Heirs of Destruction by T.N. Vitus

Author:T.N. Vitus [Vitus, T.N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Let no man, no war, and no kings stop us from dancing.”

—Proverb among the common people of Adristan

23 Lightpel, in the Benevolent year 112 A.E.

The skies were stormy on the way back to Greenisle, and by the time the ship docked, Virgil was soaked to the bone. His clothes were a sopping mess. His hair was stuck to his face. By now, he should have been trembling with cold. Sickness should’ve been threatening him. But all he felt was a familiar, welcoming numbness.

He disembarked, but not before helping the crew haul their supplies into the covered safety of the port. Grunting, he refused offers of thanks and made his way up to the house. Stollas greeted him at the door, whining softly as he nuzzled Virgil’s legs.

“I’m fine, boy,” he said softly. “Just a little damp.”

That was the understatement of the century, but Virgil held the truth within him as he discarded his wet boots in the entryway and stalked down the halls to find his father. As usual, court was in full swing. Nobles—both local and visiting—filled the hall with drinks in hand. There was a loud buzz of conversation hovering above the air, though it seemed to dull itself when Virgil entered the room. Heads turned in his direction to watch the heir charge through the hall, sopping wet with a wolf on his heels. But he paid them no mind, eyes narrowing in where his uncle stood at his father’s side.

“A librarian is drying off the book you asked for,” Virgil said flatly. “It got wet during the storm.”

His uncle, in full Doctrina regalia, bowed his head in thanks. “I’ll look for it in the library myself. Thank you, nephew.”

Turning to his father, Virgil said, “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” his father agreed. “But you’ve only just arrived after your vacation. Have a drink. Your cousins are around here somewhere.”

“I was gone for two and a half weeks,” Virgil insisted. “They can wait.”

“Fine,” his father said, rising to his feet. “We’ll talk, and then you can come back and have a drink.”

“You’re in good spirits,” Virgil noted, keeping pace with his father out of the hall. He ignored his uncle quietly trailing behind them. Stollas, however, did not; he bumped his head against Uncle Nicholas’s leg, attempting to trip him.

His father huffed a laugh. “I always enjoy being at court.”

Virgil whistled at Stollas, pointing down the hall toward the kennels. The wolf was smart enough to find his way back on his own, but with any luck the kennel master would be waiting for him anyway.

Once they were shut into a conference room, Virgil deflated against the wall. Sighing, he said, “My proposal isn’t going to work out.”

“Why’s that?”

He dragged a palm down his face. “Because they sent her to the Dux Doctrina.”

His uncle seemed to perk up at that. “Who?”

Virgil glared before saying, “Rhaella of House Veservus.”

“Oh,” his father said, waving a hand dismissively. “Had I known that’s who you were proposing, I would have discouraged it from the start.

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