That explained her sudden shift in attitude. Leave it to him to botch things. “Our duties as paladins,” he had said, despite Keles publicly shedding her title at the forsaking ceremony. He pretended not to notice, and instead tried to inject a bit of cheer back into the conversation.

“You’d have learned,” he said. “Like all my talents, you would surpass them with time and training. I remember your schooling. You were a true natural with the blade.”

“Only because you thrust a sword into my hand before I was even walking.”

Rayan laughed. She was only partially exaggerating. By the time she was three, he’d begun sparring with her using wooden sticks, though if it had been his idea or hers, he could not truthfully remember. He held the tea closer to his mouth, not to drink, only to soak in the oceanic smell.

“Our family has faithfully served and protected the throne of Vallessau for four hundred years. Forgive an old man for being excited to have his niece follow in those footsteps.”

“Magus of Eldrid now sits on said throne. Shall I march to the castle and offer up my sword? I’d hate to betray tradition, after all.”

The bitterness in her words far exceeded the bitterness of his tea. Rayan had to pause a moment to prevent himself from responding in anger. He didn’t want to spoil the mood with a fight, but neither would he allow such an insult to go unchallenged.

“Prince Cyrus carries royal blood in his veins, and holds within him the promise of his parents’ legacy. Do not belittle his responsibilities, nor our family’s history. The vows we swore, we have honored for hundreds of years since the end of the War of Tides. Nothing, not even the Everlorn Empire, can take away that honor.”

“Honor. Vows. A lot of heavy, meaningful words, but what good do they do us now? Words won’t cast out the empire’s boats from our harbor. They won’t put the Lythan family back on the throne.”

“The tides have changed,” Rayan said, determined to banish the despair his niece so often exhibited. “Regent Goldleaf now resides in the Heldeep, and may Dagon crunch on his bones each and every morning. We’ve slain priests and paragons. After years of darkness, daylight rises, and that is why they strike harder at us. They’re afraid. We must bleed a little bit more, but peace shall come.”

“Peace,” Keles said. “Would that I could believe you, Uncle. I fail to see its promise.”

“With Lycaena’s aid, all things are possible.”