Nine chairs surrounded a circular table that looked as if it had been shaped and carved from the ground itself. The entire room was chilled until torches were brought in to light the wall sconces. Senea looked around until Lord Snowthorne guided her towards the largest chair on the furthest side of the door. Sitting, she waited until Magnar came beside her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other grasping his scabbard steady.
Lady Elika came fluttering in next, Ylva being dragged behind her. Zephyr was ushered in, glancing around like a lost child until he was forcibly seated at the table. Lord Snowthorne sat next to him, nodding his head as he waved his hand in for the rest of the people to come in. Sir Hector, Sir Orwen, Sir Lement, Lady Mala, Sir Braund, and even Allard had made their way in, all but the young Lord finding a seat at the table.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lady Mala cut right to the chase, eyes searching amongst the people seated. "A Council meeting called just as we are about to leave?"
"In due time, Lady Mala," Lord Snowthorne said as he lifted a hand. "My messengers are bringing the concerning news as we speak."
Sir Hector huffed and adjusted his cloak, tightening it around his shoulders. Sir Lement fidgeted and turned the moment he heard the echoing footsteps coming from the hall. Lord Snowthorne stood, nodding once at the guards so that they could open the doors wide.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the five men and women who came in, each one having a bundle of missives and scrolls in their arms. Carefully, they placed them on the table, pushing them towards the center they best could.
"Over the night and into the morning, these have come in. They are from all across Itod; every city, every town, even a few remote villages have sent hawks to us." Lady Mala reached towards one, a bluish grey wax seal broken on the edge. "Draithes have been attacking in droves."
There was a hushed quiet amongst them, no one even daring to breathe. Senea's gaze shot over to Ylva, worry lines surrounding her face. Ylva looked back, just as confused as the rest of them.
"I wouldn't normally call a council meeting for such a matter, but the fact that it has occurred during a festival time brings fear to my heart." Lord Snowthorne nodded towards them, adjusting himself in his chair.
"All of the cities have been attacked?" Sir Braund questioned, three of the messages in front of him with a blood red wax seal on each one. "Why?"
"How is the better question," Sir Orwen responded. "We've been reporting nothing but drops in the creatures and to have all of them attack at once?"
Zephir glanced around, pushing his chair out, the scraping against stone causing each one to look at him. "I believe I shouldn't be here."
"You stand for your brother, Zephir. Don't think that Yasdenia wasn't attacked."
Senea looked at Zephir, watching as he reached into the pile, pulling out a single parchment paper with a golden wax seal. He scanned the letter, and glanced back up at Lord Snowthorne before pulling back in his chair.
Her throat tightened as she stood, glancing around at each of the people in the room. "How many Draithes?"
"Hundreds, assuming by the amount of towns hit. Possibly thousands, your grace," Lord Snowthorne reported. He heaved a sigh and threw one of the missives closest to him back into the center of the pile. "I want to know how we can stop this from happening."
Ylva stepped forward, just beside Magnar, as she glanced at the table. "Queen Senea," she said, her voice barely able to rise up to a normal speaking level. "I want to tell them."
Senea felt her body stiffen at the words. She moved in front of the ex Magi, fingers digging into her arms as she held the woman. "Are you sure?" Once Ylva nodded, Senea turned back towards the group, all of them watching. "In that case, what you're all about to hear may put some concern in each of you." Senea moved back towards her seat, fingers tapping against the stone table. "But I trust Ylva. I've trusted her since she first came here and I will continue to trust her no matter what any of you say. She is safe here, and I want your word that she will continue being safe."
Each one of them, minus Zephir, smacked their knuckles against the stone. Senea looked around, brows furrowed until Lord Snowthorne shifted in his seat. "That means we accept your order."
"Oh!" Zephir reached forward, his knuckles knocking on the table as well.
Senea sat down, fingers curled against the fabric of her dress, watching Ylva step even closer. "I was a Magi under the Prophet."
The silence was thick and heavy, anger emitting off of each one of the council members minus the ones who already knew. "Traitor," Lady Mala hissed. "Why should we trust you?"
Ylva held up both hands, pointing to the one that had the scar. "Queen Senea healed me. Months ago. The Mark of Dal is gone and the Prophet has no link to me anymore."
"She has been more than willing to release information regarding the Prophet and his armies. Ylva has been a trusting friend and a great asset to our cause," Senea said, leaning forward towards the end.
"What do you know of Draithes?" Lord Snowthorne asked, gesturing back towards Ylva. "And what can we do to protect the people?"
Ylva licked her lips, wracking her mind with what she could possibly tell them. "They are created through killing. When a Magi who has been given the Mark of Dal kills another person, the mark absorbs the soul of the person. The spirit, if you will. All things that make us, us. It gives us a closer step towards Dal, each death another scar on our bodies." She shook her head to stop her entire body from quaking. "What's left is a husk. A person with no light, a person with only hatred and anger fueling their desires. According to the Prophet, Dal has shaped them to be an image of himself."
"So how has there been an increase?" Sir Orwen straightened himself in the seat, both hands resting on the table.
"The Prophet must be killing those who are trapped in the Circle of Magi. Slaves and workers and possibly even the weaker Magi."
"And how do we kill the Draithes?" Sir Lement asked.
Ylva was flustered, her chest rising and falling, memories of her killing innocent people flooding her mind. She looked up, eyes brimmed with hot tears, surveying each person. "The Queen can kill them with her magic. Other Magi can weaken them, slow them even, but couldn't possibly kill them. Commander Snowthorne's sword, or any weapon forged in the Eternal Flame."
Sir Braund tossed one of his papers away from him, leaning back in his chair. "There has to be another way."
"The Tear," Zephir whispered. "There is a reason that Yasdenia rarely gets Draithes. Our waters are blessed with the Tear. They cannot cross it. I've heard rumors of them, well, melting when splashed with it. But I have never seen that happen."
Lord Snowthorne adjusted himself in his seat, shaking his head the entire time. Ylva stepped closer to the table, both hands supporting her as she leaned against it, "The Divine. There is, or was, a Magi who had cast a spell on Rosewater, the air around the town tied to a single bush, protecting it from any Draithe or even anyone with the Mark of Dal from entering."
"You're saying that Sir Willard had the Divine?" Magnar stepped forward, hand against Ylva's shoulder. "And that's why he was able to cast that spell?"
Lord Snowthorne gestured for one of the guards to come over to him. "Send your best men to Sir Willard's old room. Search everything. Go through storage and bring everything that could possibly be it to my chambers. It would be small, a jeweled pendant of sorts."
Something clicked in Senea's mind, but before she could even say a word, Lady Elika stepped up on the other side of her. "The Blessing." All eyes turned to her, her hand shaking as she tried to steady herself against Senea's chair. "The Bord have the Blessing. The Archon keeps it hidden."
Lady Mala shifted in her seat, head going back and forth in disbelief. "None of this helps us. Getting the materials that can withstand the Eternal Flame will take weeks. Spreading the Tear from town to town will take weeks. Who knows if the Divine was burned with Sir Willard! And the Bords have become more secluded than usual. Minus sending our Queen out to kill every single Draithe, our hands are bound."
"You could force curfews like we do in Pryston." Allard moved towards the table from behind his father, fingers dragging his hair back as he tried to process all of the information. "Flame torches along the entrances, along the roads?"
"What's to stop Magi from just tipping them over?" Zephir argued.
Ylva straightened her form, arms against her stomach as she hugged herself. "The Prophet doesn't have nearly enough Magi after the attack on Orriel, especially if there are hundreds of Draithes roaming around. He'd keep his most well trained students and most experienced Magi close to him. The Wolral are practically extinct, but given the chance, they can breed like rabbits."
"Increase the flames on smaller towns. Every home, every business, every entry point should have them. A curfew would be a good idea." Senea bit at her thumb, her mind trying to contemplate every situation. "The main concern is protecting the people. Could we start militias?"
"Raising a militia will lead to panic, your grace. Double the starting fee for any new soldier willing to join the King's Army," Lord Snowthorne nodded towards the rest of the council members as he spoke, all of them nodding in return except for Lady Mala.
"And how do you expect to have all of us double the fees?"
Senea wanted to argue back to Lady Mala, but before she even could think of words to form, Allard jumped at the opportunity. "Sacrifices will have to be made, Lady Mala. Queen Senea is right that the protection of our people is the priority. If you're willing to sacrifice your people just so your precious," he spat the word out like a sick poison that was on his tongue, "gown collection can continue to grow, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that a new Council member will need to be voted in."
Lady Mala stood, her fingers curled like a cat ready to pounce. "You are not even a member of this Council, Lord Braund. Your voice holds no weight here."
"My son speaks the truth, and you know it! You clutch to your own skirts more than you care for your declining city!"
Lord Snowthorne sank in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sir Orwen scoffed and pointed a finger at Lady Mala. "As much as I hate to agree with the boy, it's true."
On and on it went, each of them trying to yell over the other. Sir Lement bickered back about how it was nobodies business but Lady Mala's on how she helped run the city she represented. Sir Hector snorted and plugged his good ear, shaking his head. Senea stood, her right hand smashing down on the table with a resounding and magical crash, a crack in the stone table appearing just under her hand.
"Enough!"
Startled by her own strength, her own booming voice, she shrank back into the chair as everyone watched her. Magnar stood a step closer towards where Senea sat, hand still holding his sword and ready to attack.
"I am not asking for a vote, or for you to accept it. I am telling you, as your Queen, to make sure that your city can take in those that need refuge. That your city is prepared for the worst." One by one, the Council members nodded. "Now, that takes care of short term. I suggest you all leave at once to make sure your area is alright."
"And long term?" Sir Orwen asked, arms crossed against his chest with a smile on his face.
Senea breathed in deep, exhaling in one long breath. "I've yet to get that part figured out fully."