For so long, he had fought to be the exact opposite of the man he thought was his father—the monster he saw as a boy while hiding behind baskets. He would be better, he promised himself. Stronger. Braver. He would stand for truth.
Yet, every truth he ever stood for was nothing but a cruel, calculated lie. And now he, himself, was the biggest lie of them all.
Leer squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, screaming against his fate. His torment shuddered outward through him in a charged blast, his voice echoing ferociously off of the surrounding rock. The ground rumbled, trees swayed and rocks burst as his agony penetrated into Sortaria itself, the power he now contained shaking the earth around him to its core.
The two male nim ceased fighting immediately with innate terror, each forgetting their differences over their mutual horror. They joined the herd as it stampeded for cover into the thickened brush, disappearing out of sight.
In his mind, Leer saw Lieutenant Doyle’s smug satisfaction as the king declared his former guard, Leer Boxwell, to be an outlaw of Hiline. He saw the Lieutenant taking Princess Maegan as his bride for a reward.
Leer imagined Jarle would mock him for his stupidity.
He could hear Astrid’s gentle voice asking him what truth really was, and if it was worth his life.
The ground ceased shaking as his dark eyes flashed open. He drew a few sharp breaths through his nose, observing the barren world around him that he now knew was his home.
He couldn’t care. Caring was what was killing him. Caring was what would kill everyone.
By being someone else, he would protect the innocent. By sacrificing himself to the darkness, he would save them.
He felt the ring of heat around his eyes burn as the outer rims of his irises glowed yellow.
Leer Boxwell was dead.
It was time to be the beast.
-Epilogue-
Three weeks later, Prince James Shelton Doyle ran his fingertips over the cool wall of the Vale castle as he shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. His hand fell from the stone to his tunic, smoothing the deep blue fabric over his chest as he waited patiently in the solarium.
He drew a steady breath through his nose, taking in the room in the wavering light of the fire that whizzed and crackled beside him. Its heat radiated over his freshly shined boots as he stepped closer to the hearth and the hewen-wood table in front of it.
A tafl board rested on the table’s surface, the pawns of the set positioned for play. James sighed, picking up a black game piece with his left hand and examining it. The light of the adjacent fire glinted off his polished wedding band. He rolled the smooth bone between his fingertips.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, Leer had been more of a challenge than he originally gave him credit for.
He heard the king’s footfalls behind him but kept his back turned, still twisting the bone in his hand.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” he asked, clucking his tongue.
The king straightened as he closed the gap between them. “It’s a shame to see such talent wasted.”
James pursed his lips. “Talent,” he said. “A man who can trick people into revealing their weaknesses isn’t talented. Just devious.”
The king sighed. “Yes, well, his deviation has surely halted our plans.”
“I have it under control,” James assured.
“So Boxwell having the upper hand is your idea of control?” King Gresham growled.
“He has nothing,” James replied through a laugh.
“He has power! The Vei awakened in him. Who knows now what force he has unleashed in not only himself, but in others.”
“You forget that there is a sizable bounty looming over his head for capture alive, the same one the people now are aware of, thanks to your rousing speech earlier.” James smiled. “One person hardly equates to an army.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “One person is all it takes to begin one.”
James lifted his chin. “Boxwell doesn’t have any credibility.”
“Yes, but…” The king paused; James shifted.
“What?” he snapped. King Gresham paced away. “What do you not speak of?”
“He…” The king sighed, lowering his head in shame. “He couldn’t have been the one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Edward,” King Gresham sighed, rubbing his temples. “He couldn’t have been the one she wanted.”
“What are you talking about?” James scoffed. “Surely you don’t have another child.”
The king nodded, his eyes vacant. “I must. If Edward were the one she wished, she wouldn’t have turned him into the monster.” He smiled ruefully, understanding washing over him. “She would have wanted it for herself. The monster was a punishment.” The king looked at James for a long moment. “It can all still be undone.”
James shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I took care of Emelda, as I did Lance and Bilby. Your power, and the control of the amulet, is safe. If there is no debtor, there is no fear.”
“You are blind. You may have eliminated Emelda, but you didn’t eliminate the true threat to control.”
“What is this threat you speak of?”
“It makes sense now,” the king mused. “Why she should have come to me, chosen me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Purity.” King Gresham turned toward the window he stood near, looking out onto the courtyard. “Her blood heir. The one who can wield the amulet over all.”
“So, there’s another she was truly after? And this child has the Vei?” The king nodded. James huffed. “Well, it might have been nice to know that little tidbit prior.”
“Mind your tone,” the king warned, glaring at him. “Despite your named succession, I am still king.”
The Lieutenant closed his fist around the black game piece. “Of course,” he replied, bowing his head humbly. “Forgive me, my lord.” He looked up and watched as the king turned back to the window. Exhaling, he set the piece down thoughtfully next to the white king pawn. “May I pour my lord a drink, to celebrate his victory? After all, the possessor of the Amulet of Orr surely has cause to celebrate.” James moved toward the decorated jug that rested on the mantle, snatching a glass near it and filling it halfway with currant wine before crossing the distance to the king.
With remnants of annoyance, the king took it and sipped at the scarlet liquid, looking back at the courtyard through the window.
“The people seem eager for justice,” James noted behind him.
“As well they should be,” the king replied coolly, drinking a deep portion of wine.
“So the amulet…It’s said to be able to reveal what you wish to know.”
The king nodded. “Yes, through blood. But it should be used with caution. One should possess the amulet, not let it possess them.”
James gave a small nod. “Of course.”
“All this time,” King Gresham sighed. “I thought she wished Edward for a mere debt payment. His death was in vain.”
“Perhaps. Though without his death, you would have never learned the truth regarding the heir. There’s always a sacrifice to ensure the larger victory. Pawns are lost before the game is won.”
“He was more than a pawn,” King Gresham snarled, facing James with wild eyes. “He was my son.”
“Yes. And also a weakness. A potential threat to your power.”
James watched the king’s mouth open for rebuttal before catching the way his jaw stiffened midway; a sudden jerk overcame the older man, a wheeze escaping his throat. He observed with satisfaction as the king’s empty cup fell to the stone floor.
The king groped the wall for support in frenzied shock. James blinked slowly as he watched the older man sink to his knees, his face pale and hands clutching at his throat through his struggle to breathe.
“There are many kinds of weaknesses,” James whispered, stooping over the king, whose bloodshot eyes teared up, clinging to life despite the poison
flooding his veins. “But do you know which is the most toxic to power?”
The king tried—and failed—to speak, his dry mouth open as he shuddered violently, falling to the floor. James squatted down and thumbed the end of the king’s robe, wiping drops of currant wine from the man’s parted lips before returning the cup to its place on the mantle.
Turning back toward the king, Lieutenant Doyle watched as the king convulsed against the wall, silence spreading over the room moments later. The king’s body fell slack, his eyes rolling into the back of his head in defeat.
“Humanity, my lord,” James murmured, examining the body. He slid his fingers into the pocket of the king’s cloak, withdrawing the purse he had taken from Leer at the Fell. “The deadliest of them is humanity.”
Straightening, James stood over the king’s lifeless body, stepping over the dead man’s legs as he withdrew the amulet from its bag with his left hand. The brilliant green stone glowed against the light from the fire, its malformed face a satisfying sight to James as he took a moment to observe it dangle from its cord. He gripped his sword with his free hand, raising the blade to his palm and slicing a clean line through it. Inhaling, he lowered the sword and pressed the stone into his bloodied grip, a smug smile blossoming over his lips.
“Show me the heir of Emelda’s blood,” he commanded, closing his eyes.
He waited for what seemed like an eternity, his grip tight around his sword and the amulet. His mind’s eye was dark, silent. Still, he knew it would come. Drips of blood trickled down his arm. He remained, eager for the dark veil that would embrace him.
A surge struck his brow; he braced himself against the infiltration, nostrils flared as he squeezed the stone tighter. The dark Vei slowly grew stronger within him as he embraced its murky hold, feeding it with the grim promises of his mind. It twisted and churned, volts of power coursing through his veins. Through flares of light, he saw the answer.
With a gasp, he opened his eyes.
“Astrid Falstad,” he breathed before letting go a guttural scream.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lyndsey is a brilliant author you’ve likely never heard of, Superwife, and award-winning mother living life in leggings in the expensive and overcrowded state of New Jersey. She is fluent in Spanglish and Sarcasm and enjoys watching Arrow, Supernatural, Psych, and The X-Files repeatedly. You can find her either in the grocery store buying laundry detergent, Tylenol, and cat litter; hovering near her Keurig coffee brewer; or shaking her fist at the heavens in front of her computer. Occasionally, you may spot her on the beach or out shopping (when she actually has money to spare). However, you should avoid approaching her at such times as she is likely enjoying a rare moment of relaxation and can become moody if interrupted. If you decide to engage her during any one of these activities, approach with caution and a sizable cup of Starbucks in hand to avoid any ill effects.
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The Fell (The Naetan Lance Saga Book 1) Page 22