her suffering," he shouts back with equal ire. "You can dredge your family up from the trenches of penury and elevate them to an unquestionable standing. Your kin could want for nothing, and as for your adoptive father. He could receive the treatment he needs, as would your brother."

I turn my back on him, my breaths escaping as if rage had torn a void in my chest.

"You can save them," he says to my back, pleading, bargaining. "Their fate rests in your hands. The fact is, you may despise me, but we need each other. As recompense, when I perish, I would have you inherit my titles and holdings, but you are a woman. Thus ineligible. Instead, I can name your brother as my successor. So long as you represent Regnum Valwa."

A laugh bursts out, and I spin back around. "And become the next High Ruler of Urium? There are greater chances of the dead rising before a lowborn woman goes to compete against court-trained Herems for the throne."

"You have fire in your heart, daughter."

My face turns as if struck.

"Fire that burns for those you love. I have no doubt that your unwavering determination to ensure your family's welfare will be the very catalyst of your triumph. This is your chance to alter your providence and give your kin everything you were robbed of. Save your father and come with me."

I strain against my emotions that slam into me like barreling waves.

"Where?"

"All the candidates are expected in the High King's dominion by the summer solstice."

 "That's before week's end."

"Which is why we shall abscond these lands by first light."

That night, sleep eludes us all, our peace butchered by the past. Mother cannot bring herself to face her husband, so she busies herself with menial midnight drudgery. Grooming the mare again and cleaning the cattle shed. My eyes are fixed on the mold-splattered ceiling. I glance at my brother, who has his back turned to me. He hasn't said a word since the Domus's departure. I rise from my bed and slip out of our room, following the orangey slant of firelight on the wooden floorboards.

"Don't skulk in the shadows. Come to me."

I heed his invitation and ease inside like a child jolted from their sleep because of a night terror. Father smiles at me, his eyes filling with warmth. He opens his arms, drawing me to him. I come to him, and I allow his arms to envelop me, coddling my head to his chest as I bury my face in him to conceal my tears. And it hurts, each tear burns.

"You may not be my blood, but I love you as my own."

I lift my head to gaze up at him. "So, you truly didn't know?"

"I met your mother when she was already carrying another man's child. She claimed she was a widow, and that her late husband was a captain who died at sea. What began as pity evolved into something more. But the moment you were born, you were mine. However, your fate has summoned you. Your birth father needs you."

Rage wrenches me from his arms.

"I didn't agree to help him," I clarify, my emotions pulsing. My anger throbs like it has a life force of its own. "What I do is for you, Erlin, and ma. You all are my kin."

His hands rise to hold face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "You are trading your life for another. The King Trials sound ominous, and your single-minded tenacity could be at the cost of your life."

"Or perhaps the very thing that preserves my life," I rebuttal. "Domus Valwa is right when he speaks of my determination. Nothing will stop me from getting you the aid you need. And for Erlin. Fortune smiles at me because I've been given the chance to change everything. And I will not squander it. By blood and by fire, I will triumph."

I return to my quarters, surprised to see Elrin sitting upright with a book on his blanketed lap. The book he bought, and of course, not one of the books Malachi gifted. Elrin shifts over so his shoulder is right against the wall. I approach, somewhat warily, before I slip under the threadbare covers to sit beside him on his single bed. He picks up the leather-bound book with worn edges and gold-embossed lettering. He opens it carefully, reverently, as if handling a precious artifact.

"This one is called 'The Chronicles of The Crimson Knight,'" Elrin begins, his voice rich and melodic.

I lean back against the pillows, closing my eyes to better imagine the world Elrin is about to bring to life. I can already feel the weight of my all-consuming responsibilities lifting, replaced by the anticipation of the story. As Elrin, my mind drifts into the tale. I can see the lush forests, hear the rustling leaves, and feel the magic in the air. The room around us falls away, replaced by the vivid imagery of Dalehor. His voice, warm and comforting, is a tether that keeps me anchored in this shared moment of escape.

Eventually, Elrin must have noticed my fight to keep my eyes open. He pauses, marking the page with a random string of fabric.

I move to rest my head on his shoulder, my eyelids drooping. "Forgive me."

"However questionable, your deeds are a declaration of your devotion that I could never hold in disdain." He leans closer as if to whisper a secret. "I could never resent your love." Elrin plants a kiss on my forehead. "Sleep well, sister. Dream of Dalehor."

~

The day dawns crisp and clear. The rising sun casts a rosy hue across the morning sky. I stand in our bedroom, fully outfitted in finely woven outerwear, flaunting the colors of Regnum Valwa. The ankle-length dress is form-fitting, with divine golden embroidery. It is shrouded by elegance with a high collar epaulet jacket, dark blue with gilded tussles that broaden my shoulders.

And it feels wrong.

I yank off the coat, and I cast it aside before I strip away the dress. I retrieve my own clothes, weathered garments they may be, but they are my own, an extension of my truth that I shall wear proudly. I will not allow the Domus to hide my heritage. Lastly, I take on a dark leather coat that reaches my ankles, reminiscent of shredded shadows.

"The very sight of you will strike fear in all the doubters."

I whirl around to see Erlin standing in the doorway.

"I dread you leaving, but I dread you staying even more," he begins, grim-faced. "I saw you return home with blood-stained clothes. And I know it wasn't yours. I knew that it must've been something… costly you did to receive those books."

"Taking care of my kin is no cost to me."

He nods slowly, considering something else. Something that etches fear into his features. "What if you are pitted against other candidates? And you are forced to fight til death?"

"I will do what I must."

Tears burst from Erlin's eyes, and he hurries over to me, engulfing me in a hug. I snap my eyes shut to barricade my own tears. I cling to his brother's raw-boned form. He draws away from me, fresh splotches of scarlet beneath his eyes.

"I need you to listen to me," I say with all seriousness. "At week's end, I was meant to meet with my employer, Malachi. I never wanted you near him, but you must collect a debt on my behalf. He will give you provisions that will last you even long after I am gone. Malachi knows you, so you are protected. Tell anyone who asks that you are the brother of the she-wolf, and they will know of whom you speak of."

"The what?" he blurts.

"His ship," I continue sharply. "It's the biggest one at port. A blind man couldn't miss it. You need to reach Malachi. Can you do that for me?"

"After all of you have done for us," he says easily. "You needn't ask. You took care of us. Allow me the chance to do the same."

I clap a hand on his shoulder. "If Malachi asks of me, tell him father sent me away to assist distant kin"

He nods eagerly and accompanies me to the front entrance, where I bid our mother and father a tearful farewell. We all transition to where Domus Valwa awaits. The coat of his carriage is a luscious blue with intricate golden edgings. The coachman on top is ready, his hands holding the reins. As I approach, two guards stand at attention, and one of them opens the door for me. I lift myself, entering the carriage, then settling on the bench opposite Domus Valwa.

The guard outside shuts the door behind me. Raised voices exchanged words, followed by a crackling whip. The carriage lurches forward, resounding with the collective thud of clopping hooves. My family waves their final farewells. I wave back with a lump lodged in my throat. Domus Valwa gives me a disapproving perusal but knows better than to render a remark.

I honestly wish he would.

"No matter the outcome," Domus Valwa says, painfully nervous. "I wished time could have afforded you the chance to see your Regnum, and to see what it is you fight for—"

"I fight for my kin." I set my eyes on him, hoping to blister his skin with my mere gaze. "Make no mistake. I'm doing this for them. You are nothing to me."

Domus Valwa wavers, his eyes blinking fast, unable to mask his hurt.

"My biggest regret was forsaking you and your mother. The life of a Domus. Duty always eclipses love. As does your duty to those you love. You are ready to sacrifice your life for them. That is a love I envy."

I crucify him with my silence.

"And I was impressed by you," he tries again, trying a different topic. "How you assume the duties of men on your own, working on your father's behalf. And even completing your brother's work when he falls ill."

I persist in my pledge of silence, persecuting him with cruel indifference.

"And your eloquence," he goes again. "You and your brother are well-spoken."

"My father is a vociferous reader," I answer, not looking at him once. "As is my brother. He taught himself Aramathis literature and inter-realm linguistics. Then, he taught me. So we would not be perceived as illiterate scum by the highborn."

Domus Valwa sighs dejectedly.

"What am I to expect with the other candidates, the other Herems?"

He repeats his morose sigh, his frown deepening. "The sons of Domuses are ever-entitled. They are skilled in battle craft, armed with charm and duplicity. And they are as power-hungry as their fathers. Some more than most, but your biggest adversary is Herem Vince."

Shock tethers my gaze to his.

"The prince of blood? As they call him."

"Vince Esputo Ethane of the Emikrol Empire, home to the second-largest army in the realm. Regnum Ethane, the famed Regnum of warriors that bore the greatest combatants in Urium history. The Pavelia wars, the scourge battles, and even skirmishes in the frontiers." He fiddles with the signet ring on his smallest finger. "He is bred for blood and battle. To cross blades with him is to cross death itself."

 "Rousing speech, my liege."

He sends me a repentant look. "I do not know what the High King has in store for you all. But my faith lies with you. The hope that the legacy of my line will endure through you."

I scoff, failing to mute my fears. "Your faith is unwarranted."

"Time will tell. Once we reach the airdock, we shall part company. You may loathe me, but heed my counsel. You are the only woman in the Trials. The Herems will deem you weak, but the appearance of weakness is your greatest advantage. Let them underestimate you. So only in the Trials, they will come to regret it."