I find Tamarla asleep in my bed. How she manages to slip into my apartments is beyond me, but I love her for it. In the soft light from the window, her dark brown skin is thrown into relief by the white bed linen, her long black hair splayed across the pillows. As I strip, I wonder what has held me back from marrying her these last few years. Some adolescent notion that there might be some other girl for whom I will feel more or who will provide more exciting company? Now I realise that what matters is loyalty and companionship. Someone on your side. Although I cannot be sure she will remain so when she learns the truth about me. Would I in her place? Certainly, her mother would not be pressing for our marriage with my fate uncertain. And as much as I want her, I can’t ask her to marry me under false pretences.

  I slip under the sheets and without waking she nestles into me, pressing her lips to my neck and resting her head on my chest. In the morning, we fuck and then inform my staff that we will breakfast in my apartments. We eat naked on the bed, fruit and pate which must’ve travelled a continent to reach us. We don’t speak of anything of consequence, just gossip about mutual friends. This morning, the time we spend together feels precious. I silently curse myself for not realising so before.

  When the king’s guard knocks at my door, Tamarla slips into one of my shirts. I am requested in the War Rooms. It is not accompanied by an hour, which means that the King is not expecting to wait. I throw on training fatigues and leave Tamarla, who makes a comment that she will have to get to used to this now I have inherited. I don’t reply but kiss her on the lips and trot alongside the guard through the house.

  Raylee is already there, dressed in battle fatigues. She’s clearly making a comment about being combat ready, but it makes her look like a kid dressing up. The King and Queen turn from the carved war table, which I can see from the door has been set up to show the enemy’s positions at the Savernake Valley.

  ‘Good to see you, my boy,’ the King says. His polite tone immediate makes me wary. The Queen says nothing but nods silently as he outlines my future. I have been expecting something like this, but I still must swallow down my indignation as he takes me through his plans. They envisage a series of staged military set pieces, where it appears that I use the inheritance to defeat the enemy, whilst, in truth, a carefully placed Raylee provides the power. I wait until they finish and then pause for a moment before answering.

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  The Queen glances away, irritated. She was hoping not to have to endure an argument.

  ‘I understand,’ the King starts, ‘it’s not ideal, but the integrity of the family must be preserved. That is our first and last duty.’

  Raylee isn’t exactly excited by the idea either. ‘I’m the heir now, I’ve inherited, he never will, we need to stop pretending and accept it.’

  ‘She has a point,’ the Queen says, quietly, without looking at me.

  This is how it starts, edging me out of the picture, so she can place her blood at the head of the family. I ignore the Queen and move past them to the war table, where small figurines have been placed in the deep groove in the oak which represents the Savernake Valley. I scatter them with a swipe of my hand.

  ‘There’s no need to be petulant,’ the Queen snaps.

  I find three miniatures of the enemy’s giant hornets and place them in the groove. ‘The valley is well protected. Whatever the elves are using the valley for, it’s not a supply line. They’ve based considerable fire power there.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ the Queen asks, irritated.

  ‘Because I led reconnaissance there last night, Eduarda,’ I say, deliberately using her first name. I decide then and there I will never call her mother again.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘How will we be able to strategise effectively if we are forced to rely on,’ I indicate the war table, ‘your outdated intelligence.’

  She does not reply. My first volley has met its target, but this is only the beginning, and she will fight me all of the way. I turn to my father:

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ‘A small team could fly under the clouds and take the valley by surprise. I’d need a goblin horde, my griffin and Sharv.’

  My father frowns at the mention of this name, but I can see he is impressed by my thinking. ‘Sharv? The bastard? Why that drunk?’

  ‘Because this Land of Oil and Smoke is not in the valley. Something in the valley leads there. If it’s elven magic, then that land could be anywhere. The chances of its inhabitants speaking any of the tongues of Albion are remote.’

  ‘I should go,’ Raylee pipes up. ‘I could go alone. I have power, he has nothing.’

  I turn on her. ‘Nothing but nine years of strategy. Six of battle. The most celebrated warrior of my generation.’

  That shuts up her. I return my attention to my father. ‘But if you want to send one overconfident child into a world where she does not share the tongue, has no team to back her up, and no idea why she’s there, then be my guest.’

  ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ the Queen snaps, ‘That is your sister.’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ I say, evenly. ‘As you yourself have made quite clear. And whilst we are on the subject, Eduarda, you are not my mother.’

  ‘That is enough, Aradrath,’ the King starts.

  But it isn’t, not nearly. ‘Let me find this blood son of yours. Let me bring him to you. It should be done and done quickly.’ I look the Queen in the eye. ‘Have you not considered the military consequences of a family member in the hands of the enemy?’

  The Queen goes to retort, but the King silences her with his hand. ‘Aradrath will undertake the mission, ‘But Raylee will go with him.’ He shuts my protests down just as quickly. ‘She hasn’t faced the tree, so she cannot use her power here. Aradrath, don’t be so proud that you won’t accept the help you need.’

  The bastards fit uneasily into the social strata of the family. Whilst they often command senior positions in the military, they rarely sit at the high tables at family occasions. As products of infidelity, they are embarrassments to marriages, and often reminders of old hurt. But the importance of their blood inheritance means that they cannot be swept under the carpet. They’re too important to the war effort. Although, you wouldn’t know it from looking at Sharv.

  I buckle up Aetos outside her stall as Sharv squints at the sinking son. He takes a sip from a hip flask. When he sees me staring, he offers it to me. I refuse.

  ‘Go easy on that,’ I tell him.

  He shrugs. ‘It’s not like I’m going into battle.’

  ‘No, but you can’t translate if you’re unconscious.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he says, although I’m already beginning to. He allows a stable boy to prep his steed for him. A young griffin, whose coat is as raven black as Sharv’s hair, but whose inexperience might lead it be spooked if there’s an exchange of fire. Sharv has always traded on his looks. His mother was an ambassador from Jambudvipa, whose political liaisons with a third cousin became intimate. When she realised that she was pregnant with one of the family, she renounced her country and settled at the citadel. The cousin was already married, she was never going to join the family, but there is status from having a child who has inherited. Despite Sharv's success with women, who find his olive complexion and dark eyes irresistible, I always felt a little sorry for him. Having inherited himself, he could never marry into the family - there are strict rules about that - nor could he confer family status on anyone else. His power to translate and interpret anything is useful for trade and military negotiations, but it didn’t reward him with the status he so desires. So, he drinks and parties and generally makes a fool of himself.

  He was thrilled to be summoned to a private audience with the King, earlier in the day. Where it was explained to him that he was to accompany Raylee and myself on a ‘training mission’ to improve Raylee’s fledging skills with her gift. For the duration of the mission, I would be acting as mentor to my sister, using my expertise to help her develop her own. The King explained that the mission was not to be discussed with anyone, as he was yet to announce that family members may shortly be allowed to use emergent powers before they faced the tree. The prospect of being included in a mission with the family’s inner circle was enough to ensure his compliance, and the ‘training exercise’ lie was dull enough that it was likely he wouldn’t feel the need to share it with his friends and many lovers.

  He tucks away his hip flask and launches himself somewhat unsteadily onto his mount. I realise I’m going to have keep my eye on him. Raylee expertly saddles her griffin, an auburn veteran of several battles, whom she plans to claim when she is eighteen. She resolutely avoids looking in my direction. Beyond her, the dozen goblins that Eduarda reluctantly assigned to me, already sit on their mounts, waiting patiently for the mission to commence. Originally from the Eastern Plains, the deeply religious race view the family as gods and treat us as such. They wear simple, grey armour, the colour of their skin. Their faces are flat and framed by horns. Their elliptical eyes are the brightest part of them, most often yellow or green. Most humans find their unblinking gaze unsettling. I don’t care – they’re indispensable in a fight.

  When the sun drops below the horizon, I mount Aetos and give the signal for the mission to take to the air. This time I am dressed for the flight. The woollen gambeson I wear under my armour keeps the wind from my bones. I hold onto Aeto’s reins with one hand and rest the other on the hilt of my sword. This will be no reconnaissance.