Page 33 of Aryn

“That’s… a long way,” Cato mumbles as he studies the terrain.

“Several hundred miles,” I confirm as I follow his finger along the paper.

“Why there?” Taryn asks.

Ronan glances up at her like the answer is obvious, but instead of getting short with her, he gestures at a few of the other cities on the map. “This area has always been the most populated, and Lyravelle is the capital. It’s home of the Vaelor.”

“Vaelor?” Cato repeats, wrinkling his nose.

“The hierarchy works differently here than anything you’re used to,” I explain.

Cato snorts a laugh. “The only hierarchy we’re used to is martial law.”

“Dictatorships,” Cameron adds, “with a focus on the dick.”

I give them both a conceding nod. “True. In Elyra, the Vaelor is the highest power in the land.”

“Like a king or queen?” Lillith asks.

“Exactly. We’d be here all day if I went into every detail, but local leaders handle most of the day-to-day stuff. Each village, town, and city has its own ruler who sets and enforces their own laws, controls their own guards and militia, and runs their own markets. They’re generally left alone unless the Vaelor feels the need to step in.”

“What about people living outside the cities?” Cameron asks. “Homesteaders and the like?”

I shrug. “As long as they’re not causing harm, they’re left alone.”

“Must be nice,” he mutters.

Cato purses his lips as he studies the area around the capital. “So what does the Vaelor actually do, then?”

“More than anything? They’re a figurehead. They set policy, and most local leaders follow their example. If the Vaelor imposes a tax on merchants, the towns usually follow suit. If they impose harsh punishment for violent crimes, so do the others.”

“Ahh,” Cameron breathes. “So if the Vaelor commits their military to help us, the others will likely fall in line.”

Ronan dips his chin in a proud nod. “Correct. And if they don’t…”

“We’re fucked,” Cameron finishes for him in a tone far too cheery to be authentic.

“How are they chosen?” Cato asks.

Ronan and I exchange a glance. “They aren’t chosen, necessarily,” I explain. “Usually, a Vaelor takes the seat by force when the previous one is killed or overthrown.”

“Damn,” Cato mutters. “So they rule until someone stronger comes and takes it from them?”

“More or less,” I confirm.

“So we need the Vaelor on our side,” Cato says thoughtfully. “What happens if we get there and they’re bad?”

“Or what if there’s not even a city left?” Cameron adds. “What if the Vaelor is on the other side of the world?”

“Then we adjust,” Ronan answers with a shrug.

Cameron scowls at him. “That’s wonderfully vague.”

Ronan lets out a soft scoff. “Mo’sziv, we’re in a place where none of us have stepped foot in almost a century. We’re working on instinct alone.”

“Your mate is right,” I confirm. “While I would love nothing more than a concrete plan with set expectations, it isn’t possible.”

I lean into the map, catching a faint whiff of Cato’s scent and becoming hyper-aware of his solid presence looming beside me. My fingertip traces a winding path that heads northwest, skirting the edges of the mountains. “This is the path we need to follow.”