“Wow!” Freyah whispered in awe. “Very wise, indeed.”
“What would happen if they broke any of these… Magic Edictum rules?” Eldric asked. He had pretended he was in noway interested in the conversation, but in reality, he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“No one knows for sure. There is no known record of a mage ever breaking one of the laws of magic. At that time, it was believed that their power would turn against its holder.”
Alissa wanted to ask what that could mean, but, seeing Desi’s own puzzled look, she assumed that, as an unprecedented event in Heldraine’s history, not even this magical researcher—smart as she was—could answer that question.
“The types of magic you mentioned resemble a little of Heldraine’s religious beliefs, don’t they?” Freyah noted.
“It’s no coincidence.” Desi smiled. “TheLizienandRugreshbeliefs were built over the assumption that magic was living proof that nature and time were the divine powers that ruled our world. When magic became extinct, our religions were the only means our people had found to keep the magic of the divine alive within our society.”
“How come you never learned about those things when you were studying to be a magical researcher, Eldric?” Alissa asked, shooting him a side glance.
“I was recruited for the Royal Guard before I could dive this deep into study. But I don’t think this is taught in the training to become a licensed magical researcher.”
“You’re right, Eldric, we don’t learn about magic history to perform this job. The Crown seems to ensure the history of magic remains a mystery for most of us. Maybe they don’t want us daydreaming about the past. What they do teach us is the science behind it so that we can make up potions that could, at least in some sense, replace what magic used to do for Heldraine.” Desi’s tone brimmed with enthusiasm, fueled by her passion for magic.
“This is a rare volume,” Alissa stated while holding the precious book close to her chest.
“The rarest there is. It is the only one of its kind in Heldraine. The administration keeps it locked in the main office. My mother has a copy of the key—that’s how I got it.”
“Are you not getting into trouble for this?” The look on Freyah’s face was instantly filled with concern.
“No, it’s fine. You can read it for the rest of the day. There is a secret dent on bookcase ninety-four in row four hundred and six. You can hide it there, and I’ll put it back later.”
Desi started walking away. She had already risked enough of her luck to go to the library—being recognized could be as much a danger for herself as for the criminals in her company. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulders to see Alissa and Freyah bent over the book, their eyes glowing.
Chapter 26
The Chase of a Lifetime
105 DAYS UNTIL DHALIA’S DEATH DATE.
Chasing people across the country turned out to be a task Ranier had not anticipated would be as challenging. After departing Bryniard with Keilan and five of his most trusted Iron Claws, he had stopped at several towns to investigate the whereabouts of the fugitive women and the Royal Guard in their company, but none of those proved fruitful. The initial excitement of leading Heldraine’s most crucial mission had begun to drain from his veins as his targets outwitted him at every turn. The general despised feeling like a fool, and that was exactly how he felt—like a cat chasing mice.
To the misfortune of the men following his every move, his patience was wearing thin along with the thrill of the chase. At this point, many would say from experience that a restless Iron Claw general could be the most effective trauma-inflicting weapon.
Ranier rubbed the paper in the young woman’s face, her husband paralyzed when the general’s voice reverberated through the cottage living room with a scream bearing all his frustration. His gaze fell to the couple kneeling at his feet,drowning in their own sobs as they cried for his mercy, swearing that the people from the posters had never set foot in the city of Farin. His nose scrunched in disgust at the scene. Had the people of Heldraine always been this pathetic?
How was it possible that, out of all the people they had interrogated, no one could provide any useful information? Had Ranier lost his ability to detect lies during this journey, or had these girls, raised in isolation, somehow developed the ability to vanish in a world that was not made for them to venture?
Everything since leaving Porjea had been a treacherous blow to his ego. As the commander of the elite battalion of one of the most powerful realms in the world, he had always been accustomed to success. Yet there he was, struggling with what should have been a simple task. Rainier had earned the title of the youngest general in the history of the Iron Claws, but that would mean nothing if the truth hidden in Bryniard were revealed under his watch.
Anyone who had met Ranier would have been surprised to learn that he was capable of doubting his own competence and questioning whether he deserved all he had conquered. His ego had never allowed him to evolve that capacity until then. Yet, with every moment he failed to uphold his vow to the Crown, his name and the legacy he had worked so hard to build seemed to crumble.
Without glancing back at the civilians, who were humiliating themselves for their lives, he left the cottage, slamming the door behind him. His hand instinctively moved to his long beard, running a finger through the dry hair. The sound of hurried footsteps drew his attention, and his gaze landed on a young man sprinting toward him.
General Uldor had never seen anyone run so haphazardly. The boy had only been running for seconds, but it seemed to be enough to leave him panting, gasping for breath. In a heartbeat,his glasses slipped from his face and fell to the ground. Before he could stop himself, his right foot came down on the lens, shattering it into pieces. Keilan let out a curse but calmly placed the broken glasses back on his nose, unfazed, even as the cracks made it impossible for him to see clearly.
The general held the bridge of his nose, drawing a deep breath. Of all the tragedies Ranier had witnessed during his decades of work with the Iron Claws, Keilan becoming an Iron Claw was the worst of them. Being saddled with the boy as his assistant was, without a doubt, the lowest point of his career—perhaps even his life.
But what choice did he have? Refuse King Luwrel’s personal request to enlist his sister’s grandchild into the Iron Claws? Reject the demand to keep the boy close, preparing him to be a general someday? Hell no! Ranier was many things, but he was never foolish enough not to recognize when orders were disguised as polite requests.
“I expect that after that shameful display of athleticism, you’ve come to me with good news,” he said, watching his disaster of an assistant straighten up, as though it could mask the failure he truly was.
The general turned and walked back toward the campsite, forcing the boy to hasten his steps to keep up.
“You are correct, sir.” A proud smile grew on Keilan’s lips.