by Alex Lidell
I return to the table to find it empty. The innkeeper scurries over to assure me that Tyelor has settled the bill over her protests and ordered the rest of our dinner sent to our room. After imploring me to bring the male back downstairs, where so many of his fans are already filling the dining room, she sends me up with a bottle of wine and the promise of a warm bath to be brought up at once.
Climbing the stairs, I slowly push open the door to a small but clean room. The crackling fire warms the space, sending shadows dancing across the floor. Bare to the waist, Tye stands staring out the window. The light sculpts his muscles with an artist’s skill, but when I approach to wrap my arms around him, I find nothing but rock-hard tension beneath his skin.
“Saritta—” I start softly.
“Saritta has a right to her grudges.” Tye turns and walks over to the washbasin, his magic heating the water to a steaming simmer. “And we’ve not come for a family reunion. I have sent a letter to the palace with River’s seal on it. Prince Xane will grant us an audience tomorrow morning. And then it’ll be him, not Saritta, who we need to convince of the truth.”
27
Tye
Tye’s fire seeped into the cold marble floor of the throne room in which he and Lera knelt, the small release of magic the only way to keep his fury at bay.
“Let me see if I have this right.” Sitting cross-legged on the throne, Prince Xane leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “King Griorgi and Prince River of Slait are currently burrowing a passage into Blaze Court in order to join forces with Mors’s Emperor Jawrar and take over Lunos?”
The ill-concealed laughter behind Xane’s voice escaped, echoing off the tapestry-covered walls of the throne room before dissolving into little gasping giggles. Rising to his feet, he strode down the three steps separating his dais from where Tye and Lera still kneeled. The prince was every bit as buffed and polished and ridiculous as Tye remembered, his silky strawberry-blond hair tied back in a low ponytail, topped with a tiny gold crown that mimicked the twisting, flame-like towers of the Blaze Royal Palace. His green eyes were lined with brown kohl to accentuate them, though perhaps he hoped no one noticed. His features were delicate—almost pretty—his muscles smooth and well-mannered. “Truly, Tyelor, you spin the most entertaining tales. Still, it is a pleasure to have you back.” The last was said with enough distaste to make Xane’s true feeling about Tye clear.
Tye shot Lera a silent warning to keep her mouth shut, though he could feel the lass trembling with indignation. This morning, he had helped her into the one fine dress she brought for this very occasion, a stunningly simple emerald-green silk that brought out the red in her hair and hugged her slim torso with a wide band of black lace, leaving her shoulders and clavicle temptingly bare. He had wished with every breath that Autumn were around for that part—but changed his mind as soon as he realized that helping her into a flowing dress meant getting to run his hands over her skin, to stand close behind her and inhale her heady lilac scent.
And yet it had all been for nothing, it seemed. The day was not going well. Despite arriving at the palace over six hours earlier and spelling out the problem in numerous notes, Xane had only now granted them an audience. Once the damn prince realized his error in having wasted precious time, there would be hell to pay—and Tye wanted Lera nowhere near Xane’s sights when that happened.
“This is neither jest nor tale, Your Highness.” Tye spoke coolly, though his hands tingled to wrap themselves around the bastard’s slender neck. For everything. “The king must be informed—”
“I’ll worry about the king. Come, let us speak like the old friends we are.” Xane extended his hand to Tye, as if the kneeling had been a formality of no consequence. “Have your say and leave.”
Rising to his feet, Tye offered a hand to Lera and followed the prince into a sitting room off the main hall, where deep leather chairs and shelves of books strived and failed to create an intimate atmosphere. If River’s library hosted his favorite reads and maps of Lunos, Xane’s was a decoration designed solely to impress. Books from top military strategists, histories of flex, designs for weaponry. All as untouched as the day they were purchased. Midafternoon sunlight fell in harsh stripes across the room through narrow defensive windows. No glass, as Blaze’s royals—nearly all with fire-magic affinities—could simply light fires in any hearth to keep the room warm.
Tye’s gaze fell on Xane’s Realm Championship trophy, displayed in a place of honor on a slim marble pedestal, a delicate lantern suspended right overhead—as if the prince had actually earned the title.
“Wine?” Xane asked, pouring a glass for himself from a crystal decanter and hesitating over Tye’s. His slim, bejeweled fingers looked like they hadn’t touched a horizontal bar in years. Nary a callus or chalk-filled crease in sight. “I apologize . . . After what happened, I hadn’t considered that you might be staying away from spirits. I indulge in a bit now and then, though the old training regimen does leave a shadow even still. I swear I hear my trainer’s voice each time I so much as smell fermenting grapes.”
If by “what happened,” you’re referring to the attack you ordered on my family so you could have a pretty trophy, then wine would be welcome. Tye bit his tongue. He could either spend the next hour butting heads with Xane about history—a debate that would most likely land him in the dungeon—or put the prince’s worries about Tye challenging his victory to rest and return to the matter at hand.
Tye drew a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Xane controlled access to the king and Blaze Royal Guard. Without the prince’s agreement, there was no option. No way of preparing for tomorrow. “Wine would be well taken, Your Highness,” Tye said lightly, draining his glass and holding it out for a refill. “It has been a pleasure of mine for some time now. Apparently, some of us never learn reason.” Tye could feel the tension creeping into Lera’s shoulders at this without even looking at her. Silently, he willed her to keep her cool again. “About tomorrow’s Samhain celebration, did you read the letter I brought from Princess Autumn? Does it not confirm my warning?”
“Autumn? The little female with the roundest ass in Slait?” Xane smacked his lips. “While she would be more than welcome to tell me in person all about the scary monsters hiding in the Gloom, the letter just fails to get a proper rise out of me.” Xane shakes his head. “Tyelor, you know I’d do anything for you, but if I go to my father with these tales, he will laugh me out of the throne room. The Slait princess is known for her . . . What’s the word? Ah, theories. Not even King Griorgi takes the lass seriously.”
“The Citadel and Elders Council themselves take her seriously.” Tye checked himself. Hard. Leaning forward, he put his elbows on his thighs. He wasn’t here as Xane’s subject or old flex rival. He was here as one of the Citadel’s elite warriors, whether he wanted the title or not. “There were qoru in the assault on Karnish. I was there, and I am telling you that Jawrar has penetrated Blaze once already. And he will do it again.”
“Karnish. Yes.” Xane’s face darkened. “I’ve been diplomatically ignoring that incident. But since you bring it up, tell your damn Citadel council that if they stage games on Blaze’s territory again, we will consider it an act of war.” Xane stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what this is about? The Citadel trying to turn Slait and Blaze against each other, to blame King Griorgi for the mess they caused in one of our border cities?”
Tye braced his hands on his armrests, fury roiling through him, but felt a cool hand on his before he could rise.
“Perhaps His Highness might question his patrols.” Lera’s voice of soft reason settled into the blazing air between the males. “Certainly, you’ve guards in the Gloom and elsewhere? If nothing else, it will keep the guards’ commander on his toes to know the prince is monitoring his work.”
Xane seemed to take in Lera for the first time with a growing smirk—her creamy skin and soft curves. Rising from his seat, he stepped forward and traced his finger along the girl�
�s cheekbone, making every muscle in Tye long to break the bastard’s hand for it.
Instead of biting Xane’s fingers off, Lera leaned into his touch for a moment before smiling at the prince and cutting her eyes to the door. “Have you a guardsman who’d answer your call, Your Highness?”
Xane threw back his head and laughed. “A coy little thing, aren’t you? Your companion would do well to take note.”
Trailing a nail across Lera’s collarbone, the prince strode to the door and spat out orders.
Stars, Lera was good. She may have just singlehandedly, in no more than four sentences, turned around their chances. And Tye would show her just how grateful he was later, when all this was over—something to focus his furious mind on before losing control entirely.
Moments later, a tall fair-haired male in a crisp burnt-red uniform strode into the sitting room, lowering to one knee before Xane quickly enough to conceal his look of contempt.
Xane glanced at Lera indulgently. “Leralynn, this is Captain Mullen, who’s in charge of Ferno’s security. Mullen, this wee human imagines that, after centuries of quiet, an attack from no less than Mors is hovering over our heads. Please assure her that you’ve noted nothing unusual.”
Mullen’s head snapped up, his face suddenly cautious enough to make Tye tense. The male’s fear filled Tye’s nose.
28
Tye
Tye’s eyes sharpened, the scent of the guard captain’s fear eroding the last strands of patience he had for the prince.
“Are you asking me to expand on my reports, sir?” Mullen asked carefully, blanching at the flash of confusion on Xane’s face. Stars, the prince had read no reports and Mullen knew it. Knew, too, who Xane would ensure got blamed for his own oversight. The captain cleared his throat. “There have been four incidents, Your Highness. An increase in sclices, piranhas, and other Mors scum—as if they have a new passageway. In light of the recent Karnish activity, I have people on alert. We’ve asked for additional personnel.”
Lera gripped Tye’s arm. “Griorgi may have opened small passages in preparation or practice for the assault. It would explain the increase in Mors rodents.”
“Griorgi is working with Mors?” The captain’s attention snapped to Lera and Tye, the professional assessment in his pale-blue eyes a stark contrast to Xane’s absurdity.
The prince’s hands tightened on his armrests, the rapid pounding of his heart visible in the soft triangle of his neck. Bloody stars, the prince wasn’t being stupid—he was simply, disgustingly terrified. Having hidden his head in the sand for weeks, the coward had no notion of how to handle either danger or the truth. And if Tye remembered correctly, the only thing more frightening to Xane than Mors was his own father—who’d be furious to learn of Xane’s delay.
“Your Highness,” Lera said, plainly making a similar assessment. In her dress of flowing green silk, Tye’s Lilac Girl was as bright and potent as a summer meadow rippling in the sun. Despite being the smallest figure in the throne room, the radiance of her personality filled the space more than the prince himself did. Crouching before Xane’s chair, Lera gentled her voice. “We need to take action.”
Xane nodded slowly. Rose to his feet. Paced the room. “Here is what we are going to do,” he said finally, turning to face them after three rotations. “Mullen will redraft the gibberish he’s been writing into a—”
“Stop.” Tye’s order echoed through the room, surprising him as much as Xane. His mouth dried but his chin rose nonetheless. Three centuries ago, Xane destroyed him. Tye couldn’t let it happen again—to anyone. Especially not with Lera watching. Taking the two strides to the prince, Tye grabbed his tunic. Up close, Xane smelled of cinnamon perfume and the roast duck he ate for lunch—and acrid fear. “This isn’t about covering up your incompetence, you little shit. This is about preventing the deaths of thousands. Maybe more. Understand?”
Xane’s pale-green eyes flashed. He managed to look down his nose at Tye even with the latter holding him on tiptoes. “I understand that I’m the one who’s kept your wench of a sister employed, when there are many males who’d have taken her in for other means.” Xane’s voice drops. “You might imagine you have some misguided threads of authority, but the reality is that the Citadel’s power ends at the border. Here, Tyelor, you are at my command. Do exactly what I say and I will confine the punishment to you alone. Disobey and . . .” Xane smiled cruelly at Lera.
Before Tye could reply, Lera grinned, showing her teeth. “I’d like to see you try, princeling.”
Xane growled, shoving Tye’s chest. When that failed to do anything, the prince turned toward the captain. “Mullen, take that wench into custody. And don’t be gentle about it.”
Mullen’s head snapped up, his body staying rigidly in place. “On what charges, sir?”
“On the order of the prince of Blaze,” Xane shot back. When Mullen still hesitated, the prince’s voice chilled to ice. “I understand that your son joined the guard ranks recently. I do hate to see young ones’ careers end before they start, but discipline must be maintained. Don’t you agree?”
Mullen shot Tye an apologetic look and rose, taking a determined step toward Lera.
Ice shot through Tye’s veins and his magic surged, sparks dancing along his skin. Throwing Xane to the floor, Tye advanced on him with red-tinged fury. He had tried to be the kind of controlled male that River would have been, he truly had. He’d let Xane’s taunts go unpunished, had focused on the grim reality of the situation, had urged action that went beyond their centuries-old conflict.
But no more.
“What are you going to do, Tyelor?” the prince spat, spots of red appearing high on his polished cheeks. “Attempt to kill me? How do you imagine the future unfurling after that?” Xane snorted, a shield shimmering into place around him. “Mullen, you have your orders. And search the whore for weapons while you’re at it.”
“Get your hands off Leralynn,” a hard voice said from the doorway behind them. A voice Tye hadn’t heard in weeks. “In the name of the Citadel.”
“Touch my brother and I will kill you,” added another. “That’s in my own name.”
Turning to the door, Tye beheld his sister, her uniform still spattered with laundry soap, a set of keys dangling from her hand. Beside Saritta, Viper and his four quint brothers stood in grim formation, weapons and magic at the ready.
Xane scrambled to his feet. “The Citadel has no business in Blaze.”
“Oh, my mistake,” Viper said, his sharp features lit with cool humor. “We’ll rip you to shreds for our own pleasure and bear the elders’ punishment later.” He turned to take in Tye and Lera with his turquoise gaze. “The Elders Council received Autumn’s letter and has been gathering forces at the border. Klarissa is attempting to open talks with the Blaze king directly but getting no response. Word reached us that you two were here, and seeing as I owe Leralynn my life, we decided to try and be of use.”
Relief washing over him, Tye left off threatening Xane to face Viper and Saritta fully. Saritta—despite having plainly led Viper’s quint here—still refused to look at him. One step at a time. “This is welcome news,” Tye said, meaning every word. “Blaze is utterly unprepared and will need the Citadel’s help tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Mullen, who’d been standing uncertainly in the middle of the mess, now turned his intelligent eyes on Tye. “Have you reason to believe something will happen tomorrow, specifically?”
“Tomorrow is Samhain,” Tye said. “Not only will most of Blaze be out celebrating, but the wards between Lunos and Mors will also be thinnest then. If Griorgi hopes to open a portal large enough for a Mors army, Samhain is his best chance.”
Mullen shook his head, blue eyes widening. “Sir, Blaze celebrates Samhain tomorrow, but that was a decision of convenience that Blaze royalty made centuries ago, to ensure the celebration falls on a rest day. Few beings pay any mind to it now, but my grandmother on my father’s side—”
“When
is Samhain?” Lera grabbed Tye’s upper arm hard enough to bruise, her eyes boring into the captain. “When does it fall by the celestial calendar?”
Viper stepped forward, touching Lera’s shoulder as he spoke softly. “The true day? It’s tonight, lass.”
29
Lera
Tonight. Tonight. My eyes stray to a window—the dimming light beyond it more frightening than any weapon—then drop, absurdly, to my clothes. A silk dress. No sword. No armor. Nothing. I pull my worries back where they belong. Even if Xane sees reason now, will there be time to get troops in place? Will River and the others still be alive hours from now, or will their utility to Griorgi have ended, snuffing out their lives?
A shiver races through me at that, silencing all thought.
Rap. Rap. Rap. The phantom sound of qoru legs tapping on stone echoes in my memory, the havoc of both Karnish and Coal’s nightmares replaying on my mind’s stage. Rap. Rap. Rap.
“Where?” My voice sounds too calm to be mine, my thoughts racing so quickly that it’s an effort to slow down long enough to form words. “Where is Ferno’s most populated place right now? If Griorgi does strike this evening, where would he do it? What’s the beating heart of this city?”
“The Red Temple,” Tye and Xane say together, exchanging rabid glares.
“It’s a tribute to Blaze’s fire,” Xane pushes on, a growing haze in his voice that’s reminiscent of Autumn’s academic musing. Except the female fights with her words, while Xane seems to huddle behind them. “Its gold-tiled western-facing steps and towers catch the sunset each evening and look like they’ve caught on fire. Those of us with a fire affinity feel the power strongest there, likely due to the ancient magic that—”