Amilié stood at the front lines as they approached the border of King Baldemar’s domain. Ëolnir was a magnificent fortress built during the age of Agronan. In that time, it was erected to be a formidable hold against the outlying Ithunil clans, and now it was home to House Baldárë, ever ruled by them.  

In order to avoid being seen, Cador led the Ghosts through the secluded woods of Tuldor. The territory was barren on the edge of no-man’s land to the east. There was a two-mile radius between the rocky hills of Ëolnir and Tuldor where nothing covered the landscape. There were no structures, no trees, no misty grooves to take cover in. If enemies ever wished to attack the Ëolnir fortress, they would have little choice other than to strike it head-on. This was apparently Cador’s plan, and if the Ghosts managed to breach the walls, then what? They would race to their deaths as quickly as possible? Amilié did not agree with this in the least.  

“Alright, Amilié.” Cador sank behind the trees, nudged her forward. “You’re up.” 

“I don’t have to be part of this,” she snarled. “You’re my brother not my commander.” 

“All we have are our choices, Amilié. You chose to leave all those years ago, tonight I choose to invade Ëolnir. What do you choose now? Do you wish to die with them or fight with me?” 

She groaned, getting annoyed. “When Sweryn and I escape here we’d be fortunate to never meet you again.” 

“Fine by me.” 

Amilié went forward with a slow, weak jog. By the time the sun dipped behind the hills, she had crossed the two-mile radius and into Ëolnir’s territory. She was spotted by the sentries atop the wide gates, sending the outside courtyard on alert. She allowed a handful of guards to come and escort her inside the fortress, without breaking any of their bones of course. 

***

Sweryn stood in his father’s throne room, leaned against the iron chair that he could not bring himself to sink into. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t rest without knowing if Amilié was alive or dead. A stirring came from the entrance, and when he turned, he saw the guards bringing Amilié inside. Relief spread through every bone as he approached her.  

“Amilié,” he breathed, bracing her shoulders, “I feared you were gone forever.” He waited as the guards made their exit from the throne room and returned to their posts. 

“It takes more than an arrow to kill me.” She smiled half-heartedly. “Sweryn,” she paused, put her hands up to his chest, “I’m sorry. Back in Brier I got confused, I just acted out of instinct. I’m sorry.” 

“Be quiet,” he hushed her. “My father doesn’t know what happened. I’m not sure how long Hura will keep silent, but I hope it’s long enough for us to smooth it all over.” 

Amilié often fought with herself. Even now, Sweryn could tell she was still fighting the battle that tore at her. “I understand you couldn’t let your brother die.” He sighed. “But perhaps it’d be wiser for you to stay with the rebels for a time. You could very well be branded as a traitor now for what you did.” 

Amilié dipped her voice to a whisper. “The only reason I came back is to get us away from here.” 

Sweryn scoffed at the notion. “Where could we possibly go?” 

“Lorianthil?” 

“Lorianthil,” he chuckled. “That’s a good way to die quickly.”  

“I’m serious.” She pulled him in, met his black eyes. “Of all people, Sweryn, we could make it. We could disappear.” 

Sweryn tucked her messy hair behind her pointed ears. “There is no need for us to run. I am the Prince of Ëolnir, and my father trusts me. In time, you will have your honor again; I’ll make sure of it.” 

Her eyes swam with regret. “Please believe me when I say we cannot stay here. Please, trust me. Let us go before something terrible happens.” 

He felt her body shaking under his hands. He could hardly stand under the way her eyes pleaded, how soft and wounded they were.  

“I think I know the way for us,” he said, taking her hand. “Come.”  

He led her toward the mouth of the fortress, but before they even hit the front steps, they were interrupted by King Baldemar and Hura.  

Sweryn’s father was a beast of a dark elf. Like most members of the House, he was bald and had opaque black eyes. His muscles bulged beneath his iron armor, he carried a powerful broadsword at this thigh. 

“You,” Baldemar pointed at Amilié, “I always suspected you were a traitor to our House.”  

Behind him stood Hura whose eyes swam with hatred. She had no love for Amilié, and perhaps justly so.  

“Father,” Sweryn shielded his betrothed, “what happened in Brier can be amended. Dulor had specific orders on our mission, and he broke them. Amilié is hardly at fault.” 

“Lies!” Hura hissed. “She murdered Dulor and you know it. She wears the uniform, but she still belongs to her rebel allies. She’s a traitor!” 

“Amilié is not a traitor. She came back here, didn’t she? Perhaps a true traitor would run and never be seen again.” 

“Let us punish her and be done with this,” Hura pushed. “Blood for blood.” 

Sweryn glared at her. “Back off, Hura.”  

“My son.” Baldemar inched forward, gripping Sweryn by the shoulder. “You cannot protect her this time. I warned you once before, and you still fail to learn what comes of trusting in those exiles. Let this loss teach you what I could not.” 

Sweryn was about to cross his dual blades against Baldemar’s throat, but instead, Amilié’s voice steadied him. 

“I have information about the rebels,” she blurted out. 

“Oh?” Baldemar turned to her, intrigued.  

Sweryn sensed that she was merely stalling for time, but he, too, was curious. “What have you learned?” he asked. “Are they on the move?” 

“Their forces have grown stronger than we thought possible,” Amilié said. “I’ve seen them gathering below ground, they could pose a real threat to us if they wanted to.” 

“At least the traitor is forthcoming,” Baldemar smirked. “We have work to do. Sweryn, I want you and your Blades to root out the rebels. We will launch an attack before they become impossible to deal with.” 

Sweryn lifted his brow. “And what if it’s too late to stop them?” 

“My seethers can turn the tide in our favor.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sweryn rolled his eyes, “your elusive dark mages. I’m sure they will keep our enemies from running at us by putting up a cloud of smoke.” 

Baldemar loosened the tightness in his neck, cracked his giant knuckles. “You doubt me?” 

Yes, Sweryn thought. He doubted his father very much. Nothing good came from Baldemar’s decisions, and still the King refused to meet his subject’s basic needs. Sweryn’s only purpose in Ëolnir was to keep Baldemar from devastating it altogether.  

Instead of answering his father, Sweryn turned and glanced at Amilié. Something was bothering his betrothed. Her stance was still crumpled, frigid. Shaking. Perhaps they would not need to root out the rebels, perhaps Amilié already knew their whereabouts. 

“Where is your brother now?” he asked. “Is he still hiding below ground or does he have more hostile tactics?” What he didn’t expect was for Amilié to back away in fear, seal her lips. “Amilié.” He stepped toward her while she kept backing away. “Did you escape, or did he let you go? I wonder...” 

“He let me go,” she confessed. “I cannot fight my brother. We struck a deal.” 

From the side, Hura formed a smirk. “How convenient that is,” she said, turning to Baldemar. “Is this the outcome she could have wanted, my liege? And look: her rebel friends even gave her bandages.” 

Amilié’s face went red, and she looked down at her shoulder. “They wanted me alive, they wanted me to turn on you.” 

Baldemar cracked his knuckles again. “And we are to believe you refused them?” He grabbed Amilié’s shoulder wound and squeezed. The poor girl crumbled under his grip. She cried out, leaking tears that stained her eyes and cheeks. 

Baldemar grit his teeth. “You’re in league with them!” 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, sinking into Sweryn’s arms.  

“Amilié?” Sweryn held onto her, his breath catching. “How could you? I thought you were still one of us.”  

“What do you expect me to do, stand aside and let everyone strike my family down? Cador and Kal are all I have left.” 

His brow creased. “I hope Cador and Kal are worth throwing everything away for. Am I not enough for you?” 

“Traitor!” Baldemar fumed, reaching for her collar. “When your mother turned against me, I should have had her executed. The only reason I spared her was so her bastard of a daughter would grow up knowing what a loss she suffered for it!”  

“Please!” Amilié sobbed in agony. “Let me make this right.” 

“You want to make this right? Then tell me where the rebels are! What are they planning?”  

Amilié kept fighting with herself, torn between the two people she undoubtedly was: a rebel, a Blade. Sweryn could work with either, he could fight with either, but until she chose, he could not trust her. He loosened his hands around her, let her fall into Baldemar’s grip. The Prince watched Amilié wither to her knees, her fingers clawing at him.  

“Hura,” Baldemar turned, holding Amilié by the collar, “take this one below. Let us make sure she talks.” 

“With pleasure,” Hura smirked.