Page 39 of The Bound Mage
“Your Majesties.”The gray-clad weatherworker bowed low as they approached. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for hosting us, Maelis,” Eloria said. “Please, don’t stand on ceremony here. It’s only because of you and your weatherworkers that we have the food on our tables. My brother and I are very eager to see what you have to show us today.”
Loren braced himself as the weatherworker straightened, her bright gray eyes going immediately to the wisps of shadow that curled around his feet. Everyone always looked at the shadows before they looked at him, their faces lighting with a mixture of awe and hope that made his stomach churn.
“It’s my honor, Your Majesty,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “We are all overjoyed at your return.”
Loren inclined his head stiffly. He should say something—anything. He’d had years of courtly training just for moments like these. But the words caught behind his teeth. What good were empty platitudes when he couldn’t give them what they expected of him?
The silence stretched, heavy enough that one of the younger weatherworkers shifted nervously at the edge of the field. But Eloria, as smooth and composed as ever, stepped forward.
“Please Maelis,” she said, her voice warm. “We all know we wouldn’t survive here without the work you and your team do. Show us how you’ve managed to hold the shadows back this season, so my brother and I can carry your needs to the Small Council with the weight they deserve.”
They followed the weatherworker along the perimeter of the muddy field, past rows of spindly crops, before finally coming to a halt in front of a thick wooden pole driven into the ground. Loren stared, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he took in the carved runes etched deeply into the wood. Each one pulsed faintly, a sluggish ripple of aether glimmering as it raced through the lines.
He took a step back, following the thread as it leapt into the air, connecting to another post just ten paces further down the line. And beyond that one, another—all the way around the perimeter of the field. Together, they formed a fragile lattice, turning the breeze that snapped at his clothing to its intended purpose—blowing back the mist so the sun could reach the ground.
“And what about Daren?” Eloria asked.
The weatherworker’s smile faltered. “He’d be here if he could, Princess,” she said. “But the entire team is short. He’s had them running double shifts to keep up and taken on more than he can handle himself. But…” she trailed off, glancing toward a low wooden building. “Well, see for yourself.”
Narrow bunks lined both walls, crammed so close together that Loren had to turn sideways to pass between them. Nearly every cot was occupied by gray-clad weatherworkers and green-clad growers, their faces ashen and pinched even in sleep. Most lay still, but one young male sat bolt upright as they passed, his eyes glazed and unseeing as his hands twitched and jerked.
Loren jumped, his legs striking the bunk behind him as he choked on the sour tang of sweat and the sharp bite of burnedaether. But Maelis hurried forward, pressing a hand to his shoulder and gently urging him back onto the bed with quiet words. None of them spoke as they moved through the rest of the bunkhouse, finally emerging into the thin gray sunlight on the other side.
“I’ll speak to the Small Council,” Eloria said quietly. Her composure didn’t falter, but Loren could see her tension in the line of her jaw, so much like their father when he’d been giving someone news they didn’t want to hear. “At the very least we can look into increasing rations for those on rotation.”
“Thank you, Princess.” Maelis bowed her head, gratitude flashing across her drawn face. “That would mean a lot to them. The fact that you’re here at all, seeing what they sacrifice—” she trailed off, her voice thick.
Eloria reached out, clasping the other female’s shoulder. “We see you, Maelis,” she said. “And your team. We’re doing everything we can to lift that shadows, but until then, we need you to carry on. Just a little longer.”
Loren shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the shadows curling around his feet and the stares of the weatherworkers that had gathered around them. They all thought it would be him—the chosen prince, returned from the dead—who would sweep the shadows away. What would they think if they knew the Veil had already rejected him?
He cleared his throat, the hope in the faces around them like a blade pressed against his ribs. “It must take a great deal of power to hold back the Veil from all our farmland,” he said finally. “Thank you for showing it to me.”
“Oh—” the weatherworker’s eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. “I’m sorry Your Majesty, I should have made it more clear. This team only maintainsthisfield. The others have their own barracks.”
“All those fae tokeep the mist offonefield?” Loren demanded.
Eloria frowned at him, pressing her lips together. “Sit down.”
“Why would you parade me in front of them like that?” Loren turned, storming the length of the chambers Eloria had taken in the Central Hall to stare out the wide window. The Central Square spread out below, packed with mouths they couldn’t feed. “I can’t help them. All you’re doing is spreading false hope?—”
“Sit, Loren,” Eloria snapped.
Still seething, Loren collapsed into one of the mismatched chairs, watching as Eloria turned to the sideboard and poured a steaming cup of tea. It was a modest set of apartments, compared to her rooms back at Tirnavel, appointed with an eclectic collection of mismatched furniture and a strange collection of things he recognized from her childhood. Her desk from her rooms at Ithralis stood against one wall, its surface cluttered with stacked ledgers and loose parchment. Their father’s ring sat on a tray, ready for her to mark correspondence with the royal seal.
“We have thirty-seven fields under activate management.” Eloria set the tea service on the table between them, dropping gracefully into her own chair. “Twenty-nine are fully staffed, but eight are running with short crews.”
“And that feeds all of the fae on Eluneth?” He stared down into his tea. “What if we established more posts? Or worked longer shifts?—”
“We’ve done all of that.Aredoing it.” Eloria sighed, her mask dropping to reveal the exhaustion beneath. “Longer shifts helpin the short term, but we lose too many to burnout. Last time we lost almost an entire crew when the runeposts failed. What weneedis more bodies. We’ve pulled every fae with any talent for weatherworking or growing into service, but depending on magic to sustain an entire population is a losing battle. With the tightened security in the New Dominion right now it’s almost impossible for us to get anything or anyone out—and even if we could get them across the Veil, we can’t guarantee they’ll manifest as a weatherworker or a grower.”
The shadows hissed, drawing tighter around his boots.
“You’re prioritizing who you save from the New Dominion based off what they might manifest as?” Loren demanded.
“We don’t have a choice.” Eloria set her cup down, the soft click of porcelain loud in the silence. “There’s nothing else we can do, Loren.”
