Prologue

Lumina finished the last ten of the two hundred and fifteen outworlders humans were capable of summoning from their worlds before returning her attention to her son. Considered, the other kingdoms referred to them as demons, but not the house of Elzcrid. It was a mistake they would never be caught dead making.

Kilvic, her son, began two breath-spans after she had mentioned the last with no order to how he mentioned them. On a few occasions his lessons required he call them by order of their strengths, on other occasions he would be required to call them according to the terrains for which they are best suited. This was no such occasion. Having already mentioned all twelve kingdoms beyond the mountains and the names of the oceans and seas and forests and the outworlders that served as their guardians amongst other lessons of the likes of arithmetic, geography, even the basics of human and outworld medicine and anatomy, this was to be his last lesson of the day.

The boy finished the litany with enough breaths to spare before the buzz of the midday reminder.

“Okay, child,” she told him, rising from her seat as he did his. “Time for your next lesson.”

There was a twitch to the boy’s lips as he arranged his books while she simply watched and waited. When his books were properly stacked, he gave her a brief hug, not bothering with the task of infusing it with any affection, then turned and headed towards the dungeons where his next lesson would hold. A lesson to which she was not his instructor.

As she watched him walk away she nodded at his mastery of the illusion of concealed expressions. The slight tick when given a task he did not like was an expression he’d began displaying two years ago, a few months after he’d turned eleven, on the birthday of his grandmother. And she knew it for what it was: a birthday gift.

As the boy proceeded down the stairs, disappearing from sight, Lumina turned and made her way into the passageway. In moments, one of the servants would be along to return the books to where they belonged just as they always brought the required books when they were asked for.

Two years after the boy’s birth she had opened communications with all twelve kingdoms. It had taken her five years before she had successfully convinced nine of them to open trades with her. While those kingdoms had taken so long to come to an agreement had been for the simple purpose of trying to learn what nefarious motives she had hidden away for making such a request, it was understandable. She couldn’t blame them for their skepticism; she was the first and only one in the eight-hundred-year rule of her family over the Grey castle whose reign spread to every inch of the forests and lakes of mount Trenon who’d made such a request. However, her understanding of their reaction did not stop her from imprisoning every spy each kingdom sent into her lands.

She always found it a pointless reason to sacrifice so many souls. If they had asked, she might have told them her reason for such a decision. Simply put, she needed her son to possess as much knowledge as he could about the kingdoms beyond the mountain. And only when the first three kingdoms had accepted to deal with castle Grey did she reveal to them her family’s possession of more than three mines holding more Nilhium crystals than they were in need of.

Unsurprisingly, the kingdoms had pounced on the opportunity, drawing up a renewed contract in which they were willing to offer more than they had given in the previous contracts in exchange that possession of the crystals be added to the deal. This had posed no problem to her. The truth was simple, a single Nilhium crystal was more crystal than her family was in need of. Mount Trenon was already rich in the crystals and eight hundred years untouched had done more than enough to hoard enough supplies that if she had agreed to the same deal to supply all twelve kingdoms with the fixed ration of the crystals—which she did not—there would be enough left to supply another twelve.

The clause she added was a supply of prisoners who faced the capital punishment of the death penalty to be given to her whenever she asked: to work the mines. Only the truly malicious of the worst of society was acceptable. Her reason for such was that it was the only kind of labor her mother would allow with little complaint when she found out, amongst other things.

The kingdoms no doubt took the liberty of adding spies to each supply. A complete waste of human time and life. Mages were required to mine the crystals, and so there was no short supply of outworld creatures of varying kinds. So far, she had used their summoning skills to educate Kilvic practically on one hundred and seventy-two of the outworlders available to other kingdoms. It had taken more toll on the mages, as she had expected. After all, the fact that they were available to all mages did not mean they were achievable to all mages.

The children, both mages and not, most of whom she’d purchased from slave peddlers, lived hidden away in the castle, and till this day her mother had refused to believe the luxury they lived in was without ulterior motive, and her reason for keeping them being to aid the boy in his study of human relationship amongst children. Again, this, too, remained amongst other things.

Taking three turns down the hall, Lumina inevitably ran into Lady Jenis of the house of Elzcrid, her father’s wife, and her mother.

“Ah, Mina,” her mother beamed. “How are you this afternoon?”

“Fine, mother,” she answered with her practiced smile of mild pleasure, one she’d spent her life perfecting. “I hope you aren’t giving Derias a tough time today?”

When her mother’s gaze dropped away from hers momentarily, she knew she would have to have words with the castle’s head butler, and a few others.

“I’ve told you that if you do not treat him accordingly then I will be forced to arrange another to handle your affairs,” she chided, knowing her mother would not allow it.

“But he’s so easy to tease,” her mother complained.

“And I’m sure to him you are so easy to squish,” she returned. “But you don’t see him trying to squish you, now, do you?”

“Fine.”

For a woman past her sixth decade, Lady Jenis was often prone to childish displays. She was easily what was referred to as a good woman. The fact that she’d fallen in love with Lumina’s father was a testament to that… or a testament to a hint of severe naiveté somewhere in her blood. It didn’t matter. To Lumina, she would always be her mother, and her father’s wife.

On the case of Derias, her mother’s statement of being too easily teased was not misplaced. The butler had an aversion to all things kindness. He preferred his relationships void of any emotion and submitted to a deep level of indifference if it can be handled, which was almost impossible when it came to Lumina’s mother. Lady Jenis was prone to cooing and laughing, as well as a great level of politeness she claimed was common within the kingdom of Liines where she had been born and raised. Thirty-three years now, within the castle, and she showed no signs of shedding such behavior.

But the reason she kept Derias in her employ whenever he could spare the time was for his eloquence and penmanship. She enjoyed engaging him in discussions of the current affairs of things beyond the mountains and the politics of the outworlds. It was the major way she kept up to date with affairs of all worlds. As for his penmanship, she employed it for writing letters for which she replied ladies of the courts of the other kingdoms. It was the one benefit she had gained from Lumina’s trade deals: more ladies of court to gossip with in her letters.

The letters she wrote to her childhood friends in Liines she penned in her own hand, though. She was the daughter of a stable master, and thus, her friends were women and men of no great import save one man who was said to have risen to a role of import within her kingdom’s military. Lumina had met a few of her mother’s friends. As a child she had often followed her mother on her visitations to said friends with instructions from her father to obey her mother’s every word which, in truth, hadn’t been of any difficulty. A few of her mother’s friends turned out to have attained the office of mages while a few fell to occupations akin to her father’s. All in all, they were what was to be expected of her mother’s friends.

“How is Kilvic?”

Her mother’s question brought back her attention and she answered as cautiously as she could. “He’s alright.”

“And he’s studies?”

“They grow better by the year.”

Polite conversation. It was one of her mother’s penchants, and she always found she had no use for it within the castle walls. Still, she indulged it whenever it came. She couldn’t deny it had served its use during her years of negotiation with the kingdoms.

“And where is my only grandson now?” Jenis asked, hopeful, continuing a conversation that needed not be continued.

Lumina had always wondered why her mother often asked obvious questions. Her father had once told her it was a part of polite conversations, and such questions were a sign to serve as a reminder that she hadn’t forgotten whomever served as the focus of those questions. So, for now, she indulged her mother.

“He’s having his midday lessons in the dungeon.”

Her mother grimaced at the answer.

Why ask when you know you won’t like the answer? Lumina thought, reminding herself that this was one of the thoughts that should not be given voice in the presence of her mother.

Her father had taught her well in the ways of handling her mother. It was one of few things she could hold gratitude for.

“Where is father?” she asked instead, steering the topic as her mother had so often taught her to.

“In his study.”

“Perhaps I will go and speak with him,” she offered. She took her leave immediately. If she was quick enough there would be no further conversation. The she doubted her mother would seek out more. Lady Jenis was a good mother but their relationship was shallow, at best. The woman preferred the boy to her. Lumina did not mind it. She had also noticed it was a commonality with women aged as her mother to find some comfort in the presence of children unaged, like her son.

As she moved she could sense her mother's attempt to find a way to bring up the manner of Kilvic’s studies and the possibility of dropping some of his lessons. After all, it was a cause she had been fighting for since they had begun at his age of eight.

For as long as the boy had lived, Lady Jenis had made it her duty to raise the boy in the manner with which she had raised Lumina, teaching the nature of love and kindness, setting him up with lessons on how to play the instruments and tales of the Almadan poets of both old and new. Apparently, the woman had deemed her attempt at training Lumina a failure and sought success in Kilvic. Sometimes it was as if she’d forgotten the one thing that counted; Kilvic wasn’t her son. And while Lumina didn’t believe her love for him as unconditional as the one Lady Jenis had always lectured her was the nature of any mother, it was still as vast as her instincts demanded it be.

It wasn’t long before she came to her father’s study. The room was closed off by a simple wooden door made from an ancient tree, two hundred years old at the time the wood had been extracted. This gave it more of an intrinsic grace than most. She gave a three-beat-knock before opening it, felt the power as it coursed through her veins and leave a tremor in her being, and stepped inside to find her father’s head bent over a book.

“Would you tell mother to stop causing Derias so much discomfort?” she requested without preamble.

Her father, Doranon Elzrcrid, former ruler of castle Grey, raised his head to meet her, thought on her request, nodded once, and returned to whatever it was he was studying.

“Would you also convince her to cease her request into the matters concerning my son’s lessons,” she added.

This time her father watched her a moment longer, reminding her of his own opinion of the boy’s lesson. “I will speak to your mother,” he answered briefly.

While Jenis found the second half of the boy’s studies, consisting mostly of physical knowledge unbecoming, her father found the first quarter consisting mostly of information, politics and practicals, completely unnecessary. But unlike her mother who constantly voiced her opinions, her father had only voiced his twice in the five years since its beginning.

Contrary to what both parents thought, Lumina never doubted the necessity of both halves. As a child, her mother had often cried for her lack of affection. And to appease his wife out of a sense of duty, her father had taught her the concept of human behavior, from all the emotions to how they were expressed and when they were meant to be incited. Then he had set her on her mother for the remainder of her life to practice. It had served to maintain a smile on her mother’s face, if anything.

“How goes the boy’s lessons?” Doranon asked as Lumina made her exit.

Knowing her father’s inquiry to be one of genuine curiosity, she answered honestly. “He gets better by the day. Sadly, his prowess lies in a nature of originality than imitation. He learns better from figuring things out than from being taught. But at least he’s learned to absorb the things he reads.”

Doranon nodded once more, brief and final, and Lumina made her exit.

While the first half of Kilvic’s lessons involved studying till the noon buzz, the second half had him spend what remained of his day in the dungeons. There he stumbled through the various things she felt were necessary for his survival should he one day find himself beyond the castle. Considering his father whom she’d met in her twenty third year, a drunkard she’d saved from a tavern brawl during her trip to the kingdom of Zeldric, the man who’d impregnated her unknowingly, had succumbed to death at the hands of an outworld creature of rogue bandits amongst whom were at least three mages of the seven men, she left no lesson untaught. And when the time came, others would teach him more than she ever could. This, she was making sure of.

She’d only known her son’s father for a month, and while she’d chosen to name her child with a name native to the man’s kingdom, she’d merged it with a mix of a chosen outworld name. So while his father had been a simple man named Ric, his son was Kilvic Elzcrid. And as he grows, just as had been the case with her and her father and all those in their bloodline preceding them, so would his name.

It was why the first thing she’d taught him, just as her father had taught her, was the importance of names. Their names weren’t just titles, they were honors, and much more. They were as much them as the limbs they existed with. Perhaps more so.

A child’s scream echoed through the palace walls, piercing through everything, bouncing off every wall, and Lumina hurried to her room; the one place where her mother would not enter to find her without permission. It didn’t matter that the scream was not Kilvic’s, her mother would demand to know why one of the children was screaming in such pain, even if she was expressly forbidden from seeing them.

Lumina’s main aim for her son within the past years had been to educate him in as many things as were within her reach and skill. The next two years would be to ensure her son, Eliopiskilvicraniaq, would be capable of passing amongst his fellow humans as one not burdened by what others would see as a curse. This curse for them, however, was a sign of the house of Elzcrid, it was a sign of what they were. The lack of basic emotions was what it was to be Elzcrid.

Laying in the comfort of her bed, Niflinhiemluminarvkadrilnezhu Elzcrid was the undoubted queen of castle Grey. And only two differences existing between her and the queens of other kingdoms were worth noting.

One, her rule over her kingdom was nigh absolute and only her father was capable of overturning her decisions, which he never cared to.

The other was one of greater disturbance should the rest of the world come to learn of it. For none of her many subjects was human.