Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 80: 78: When The Iron Is Hot

Read chapter 80 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

78: When The Iron Is Hot I am Lord Icarus Cromwell, age fifty-one, and my kingdom stands on a precipice. One misstep, and I could lose everything. The early morning leaves my study in an eerie stillness, the only movement my restless heel tapping. The only sound is the rustle of parchment as I flip through the reports scattered haphazardly across my desk. Eighty days’ worth of letters detailing the whereabouts and activities of one Ren Drakemore and his fae guardian. My eyes scour them with manic urgency, desperate for something, anything I can exploit. Yesterday’s report rambles about potion supplies running low and the possibility that the boy may have stolen a foxkin child. “Useless,” I mutter, crushing the parchment in my hand before tossing it across the room. Curses. There has to be a way. Some other way than summoning that damn monster again. My heart thunders in my chest, threatening to leap free as I clutch my head in my hands. The day that fool Fobos first summoned the fae queen shook me to my core. Such power. Such bloodthirsty malice. I have never felt anything like it. I know we need to destroy Willow and that boy to protect the kingdom. That much I am certain. But still, a fearful voice cries out from deep within my soul, warning that we are about to unleash something far worse upon our lands and desecrate our most holy temple in the process. But we will not need to… not if I can find another way to deal with Willow and the boy before Fobos gathers the necessary sacrifice. I steady my breathing. This is not the time to lose my nerve. There is still time, and I cannot waste it trembling over what might be. My gaze drops to the scattered reports on my desk. Each one comes from our spies watching the boy in Hyperion: The Eyes of Arcadia. Agents trained in covert magecraft, loaned to me by Lord Ristrose. My eyes drift toward the door. Every morning I rise early and wait for the agent to deliver the previous day’s report. They are my last desperate lifeline, and my chest tightens with hope that the next one will bring salvation. Day after day, that hope is crushed by useless accounts of the boy working as a healer or a farmer, always under the protection of Willow or his hired adventurers. Even when I thought I had him, finally far enough from Willow to make our move, we still failed. That female adventurer was far more capable than I expected, and Willow came to his aid far faster than I thought possible. A heavy rapping sounds at my study door. I look up, a flicker of anticipation stirring in my chest. Before I can answer, the door swings open, and that faint hope dies as Dax strides in, jaw clenched, his boots striking the floor harder than necessary. “I’m beginning to think you don’t understand the concept of a closed door, Dax,” I say, my disappointment sharpening my tone. “Why haven’t you dealt with that ruddy boy yet?” Dax demands, fuming. “Watch your tone, ex-baron of Hyperion,” I reply, my eyes narrowing. Dax stiffens, his posture shifting as he reins himself in. “I may have offered you a room while I solve your problems, but that is not an invitation to barge into my study whenever you please.” Dax takes a calming breath, then continues in a forced, respectful tone, dipping his head slightly. “I am simply wondering what is taking so long. I agreed to get your men into Hyperion because you said they would deal with the fake prince.” “Your guy did do something at Briarhollow, and how did that turn out?” I reply flatly. “There is no use acting when he is so well protected.” “He’s a menace,” Dax says, shaking with frustration. “He must’ve bewitched the king, he gives the boy anything he wants and lets him do as he pleases.” His voice rises, trembling with anger. “He’s ruined me. Had my title stripped from me and threw me out a window.” “Yes, yes, I know,” I groan, rolling my eyes, as a faint tapping sounds at the door. We both turn toward it. For a moment, the world seems to still, our eyes locked on the door. M