Chapter 42: Chapter 42: The Youngest Was Ten
The Aeonian court was loud even when it was being quiet about it.
It wasn’t the noise of a human court, the murmur of attendants, the shuffle of ceremony.
The Aeonian court’s noise was the noise of three dozen beings whose physical presence was simply larger than the human equivalent, whose breathing was deeper, whose movements carried more air.
The grand council chamber had been built to accommodate it: high ceilings, wide doors, furniture scaled for frames that ran taller and broader than human proportions.
The three figures at the head of the council were each, in their own way, immediately striking.
The woman on the left had the posture and colouring of a tiger given human form, amber-gold eyes with a quality of absolute, patient attention, orange-brown hair with dark stripes at the temples, tall and lean and carrying the particular stillness of something that was only ever still when it had decided to be.
She sat with her hands flat on the table and said nothing, which in her case communicated more than most people’s speeches.
The man in the centre was built on a different scale entirely.
Broad across the shoulders in a way that made the chair look small.
A thick mane of dark gold hair that had been left loose, framing a face that was wide and angular, with amber eyes lighter than the woman’s and an expression that managed to be both dignified and genuinely, visibly furious without moving a muscle.
The Lionkin were not, as a rule, people who needed to raise their voices.
They simply were, and they were very loudly.
The man on the right was the only one who wasn’t still.
He had dark fur at the backs of his hands where the transformation bled through into the human form, nearly black, against skin that was dark and warm-toned.
Dark eyes, almost black themselves, that moved fast and sharp and didn’t settle.
He was leaning forward in his chair with the quality of someone who was containing something and not particularly enjoying containing it.
Dark hair, almost blue-black at the ends.
A jaw that had been working since the messenger finished speaking.
The Foxkin’s fingers pressed flat against the table.
"Say it again," he said.
The messenger looked like he would rather be somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
"Third prince of Winterfang," the messenger said carefully.
"Age five. Mana Core confirmed during shadow bond formation. King Alessio announced it formally at court. The bonding record—"
"I heard you the first time." The Foxkin’s voice was very controlled.
Very flat.
The specific flatness of something extremely hot that had been brought down to temperature by effort rather than absence of heat.
"I wanted to make sure I wasn’t misunderstanding something." His dark eyes moved to the man in the centre.
"A human. Five years old. A Mana Core."
The Lionkin made a sound low in his chest that wasn’t a word.
"I want eyes on this," the tiger woman said.
Her voice was quieter than either of theirs.
That didn’t make it less certain.
"Before anyone decides anything, I want someone we trust standing in that palace confirming it firsthand."
"Agreed," the Lionkin said.
The Foxkin pushed back from the table.
He stood.
He walked to the window.
The view from the Aeonian council chamber was the open sky over their territory, the wide, sun-warmed plains that rolled south for three hundred miles, beautiful in the way of something that had been exactly itself for as long as anyone could remember.
He looked at it for a moment.
"The youngest in our records was ten," he said.
"Among all races. Ten years old." He turned back.
His dark eyes were very steady and very cold. "The humans, who have no fixed affinity, no racial attunement advantage, have just produced a five year old Core formation." He paused.
"And we’re talking about sending someone to confirm it rather than acknowledging what it means."
"We’re sending someone to confirm it," the tiger woman said, "because we don’t make decisions on rumours. Even convincing ones."
"This isn’t a rumour. It came from the King’s own announcement."
"Then the confirmation will be fast and we’ll know for certain." Her amber eyes were patient. "And then we’ll think about what it means."
The Foxkin looked at her for a long moment.
He sat back down.
"Fine," he said.
"Send someone." His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"But when they come back and tell us it’s real, and if it is, I want this council to understand that we are looking at something we have never looked at before. And whatever that thing becomes..." He paused.
"We should decide now whether we want to be looking at it from a distance or from much, much closer."
No one answered.
The envoys were dispatched before the hour was out.
All three delegations.
Moving fast.
Toward Winterfang.
Toward a five year old boy who was sitting in his new room with no idea that half the continent had just looked up.
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