A heavy hush followed Crispin; the silver-threaded leather of his Twilight Bronze armor caught the flickering light of the wall sconces. He felt the Sî'Nareus Soul-Reaper strapped to his back, a silent weight that seemed to harmonize with the rhythmic thrum of the Heart of Perseus.
Crispin entered a side parlor that was next to the Guildmaster's main office. High-level diplomacy was the purpose for which they designed this room; it featured vaulted ceilings and furniture carved from dark, gravity-etched walnut. A personal assistant, a young man in pristine gray robes, gestured toward a small table.
"Would you like tea or cookies, sir?"
His voice was soft, devoid of the condescension Crispin expected from the residents of the High Terraces.
Crispin shook his head. His mind, crowded with the fallout of the pits, prevented him from considering hospitality. He was about to decline when the heavy doors opened. Alric Vale stepped into the room. The Guildmaster's iron-and-shadow presence seemed to have softened, though his eyes remained as sharp as a forged blade.
"Yes, he would," Alric stated, taking the seat opposite Crispin. "I would as well. Mint and elderberry, I think, eh, Sî'Nareus?"
Crispin's mouth dropped open. The name hung in the air with the weight of a physical blow. Regulus glided from Crispin's shoulders, his liquid-metal body rippled in a stream of shifting chrome. The slime-long coiled in the center of the small table; his golden-ringed eyes fixed on Alric with an intensity that made the surrounding air vibrate.
The personal assistant bowed low and retreated, leaving the two men and the Sovereign entity in a sudden, heavy silence. Alric reached out; his fingers slid toward Regulus's chrome form.
"May I, little king?" Alric whispered.
Regulus let out a long, vibrating hiss. He tightened his coils, his scales hardening into a matte-iron lattice as he looked over his shoulder at Crispin, then back at the Guildmaster.
"You remember my unkind words?" He sounded as though he were speaking to himself. "Of course you would. A sovereign would remember a threat against a bond that he chose with his tamer."
The Guildmaster let out a weary sigh, the lines on his face deepening in the amber light.
"I owe you both an apology." His gaze shifted to meet Crispin's. "It is why I have asked you here. I am sorry for my words and my anger. While it is true you disobeyed a direct order of the Guild, you did something we thought was not possible. You forged a covenant with a Queen that time forgot—or has always seen as an enemy. Will you forgive my outburst, Sî'Nareus?"
Crispin's mind raced. He took a slow breath, trying to process the shift in the man who had threatened to strip his bond only hours ago. Recognizing his true name was a bridge he had not expected the Guild to cross.
"Why use that name now?" Crispin's voice was a level rasp. "For as long as I have been in Thalandir, the Guild has never acknowledged my past. You knew the whole time."
The attendant returned, carrying a silver tray with an ornate tea service. He set out the cream, sugar, and a plate of cookies with centers made of different, vibrant fruit jams. The assistant made sure everything was ready, bowed again, and hurried away as if escaping a storm front.
Regulus bounced over to Crispin on his short legs, nudging a cookie with his nose. Crispin managed a small chuckle. He held one out while Regulus assimilated it; his chrome surface rippled as he absorbed the sugar and dough.
Alric watched the process with fascination. "I always wished an emperor would be in my future," Alric admitted. "A different bond found me first."
Regulus made an odd, low-frequency hum. Crispin felt the vibration through their shared bond—a request for permission.
"Yes, it is okay, Regy. You can interact with him. I won't be upset."
Regulus rasped with a sound of metallic happiness. He lifted into the air and hovered over to Alric's side of the table with a fluid, haunting grace. He sat beside the Guildmaster and waited, his golden eyes fixed on the plate. Alric chuckled and complied, feeding the slime-long a cookie with orange jam in the center.
"How do you inform someone about such a legacy?" Alric asked, returning to Crispin's question. "Outside of knowing the history, how do you help tell an Aldyr who their people were a thousand years ago? It is a weight that can crush a young man before he finds his own feet."
Crispin took a drink of his tea; the mint and elderberry provided a grounding heat. He understood the logic, even if the silence of the Guild still stung.
"My father has told me you humbled my nephew and honored your bond to this glorious little king," Alric continued. He picked up a cookie with raspberry jam and held it out. Regulus's energy whiskers twitched before he ate it. The slime-long's chrome tongue lapped at Alric's tea. The old man laughed, delighted by the attention. "Aethereal Long?"
Crispin nodded. "We stumbled upon one feeding during training. It decided we needed to die for our error, so we had to protect ourselves."
"Outstanding blueprint," Alric remarked. "Has he earned buds yet?"
"Two," Crispin confirmed.
Alric fed Regulus another cookie before his expression turned serious. He leaned back, his hands resting on the edge of the table.
"There are things I wish to share, a request I wish to make, and an assignment I wish for us to discuss," Alric stated.
Regulus glided across the table and sprawled across Crispin's shoulders. His weight felt like a familiar, heavy anchor.
"First, this is something you will disclose to no other," Alric began. "After today's stunt in the pits, my father will give Lucien an ultimatum. On his next assignment, he must prove the connection and honor to his bond. If he fails, I will sever the connection between him and Ebony, expel him from the Guild, and reassign the dragon to someone worthy of him."
Crispin felt a surge of cold satisfaction, though he kept his face neutral. "I agree Ebony deserves someone who honors the bond, but why share this with me?"
Alric did not answer. He took a slow sip of his tea. "Now, my request of you. This covenant with the Queen of the Abyss. I want your acknowledgment that the Guild will decide when you use it."
Regulus's head snapped up, his chrome body glowing with a sudden, fierce light. He let out a long, sharp hiss that rattled the silverware on the table.
"No," Crispin said. His voice was level and hard. "Regulus agrees. It is he and I who honor her request after the summons. We will decide."
The Guildmaster's jaw flexed. The silence stretched between them, a battle of wills that vibrated through the Heart of Perseus.
"However," Crispin added, sensing the impasse. "I will agree that, unless something unfathomable occurs, I will consult you or the Elder prior to using it."
Alric let out a slow breath. "I can accept that."
He took another drink of his tea; his focus returned to the map on the main office desk visible through the open doorway.
"Now, you asked why I would tell you about Lucien's situation," Alric said. "One thing is clear to both the Elder and me. You are a tamer. Regardless of your failing your latest assignment, you are one of us. You will move forward with your training, and I speak to you as I would any of my tamers."
Crispin smiled. The coldness in his chest receded for the first time since he had entered the building. "Did you hear that, Regy?"
Regulus rubbed his energy whiskers against Crispin's cheek in a soft, melodic trill.
"The assignment," Alric continued, his tone turning clinical. "Lucien will be your partner."
Crispin's insides went cold. He thought of the sneer on Lucien's face and the way the boy had been willing to let Ebony die for his pride. He nodded.
"We have heard reports of rogue scouts from the Silver Empire," Alric explained. "They have been robbing travelers and making off with their belongings. Should you and Lucien find this to be true, you will bring those scouts to task. The Empire will not undermine Thalandir's independence."
Crispin's mind swam. The implication was clear. He received instructions to hunt and, if needed, eliminate members of the Elvish Empire. While he had battled the Feral and marine beasts, he had never once hurt a human or an elf. He understood that as a tamer, his duty was to protect Thalandir and its surrounding communities, yet the weight of the order felt staggering.
"I understand, sir."
Alric leaned forward; his tired eyes locked onto Crispin's with terrifying intensity.
"You decide Lucien's fate, Sî'Nareus. You've showed profound respect for our connections. It will be your decision whether he is worthy of honoring the bond with Ebony. He shall not know of this, nor will you tell him. We will meet when you return."
Crispin stood; the Soul-Reaper clicked against his armor. He looked at Alric, recognizing the trust—and the burden—the Guildmaster had just handed him. One thing was obvious; regardless of whether anyone said anything, he would decide about his bully, and that decision would carry as much weight as the choice itself.