by Coco Ma
Luna choked in a mouthful of water, lungs seizing and muscles convulsing. Her heart thudded in her ears. Swim, damn it. Fuzziness crept into the corners of her vision. Dark cocoons of shadows arced toward her from the lake bottom like ink spilling across parchment, and she felt their cold wetness slithering up her legs in ribbons of silk. From the cocoons emerged black butterflies, their wings slicing through the water.
Her friends were nowhere in sight.
No one would save her.
Come to us, the shadows whispered. The butterflies forced her arms open in embrace. We are yours, and you are ours.
When they attacked, her mouth opened in an agonized scream no one would hear. Her skin stretched, her bones compressed and shifted. Pain was all she knew.
Then in her mind, she saw Asterin on her knees, fighting the yellow-eyed demon with everything she had, willing to die to protect her and Rose.
For Asterin, she would try and hold on.
But it hurt, hurt so badly that Luna wondered if it was wrong for her to surrender. The darkness beckoned to her again. Come to us. We will be one and the same. Succumb, and we will make you remember.
Remember what? Luna thought.
And as though the words were an invitation, the shadows tightened their hold on her and dragged her into the oblivion below.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eadric dove straight to the bottom of the lake. Somewhere above him, he heard the muffled splooshes of the others entering the water. He kicked toward a cluster of green plants, thinking they would provide him cover in case Harry had been wrong and the dybrulé could swim. Only as something slimy latched onto his ankle and tugged did he realize his mistake. In the shadows, the plants looked like ordinary pondweed, but as they yanked him closer, he recognized them as mordrillia, a poisonous plant notorious for its hunting methods—drowning its prey by injecting paralyzing toxins through its minuscule needles. Cursing inwardly, he reached for his sword and slashed himself free, but he was far too slow. He grunted as the mordrillia’s teeth stung his calf, kicking away from the plant just as his limbs grew leaden and paralysis set in.
He wasn’t too concerned about the poison itself—mordrillia hunted small fish, not humans. The toxins would wear off in five or six minutes, though he hoped someone noticed his absence a little sooner.
He was holding both his skystone and his windstone, but he could only use the latter—his sky affinity was meant for controlling the weather and storms, and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally electrocute everyone. Without an air affinity, the best he could manage was summoning wind from above the surface to breathe. He channeled a tube through the deep water and sucked in the air, struggling to inhale as the toxins froze his body. Stay calm, he ordered himself even as his lungs demanded more oxygen.
This was the second time he had used this trick—the first was when he had jumped off a cliff on the coast of Cyejis to escape a pack of city guards. His father, a rigid, straitlaced lord of Cyeji who considered disobedience a crime, had enlisted an eight-year-old Eadric in boot camp to break his troublesome habits—stealing, mostly. Lord Covington had expected a disciplined son to return ready to shoulder the Covington inheritance, but instead Eadric had pickpocketed his commander’s affinity stone out of boredom. And if it hadn’t been for that pesky tracking charm cast upon the stone beforehand, he would totally have gotten away with it, too.
The city guards had dogged Eadric through the streets and cornered him on the cliff. So he did what any eight-year-old would have done to evade punishment—he plunged into the ocean. With the help of his breathing tube trick, he managed to stay there for hours. Unfortunately, when he finally resurfaced, the guards were waiting for him.
And it wasn’t just them.
He still remembered the gilded carriage parked on the side of the road. There had been a woman inside, clad from head-to-toe in the richest blue, an enormous feathered hat with a veil tipped low over her face.
After his commander shouted himself hoarse at Eadric—the usual you’re an utter disgrace to your family’s name, blah, blah—the guards shoved him inside the woman’s carriage, sopping wet.
“Who are you?” he had demanded, wiping the commander’s spittle off his face.
“I’ll ask the questions, Eadric,” she said in a voice of smoke and satin, unconcerned that he was ruining her silk cushions. A whip cracked, and they began rattling off to the Immortals knew where. “Why did you steal your commander’s affinity stone?” There was nothing accusatory in her tone, just simple curiosity.
He answered honestly. “I was bored.”
She had taken off her veil then, revealing coppery curls and shocking him with eyes as bright and intensely blue as sapphires. “Would you like to do something exciting?”
I just did, Eadric thought to himself, remembering the commander’s face, purple with rage. The man hadn’t even noticed when Eadric had stolen his expensive-looking pocket watch. Now in the carriage, he reached inside his jacket, frowning when his fingers grasped nothing but air. After digging around unsuccessfully, he looked up to see the blue woman tossing the pocket watch up and down in her hand.
“My, my. Looking for this?” Her mauve lips curved into a wicked smile at his surprise. With a flick of her wrist, the watch vanished before his eyes.
He would never forget the awe he felt in that moment. “Who are you?”
“Eadric, I’ll ask you one more time. Would you like to do something exciting?” When he finally nodded, she held out a cobalt-gloved hand. When he shook it, she said, “Then you may address me as Miss M.”
One whistle from Miss M and the carriage suddenly swerved left. An hour later, they had arrived at the little white manor he would call home for the next eight years of his life—the longest boot camp in existence, he would one day joke to his glowering father.
Miss M ran an establishment for children as young as six and as old as sixteen, funded entirely by private sponsors. To outsiders, it was a reformation school. But what happened within the walls of Miss M’s manor was a different story. In the mornings, Eadric studied history and math and literature. In the afternoons, he learned the art of deceit, behaviorism, sleight of hand, infiltration, and so much more.
For Eadric, it was a dream come true.
Students were allowed to visit family twice a year during Fairfest and Vürstivale, but Eadric preferred to stay at the manor. In fact, he only returned home once, after his mother had fallen ill. When his father attempted to weasel information out of him, Eadric stole the family heirloom—a signet ring his father had worn on his pinky finger since before Eadric had been born—and moved all the furniture in his father’s office two inches to the left just for the lark of watching him bumble around, banging into table corners and knocking things off the bookshelves.
Before Eadric had become Captain Covington, he’d been a spy. After Miss M had deemed him ready, he infiltrated dozens of cities, played countless roles from servant to son in noble houses across the continent, and obtained enough secrets to fill a palace vault. His mission success rate was flawless, no matter how treacherous the task. He was top of the class. But once he turned sixteen, Miss M had to let him go. So he packed his bags and took the first job Miss M found for him—an Elite Royal Guard at the Axarian palace. He left almost all the money he had earned over the years to his mother, but other than that, he didn’t so much as write a letter home. Lady Covington had borne a new heir to her husband, and that was fine with Eadric.
When Eadric wasn’t drilling or guarding the young princess, he trained on his own, missing the thrill of his old missions, the danger that had kept him constantly on his toes, trying to keep the ever-dreaded boredom at bay. His “dedication” and skill earned him the rank of captain at the ripe old age of twenty-two. That had been four years ago.
The instincts he had developed working for Miss M had saved his life dozen
s of times. Maybe it was stupid of him, but when his gut didn’t trust something, he didn’t either. And his gut sure as hell didn’t trust Harry. But weeks had passed and Harry proved to be nothing but kind and dependable. For the first time ever, perhaps Eadric’s instincts had failed him.
The light that trickled down through the water shifted, and he felt something cold and slick brush against him. More mordrillia? he thought. But nothing tugged at him, and the sensation only continued, the current of water around him rushing faster and faster until a violent surge sent him tumbling onto his back.
The sight above him made his heart stutter to a halt.
At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes, for the things that had flipped him over looked like nothing more than shadows. Shadows, that had somehow taken a physical form, gliding through the water like immense birds of prey toward a figure bathed in ethereal light, her skin as white as snow in contrast to the gloom of the lake, her hair glistening like mercury, and her lips as red as fresh blood.
Luna.
He cried out to her, but he lost his voice to the watery depths. The darkness swirled and swarmed around her, and then pierced through her body in jagged shards.
He could hear her screaming. Teeth gritted, he willed his muscles to move, but they refused, no matter how hard he tried, and when the darkness finally cleared, she began to sink—fast.
Then, like a goddess descending from the heavens, Rose swept into the water, her hair billowing around her in a flaming cascade of scarlet. Pulsing green light throbbed from her palms, flickering briefly as one hand closed around Luna’s limp wrist. She seemed to sense Eadric, lying pathetically at the lake bottom, and spared him a single glance, her gold eyes glinting like burnished stars. She gave him a sharp nod, and without another moment’s hesitation, she bent the water to her will and rocketed to the surface with Luna in her arms.
Eadric cursed the mordrillia and forced himself to keep breathing through his wind tube. In the end, it wasn’t Rose who returned, but a bare-chested Quinlan. He folded his elbows underneath Eadric’s arms and pushed off the lake bottom. With several mighty kicks, the Prince of Eradore carried him back up to the light.
They broke the surface with a splash, both of them gasping for breath. The feeling slowly returned to Eadric’s body as Quinlan dragged him to the shoreline, the prince’s dark hair matted to his forehead and lake water dripping from his lashes.
With a breath of relief, Eadric found that he could wiggle his fingers and bend his legs, though he didn’t protest when Quinlan continued to drag him across the pebbled shore to the fringes of the forest. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that strange lake, with its glass-like expanse of green, not a single ripple or wave disturbing its unnatural stillness.
“Stay here,” Quinlan said, propping him against a tree that overlooked the pebbly shore. “I need to find Harry.”
“And the others?” Eadric panted.
“Safe.”
Before Quinlan could elaborate, a head burst through the surface of the lake. Harry struggled toward them, coughing out water with each paddle. The water became shallow enough for the hunter to wade the rest of the way ashore. He coughed some more and took a moment to catch his breath. Then he shook himself like a wet dog, showering water everywhere. Eadric wiped his face, and Harry exclaimed his apologies.
Eadric waved him off. “We’re soaked through, anyway.”
“I can help with that,” said Quinlan. Instantly, stifling heat licked along Eadric’s body. His clothes, along with Harry’s, dried within seconds. Quinlan dried his own trousers but kept his shirt off.
“Asterin,” Eadric prompted. “And everyone else. Where are they?”
“Nearby. Rose is watching over them.”
Eadric stared. “Watching over them? What happened?”
Quinlan pulled out a glass vial from his trousers pocket and turned toward the lake. “I … I have a theory.”
“Well, enlighten us, damn it—” Eadric’s voice died in his throat as he caught sight of the bare skin on the prince’s back. He heard Harry’s breath hitch.
As if feeling the weight of their eyes on him, Quinlan froze at the lake’s edge.
Jagged scars crisscrossed the prince’s shoulder blades to his waist, pink and puckered, some winding onto his arms and even up his neck.
And then Eadric noticed the patterns, the shapes. They were like tattoos—no.
Brands, seared into his skin.
“Immortals above,” Harry breathed.
Eadric swallowed. “Quinlan—”
Quinlan peered over his shoulder, leveling both Harry and Eadric with a sharp look. “Leave it. They’re old.”
“I’ve never noticed those before,” Eadric managed, unable to tear his eyes away from them. Surely he would have noticed the ones burned onto his neck. They were beautiful—in a terrible, evil way.
“I had charms cast over them,” Quinlan said flatly. “To conceal them. But I think the lake washed them away.”
Eadric scoffed. “Water can’t wash magic off like some sort of stain.”
Quinlan crouched down and dipped the glass vial into the lake. Once filled, he capped it with a cork and held it up to the light, brows furrowed. He gave it a little shake and the contents clouded over before turning crystalline once more. “No, it can’t.” He tucked the vial back into his pocket and pulled out two more to repeat the process. “But contralusio can. Upon contact, any charms and spells altering appearance—like the charms on my scars—are lifted. All that remains is the truth. You, Rose, and Harry weren’t affected. But Luna and Asterin were.”
“And Orion?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know. I think Rose got him out of the water while I was looking for Eadric,” Quinlan said.
Harry shifted uneasily. “If you say that contralusio lifts altering spells … why were Luna and Asterin affected?”
Quinlan pulled his clothes back on and fastened his cloak around his shoulders. Then he beckoned for them to follow him into the trees, mouth pressing into a grim line. “I guess we’ll find out when they awaken.”
Eadric nearly tripped. “Awaken? Are they unconscious?”
“Not exactly,” said Quinlan.
“What does Luna have to do with this, anyway?” Eadric demanded, remembering the horrible shadows in the lake. His voice rose with each word. “What exactly happened to them?”
Quinlan stopped in front of a curtain of foliage and faced him, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Eadric, you need to remember that what you see will be fact, and only fact,” he said. “Nothing else. All that remains is the truth.”
Eadric shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around Quinlan’s words. He shouldered past the prince. Beyond the tangle of leaves lay a little grove—and in the center, Rose, kneeling between two bodies, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of their chests.
Eadric continued forward in a trance until a twig snapped beneath his foot and Rose spun around, affinity stone raised.
She exhaled, shoulders slumping. “Immortals, you scared me half to death.”
A strangled noise came from Harry. “Where’s Orion?”
Rose stared at him. “What?” Her eyes went to Quinlan. “I thought you had him.”
Confusion and then horror flashed across Quinlan’s face. “Almighty Immortals.”
But Harry was already running in the direction they had emerged from, crashing through the underbrush without hesitation. “Stay there!” he shouted, his tone brooking no argument.
“Will you be all right on your own?” Quinlan hollered after him, but the hunter was already gone.
If it had been any other moment, Eadric would have been running right after—no, alongside Harry. But he couldn’t think of anything else as his eyes trailed over Luna’s face, his insides turning to lead. At first, nothing made sense. He knew it was her
, but it wasn’t her.
Her skin had bleached alabaster white, almost translucent. Lying there, she looked more fragile than the most breakable porcelain, except for the new sharpness to her features—a pointed chin, a narrower mouth. Her face had shed soft cheeks for keen cheekbones that shadowed the lean hollows beneath. Her hair remained unchanged but for the color; once the gold of honey, it now gleamed like silver gossamer.
Then she began coughing, and Eadric fell to her side as her eyes fluttered open to reveal a lustrous teal that sent all of them—including the Eradorians—stumbling backward in shock.
Eadric would have recognized those eyes anywhere.
They were one of a kind.
And then, suddenly, everything clicked into place: why Luna knew so little about her childhood in that Oprehvean orphanage; why she had never known her mother or father, couldn’t even claim a family name of her own; why Axarian guards had brought her, without explanation, to the royal palace to work the most enviable position of all—the lady-in-waiting to a princess—despite being a nobody.
All of them knew those teal eyes, like the shimmering tail feathers of a peacock …
For those eyes belonged to none other than Queen Priscilla Alessandra Montcroix-Faelenhart.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When Asterin had jumped into the lake, the dybrulé snapping at their heels, she sank straight down—and when her feet touched the muddy bottom, in her mind, she kept sinking. The dybrulé faded from her thoughts as her heartbeat stalled. Oblivion spread around her in endless waves on all sides. Perhaps this was the end of the universe, or perhaps she was stuck in some limbo, tethered to life only by a thread. But then the waves began to roil softly, and a line of golden spheres emerged from the darkness, glowing like torches along a riverbank, stretching out into the void.
The waves tugged at her. She drifted with them, a boat without oars, losing herself to the current.