“It’s been a hard seven years,” Laina says, grief heavy in her voice. “We attempted to engage Ferelith directly in battle those first few years, and the Conclave were always at the forefront to lend their magics. We suffered losses.”
“I’m truly sorry,” I reply, not because I should say it but because I’m genuinely regretful that anyone loyal to Kestevayne lost their lives in the efforts to regain my throne.
“Your Highness, unfortunately—” Laina starts, but I cut her off.
“Everyone recognizes I am from the Royal House of Clairmont, and I fully understand it is everyone’s intention to put me back on the throne in Kestevayne. With that being said, let’s dispense with formalities. Please, just call me Thalia.”
“Of course, Your… I mean, Thalia…” Laina stumbles on the words.
I risk a glance down at Bastien to see what he thinks of my actions so far, but his expression is as blank as fresh parchment.
Laina draws my attention back to her. “Thalia, much has happened since you left. Ferelith has settled into Kestevayne, and from there, she’s conquered the cities of Marenathe, Bell Tower, and Ciarta, and she’s currently marching on Salema.”
My heart sinks. That’s almost half of the major cities in Vyronas. While my people are currently spread out among the south lands, I know them well enough to know they would’ve never let those people fend for themselves against Ferelith. “How many have we lost over the last seven years?”
Bastien answers, and my gaze moves to him down the long table. “We’ve lost over half our forces helping to defend those cities. We currently have a battalion in Salema, but reports are grim.”
I don’t press for details. I’ll get them later. I need to know every vile thing Ferelith has done. I need to offer up prayers for the departed souls and figure out how to help the families left behind.
“Who is joining us in the fight?” I ask, turning to Laina.
She looks to Bastien in deference to see if he wants to answer, but he settles back in his chair, one hand resting on the table, and merely watches.
Clearing her throat, she says, “The Sorin, the D’Amuris, the Groucutt, the Baudin, and the Foss. They’ve all issued firm pledges to your throne and have their own royal armies in place, supplemented with Clairmont troops. Once a month, they send representatives here to discuss updates and strategies.”
Bastien remains silent, which I find interesting. This is information he should be relaying, but I expect he knows that anything he does infuriates me.
“And what of Ferelith?” I ask, because this is really what it all boils down to. How formidable is she now, after seven years of conquering Vyronas? “We didn’t know much about her when I was sent away. Surely, you’ve had time to figure out her history, her motives. Has anyone tried to negotiate?”
Laina shakes her head grimly, a silent clue that nothing she’s about to say will be good. She proceeds to tell me more than I ever wanted to know about the evil sorceress who sits on my throne.
Through scouting reports and deep dives into records, the Conclave discovered that Ferelith was born to migrant farmers and raised right here in the south lands of Vyronas. Her name was Julia back then, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary her first few years of life.
But interviews with old neighbors and estranged family members revealed that as she grew older, she seemed a little “off.” Her parents couldn’t be interviewed as they died mysteriously when Julia was thirteen, and she lived alone on the farm thereafter. Traveling vendors would barter with her, and she often requested potion ingredients that indicated some questionable gray magic was brewing.
Another traveler reported stopping at her small homestead one night seeking to buy a meal, only to be turned away by Julia. She had a guest already with her, a strange man in dark cloaks and a hood pulled low to conceal his face. The traveler had no choice but to move on, but as he was leaving the farm, he noticed a pile of dead chickens in various stages of decay, their heads missing.
The Conclave surmised that Julia was doing ritualistic blood sacrifices, and it was opined that the cloaked stranger was perhaps a Dark Fae helping her. Any fae would have the appropriate knowledge to teach blood magic, but the inherent evil in a Dark Fae would make them want to help her.
The why of Julia was a mystery, though, for no one could guess what turned someone evil. Perhaps she was born that way, or perhaps she summoned the wrong demon who turned her dark. Maybe she was insane. Whatever the reason, she spent decades building her power, recruiting her forces, and making plans to take over Vyronas.
When she attacked Kestevayne, she was no longer Julia but Ferelith, which means unbreakable in some ancient demon language. Her assault was a surprise, and the city was overrun with the power of her magic, decimating our army. Those who escaped were lucky to do so, and the rest of the story is not-so-ancient history.