Page 114 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

“You know who I am?”

He gave me a look of disdain. “I can smell a Castemont Obscur even dead. Now, I ask both of Your Majesties. Why are you here?”

Snow reached closer to him. “We need your help.”

He grunted in disapproval. “Of course you do. Come in,” he said, stomping toward his house. “I have a feeling I might need a cup of tea for this.”

“What is your origin, if I might ask?” Snow asked, quickly following him inside.

“My mother was a Lyran Empath and my father a Dark Crafter from Heca,” he explained, lowering his bow and arrows at the door, eyeing my brother and Cai still holding a hand on their sword hilts as he did so.

The house was small for such a big man. He had to hunch under the low arches of the doors and ceiling posts. The inside was well lit and warm, with all sorts of dried garni hanging from the walls that had given the space a soft homely scent. There were animal skin rugs scattered all over and a small bubbling fireplace. Everything looked handmade, from the pots and pans to the tables, bed and chairs.

“Fascinating,” Snow said, plopping on a wooden bench as Oryn went to fill a pot with water to place over the fading coals of his fireplace.

He huffed, glancing at her with some amusement. “It is one thing to be a spiritual Ybris and another to be an elemental. I can channel most of my mana onto the ever flow of the spiritual, but you,” he stopped to shake his head, “to bear all the physicality of it even with a seal there has to be a price to it.” He stirred the coals with a fire poker, the smell of herbs beginning to fill the cold air of the room. “When I was working to create the seals, I never succeeded in placing one on an elemental.”

“You created these seals?” I asked, taking position behind Snow.

He nodded. “Seems like aeons ago now, but I did—I tried. Along with another priest whom the Adriatians chased out of this kingdom. There was an opportunity for us to live—normally. But your kind thought it best that we didn’t at all. Fairy tales, sacred books and all dictated that we never would.” He brought two metal cups to the table, pouring the bitter-smelling tea and handing it to us before handing two others to my brother and Caiden. “Sit, my king. I won’t hurt her.”

I slid to the seat next to Snow and Memphis uncurled from her bonded to rest her cold form on my lap.

Oryn glanced at the motion of the morph shortly before turning to ask Snow, “Who crafted your seal?”

“Lysander Delcour.”

He was stunned still. “A Delcour? That explains it. He must have used gods markings, that would hold the seal sturdy. But that also might be the oddest thing I’ve heard today. Odder than a visit from an Elding Queen and a Night King. A Delcour would never agree to such a thing. Their tradition and beloved faith in their god borders between fanaticism and blindness.”

Snow sipped her tea, her nose wrinkling a bit at the taste, but she didn’t put it down. “Lysander was a bastard born, but one more capable than any of their best Crafters. His belief was more modern than most. When he started working for my grandfather—”

“Jonah, I remember him,” Oryn said, nodding. “He always had a fancy for exploring new talent.”

“He did,” Snow agreed. “It gave Lysander the chance to experiment with this magic.”

“Hm,” Oryn hummed, taking a seat. His gaze traced the movement of my hand over the morph’s head. “Her bonded trusts you.”

“My bonded is a clingy little thing,” Snow was quick to answer.

Oryn raised a bushy brow. “And if I were to touch her, would she cling to me as well?”

Snow nodded. “Yes, with her fangs. You are still a stranger to her.”

He rumbled with laughter. “Would it be so awful to admit that he is your lover?”

Snow coughed on her sip of tea and so did the other two behind us. “He is not a lover.”

“Seems like it to me.”

My wife ran a sleeve over her mouth. “He killed my mother, almost killed me and my siblings.”

Oryn’s eyes almost bulged out. Then Snow finished the rest of her story and Oryn listened with fascination. Till fascination turned to horror.

“Your father, a Krigborn king, is assembling the Octa Virga?” he asked, his brows furrowed with more worry than confusion.

She nodded. “He is.”

“And you wish to find these pieces for yourself to stop him?”