by Mary Weber
Beside me, the Cashlin guard gasps when we come over a ridge to see the city splayed out before us—its white stones glistening like a bone carcass beneath the full moon and black sky. Torchlights glimmer around it and along the High Court town streets that wind their way down from the hilltop it sits on to the base. Beyond that, utter darkness clothes the rest of the land that belongs to the Faelen peasantry, their homes and fields bathing in a cool wind and candle-less sleep.
I look past them to where Litchfell Forest lies and, above that, my home in the Fendres. Or what used to be my home. But even with the moon out, all I see is a mass of more black.
The closer we get to the High Court, with its pale stone streets and arches snaking up to the perfect Castle peaks atop its hill, the more homesickness invades me. Then Rolf’s calling out orders for the airship to stop. “Have they found explosives?” he asks the nearest guard.
The soldier rides to the ship, and a shouting match ensues with the soldiers above, in which it’s apparently determined the ship is out of weaponry aside from an assortment of swords and archery tools.
“Confiscate it all, then wait for my signal to move the ship into the Northern Wing’s upper courtyard.”
“May I suggest you keep Lord Myles and Lady Isobel locked on board until we’ve spoken to the king?” Eogan says to Rolf.
“Lord Myles is with her?” The captain gives him a startled look.
“He’s ingested a poison that will soon render him a threat,” I say.
Despite his skeptical air, the captain nods. “Fine. We’ll address that with King Sedric as well. You five! Stay with the ship until it’s secured. The rest continue on.”
I follow his gaze toward the massive gateway that the main road butts into, and a shiver goes up my spine as I think of another night on these streets, a hundred years ago, when Draewulf took life after life of men, women, and children.
And the 130-year-old beast is close to doing it again . . .
“Just focus on the task at hand,” Eogan murmurs, making me aware that my fists are clenched around my horse’s reins and the sky above is growling. “And for hulls’ sakes, if you unleash the rain and soak me after all I’ve been through . . .”
I smile at his attempt to soothe my mood. “You’ll do what?” I whisper.
Through the dim he narrows the distance between us enough for me to catch the spark in his eye. He lets his humored gaze slide suggestively down my body. I hear his inhale before he clears his throat.
I grin, but abruptly a shadow has clouded his face and he looks away.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He doesn’t pull his steed away but doesn’t speak either.
Until I glance over and catch him studying me again. I frown.
“Did I . . . did he . . .?”
I wait as the expression on his face hardens.
“Nym, I asked you what Draewulf did while in my body. But with you . . . did he . . .? Did he hurt you by using me?”
“Like sexually?”
His jaw clenches and he gives a brief nod, his gaze burning through the night to search my eyes as if to gauge if I will lie to him.
I shake my head. “He only hurt me like he hurts everyone else. By stealing what we love and scarring our bodies.”
One . . . two . . . three . . . I swear I can hear the pulses of Eogan’s heartbeat as he assesses this answer. The next second his relief is tangible and he’s releasing his breath and his shoulders ease. “Good,” is all he says before kicking his heels into his horse’s side to ride on a bit ahead.
The captain yells out again—for us to hurry this time—and the ship’s hum begins to lessen as we gain distance and our horses’ hooves hit the cobblestone streets.
We climb the winding road as, ahead of us, men are running through the courtyards with torches. Word has already reached here apparently.
Thirty palace guards stand waiting for us when we arrive at the final archway and emerge through the Castle’s main gate.
“I’ll escort the Elemental and King Eogan to His Highness,” Rolf says to his men. “Detain the other two with whatever force necessary.”
We dismount and step into the mass of soldiers watching us. I’m met by their polite nods and shining eyes as we pass through one of the four doors leading from the courtyard into the stone Castle, and as soon as we enter I find I’m inhaling. Because for all its uncomfortable luxuriousness, it is home. And the air inside, just like the weather outside, is filled with the scents of Faelen life and dirt and heart.
No one stops us. They just stare as Rolf leads the way down three lengthy hallways and a maze of stairs and corridors to the king’s quarters. We enter what appears to be a set of private sitting rooms—they’re filled with the smell of roasted meat and wine, and my stomach is instantly grumbling.
“Wait here,” the captain says.
Food, I mouth to Eogan, who sends me a wink as Rolf goes to fetch the king.
“I dare you to steal some,” he whispers.
I grab a roll and toss him one as well, and we’ve only finished them before the nineteen-year-old boy-king himself is standing in front of us, looking tired and disheveled and clearly having been awaiting us. His face is a mixture of concern and shock, even though his eyes have a better spark in them than I’ve seen at any point in the last three months of knowing him. I suspect it’s due to the fact that the past week of sworn peace and Draewulf presumably dead has made for the most rest he’s had in years. Even the lines under his eyes are hardly shadows.
I swallow a twinge of guilt that we’re about to ruin it for him.
“Your Highness,” he says, attempting to control his strained tone as he eyes Eogan. “Nym.”
I drop into a deep curtsy and Eogan tips his head. “King Sedric.”
Sedric frowns, as if my bowing is ridiculous. “Please. Don’t. Just tell me the news. King Eogan, I’ve heard strange rumors this week . . .”
“Draewulf is alive,” I say with enough thunderous effect that he’ll think twice before doubting me. “He stole Eogan’s airships and made war on Tulla. We’ve barely escaped with our lives. As it is . . .” I look over at Rolf, who’s reentered the room. “Not everyone made it back with us.”
King Sedric looks ready to laugh at the absurdity or kill something. I wouldn’t blame him for either.
“I have a letter.” I pull it out.
“I certainly hope it offers more explanation than the last letter you left for me, which merely attempted to excuse you sneaking off to Bron.” He narrows his gaze at me.
Warmth attacks my cheeks. “My apologies, Your Highness.” I shove it toward him. “This one is from the Cashlin queen, Laiha, Princess Rasha’s mother.”
“The Cashlin? Was she in Bron too?”
“Your Majesty,” Eogan interrupts. “May I suggest a strong drink before we continue? I know I could go for a swig.”
The king comes to life. “Yes, yes, of course.” He snaps at Rolf to step into the shadows before leading us across the room to a set of very proper, very firm, blue tapestry chairs that match the wall hangings and carpet. He strides to a side table and pours our drinks and hands them out himself. Water for me. Ale for him and Eogan.
Then sits in one of the chairs.
Eogan and I follow suit as Sedric takes a long sip and eyes the letter in his hand. As if he knows his week of rest will be over the moment he opens it.
Eogan drinks and watches.
I wait and rub the itching black veins in my hand.
&n
bsp; When King Sedric’s glass is empty, he breaks the letter’s seal and begins to read.
Five minutes. Eight minutes. Ten minutes pass while we sit in silence.
Until I can’t take it anymore and shift in my seat. When I look over at Eogan, he’s eyeing my water with a smirk.
“What?”
“Scared?” he murmurs in a tone referring to our conversation with Colin a few weeks ago.
I look away. And then smile even as the ache for Colin’s loss flares fresh and alive. Within seconds Eogan’s hand has slipped over mine. He gives a light squeeze and looks back to King Sedric.
“Your Majesty, I should tell you there are three individuals aboard the airship at this moment whom you’ll be interested to see.”
The king nods. “Lord Myles and Lady Isobel. She speaks of them in her letter. Of both their betrayals and Myles’s added ability, and the loss of Isobel’s.”
“There is also the matter of Lord Wellimton,” Eogan broaches. “He may believe I am trying to assert myself and wage war on Tulla and the Hidden Lands on behalf of Bron. Using Draewulf and Lady Isobel’s Dark Army.”
The king stares at both of us and chews his lip. “The queen’s report here addresses the matter of Draewulf inhabiting your body for a time. Although”—he glances down at the paper seriously—“she assures me now you are completely yourself.”
Eogan doesn’t answer.
“Do you believe her?” I ask softly.
He looks at me. “I’m not sure I have a choice, considering the options in front of us. Although, will you also give your word, Nym, that Eogan is now in his proper mind and is in no way a threat?”
“I swear it.”
He turns to Eogan. “May I ask you to confirm, then, how long Draewulf was in control of you?”
“Since the battle at the Keep, Your Highness.”
“So the treaty I signed . . .”
“Was with him. Although I can assure you my commitment to peace with Faelen is far and above anything Draewulf agreed to on my behalf. As it is toward the entire Hidden Lands. Which is why I am here now.”
“And yet you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit leery.”
“I would think less of you were you not.”
Sedric nods and swirls his cup in his hand. “Nym, I’d like to hear a bit more about all this from you. Alone.”
Eogan promptly rises and tips his head to us both and, before I can say anything, is escorted out by Rolf.
It’s only after the door shuts that Sedric looks straight at me. “Was your sneaking aboard that airship due to your knowledge that Draewulf was in King Eogan’s body?”
“It was.”
“And you chose not to inform me.”
I was prepared for his anger at this, but not for the look of disappointment that accompanies it. “Forgive me, sire, but I’d just found out. I knew telling you could endanger the entire Hidden Lands.”
His brow goes up. “And not telling me didn’t?”
“You would’ve been forced to execute him here on Faelen soil, which not only would’ve restarted our war with Bron, but with Lady Isobel and her wraith army as well. And it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Draewulf cannot be killed by anything you or your men can do.”
The brow stays up. “I assume you can back up that claim?”
“We’ve tried to kill him, yes. In the process, we’ve also found a supposed solution.”
“I could have you jailed for treason—for allowing our greatest enemy to go free.”
I decide against mentioning that my ability could get me out of any jail he put me in. “I defeated him once, Your Majesty. I was prepared to defeat him again. But without sacrificing you or the rest of the Faelen people.”
He purses his mouth.
“And I assume the ‘supposed solution’ can destroy him?”
I stare him straight in the eye. Fierce and firm.
He nods. “I see.”
He rubs his chin and looks up at the door Eogan was escorted through. “I think your romantic interest resulted in you delaying longer than I or anyone else would’ve deemed wise.” He looks back at me. “However . . . ‘the heart leads where even devils fear to tread.’ Isn’t that the saying?”
“I did try, Your Highness,” I whisper.
The stalling of whatever he was going to say is an indication he gets the depth of what I’m trying to explain. That even if I know how to kill the shape-shifter, it’s not a sure thing. “Now Draewulf is attempting to get at the Cashlin queen. After that, he’ll be coming for Eogan and me.”
“Due to the prophecy.” He taps the letter.
I nod. “I believe we need to rescue Rasha if possible. As it stands now, if Draewulf consumes both her and her mum . . .”
He stands. “His powers will be near unstoppable.”
I follow suit and decide not to mention that his powers already are.
“And what of my cousin, Lord Myles? What—?”
A loud pounding on the door erupts, and he’s barely uttered, “Of all the— Come in,” before the thing’s burst wide open and a guard rushes in.
“The Dark Army, Your Majesty. Everywhere. They’re crawling off the ships!”
CHAPTER 16
THE KING’S EYES NARROW AT ME.
“That’s not possible,” I say, and before he has a chance to move, I’m striding for the door. Is it the airship from the channel? I’ve just reached it when Sedric steps in front of me.
He flaps the letter, his expression as dark as his tone. “Tell me this wasn’t a setup.”
“I swear to you.”
His nostrils twitch as he stares at me, then flips around and barks through the doorway at his men, “Rolf and you three, come with Nym and me. The others stay with King Eogan.” He glances at him. “I’m certain you understand.” And storms past.
Eogan nods as I go to follow Sedric, but his mouth is tight. Confused in the same way I am. How could they have followed so quickly without us seeing them? Unless Draewulf had already sent them from Tulla . . .
Oh hulls.
We’re running down the hall, the soldiers’ feet flagging behind us, turning corner after corner as I feel our dread rising.
Please don’t let Draewulf be here yet.
We’re not ready.
At the Eastern Courtyard’s corridor a group of soldiers, swords drawn, are holding the door shut.
“Let us through.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Now.”
I recognize the guard, Tannin, as he opens the door. We’re immediately bathed in the sounds of yelling and Faelen swords clanging against the courtyard flagstones beside a ship floating two feet from the ground. What in—? It’s swarming with wraiths. Gray torn cloaks cover their emaciated half-dead human bodies, except for their feet and hands, which are mostly made from bolcrane claws, and their hollow faces that look like half-eaten skulls.
“Mother of—” Rolf utters. “What in curses are those?”
“Wraiths,” I whisper. “Lady Isobel’s Dark Army made from dead bodies and beasts.”
They’re crawling along the deck and railings and then dropping to the ground. Attacking the air like a chaotic cete of badgers.
The king steps forward as Tannin tries to stall me. “Miss, it’s dangerous.”
“Thank you, but let me through.” I push past him and to the right of Sedric, who’s got his blade lifted.
“Our weapons appear to have no effect on t
hem, sire,” Tannin says.
I raise my fist and the sky shudders and crackles a warning for the Faelen soldiers to move back, just like the air is sparking along my fingers as I feel the ice picks form midair.
I unleash the icy knives to puncture through the wraiths’ skulls.
They plow through the clothing and faces—and the metal of the ship even—as if it’s all corporeal. The images waver like vapor, then turn solid again. I raise a brow and narrow my focus, and one by one the wraiths dissipate in front of me at the same moment the awareness dawns that there’s no smell. No scent of death or decay or plague.
I look harder at the ship and it disappears too.
“Are you bleeding fooling with me?” I yell.
I flip around to Rolf. “We told you not to bring him here. Where is he?” I swerve around in search of Myles but can’t find him. The next moment I’m grabbing King Sedric’s arm as he moves to rush forward into the frenzy. “Your Highness, they’re not real. It’s a mirage.”
“What?” The king slows and looks down at my hand on his arm.
I remove it, and he levels his gaze to mine.
“Lord Myles is creating a mirage. Watch.” Before he can stop me, I stride to the closest apparition as it lunges. A few of the guards scramble to follow, but the wraith’s claws have already swiped right through me without touching.
The men gasp. They pause their remounting attack as Rolf strides over and, sword in hand, holds it out against the wraith who, while fighting aggressively, is having no effect. Rolf stabs the thing but it just keeps attacking the empty space beside me.
“What in blazes?” The captain jumps forward to slice through another—only to find his blade jutting through the vaporous ship as well. He flips around, his eyes widening, and hisses to me, “What kind of magic is this?”
I peer up into the sky for the other ship.
There. In the distance. Hovering exactly where we left it, lights glowing in the night air, just beyond the High Court. I squint to assure myself it’s real and that there are no others. “Is Myles still on the ship?”