I'm writing to myself now, aren't I? Go sard yourself, Nylian. You did this. I hate you.
SHAN PUT THE JOURNAL back in his pocket and kissed the top of Maritan's head. He'd reread those pages many times over the past weeks, and each time landed a new punch to his gut. They were gone. Alive somewhere, he assumed, but gone. Something bad must have happened for them to cut contact so abruptly.
“What is this book you carry with you?” Jei asked. She sat on the bench next to him and bounced her baby on her knee. Little silver Kedrion Snowberry appeared almost completely elven aside from the white Butterfae wings sprouting between his shoulders. He happily babbled as he watched a pair of dragonflies zip above the labyrinth path.
“It's a remnant of another life. I'd drop it over the edge and watch it flutter to its death, but I want Maritan to have it someday.” Shan stroked the bare back of Maritan's calf. The five-week-old had grown roly-poly off the half-Fae's milk, and he had already outgrown his first round of clothes. This little outfit had gone from too big to too tight in the span of a week. It was white with a blue duck embroidered on the chest, something Marita had sewn. Shan couldn't bring himself to give away any of the outgrown clothing. It was all still sitting in a drawer, waiting for him to crate it up and store it away. Maybe his grandchildren could wear it someday. If there ended up being any.
“Why are you so frightened of what you've become?” Jei flicked her hand to ward off a stray fly.
“Is this question day? You don't normally ask me so many questions.”
“I've asked you two.”
Shan rubbed his aching brow and sighed. “Yeah, you're right. What's my book and what's my problem? I don't understand why what's been done to me doesn't frighten you. You know he's going to do the same to you, right?”
“Yes. This pain is an honor,” Jei said. She smiled at her baby as he grabbed for her curved horns.
“Jei, my friend, you and I have very different definitions for honor.” Shan smiled as Maritan giggled in his sleep. “You've always known you were to be a Spellkeeper. I'm sure your mother eased you into the mutilation involved with it, dressed it up as something with a worthwhile end. How long did it take to transform you to the point of the sequence you're at now?”
“Three years.”
“Mine was done in four days, with no warning beforehand. I was tied to a table, where my grandmother cut me to ribbons and filled my bleeding wounds with contaminated ink. She accidentally killed me, then revived me so she could continue. I didn't even know why. I thought my parents rescuing me was the end of it and I tried to piece myself back together. Then, within a year I was here, and it started over again. Slower torture, but still torture. I'm losing segments of myself that extend far deeper than the scars on my skin. I've lost time and control and my hold on reality. I lost my dragon, my wife, all contact with my family. I'm in constant pain even with Lyndarian's spells. I'm continually lied to, lately because they're hoping I won't realize my son will grow up in captivity like a caged and wing-clipped songbird. This is not an honor. It's abuse. We are being abused, Jei. I understand why you can't see it and sometimes I wish I had your perspective. That would certainly make this easier.”
Jei's leaf-shaped ears flicked the air. “I accepted what I am before I even began. My mother made the process feel like a rite of passage, not a burden. I never felt more loved by her than when she marked me. What was done to you was not with love, and that is why you feel so mistreated. It's because you were mistreated. You were abused. It's not your fault you feel this way about what you are. I'm sad for you, Shan. I wish you could have–”
The cries of dragons interrupted whatever she intended to say next.
Black wings burst from the clouds and three dozen dragons descended upon Anthora. Most were armored black battle dragons, but a silver and a violet flew on either side of the largest of the black dragons.
Jei pulled Kedrion to her chest and grabbed Shan's arm. “What is happening?”
“The Moonlight Regiment has returned to Anthora,” said a quiet voice behind them.
Shan turned enough to see the flash of Nylian's golden wings. The High King stepped past the bench and onto the mosaic labyrinth path. He looked upward as he navigated the curves from the outer edge to the center.
Leaves blew off the foliage as the largest dragon landed in the garden. Panic rising along every nerve, Shan clutched Maritan to his chest and stood.
A slight, black-haired elf with intricate tattooing on her bare arms lowered herself from the dragon's back and walked toward Nylian. She smiled broadly, then wrapped her arms around him and drew him into a passionate kiss.
The silver and violet dragons landed on either side of the black one. The others circled above The Halls of Anthora, their wings beating a slow cadence.
The woman released Nylian, then pressed a hand on either side of his angular face. “It has been so long, my love. I see our Spellkeepers aren't the only ones becoming what they truly are. Your own transformation continues to be exquisite.”
Nylian kissed the back of her hand. “I didn't know if you'd arrive in time.”
“We have been working toward this for forty-five years. I would never forgive myself if I missed it.” The woman's green eyes glanced toward Shan. He knew those eyes. Several of her children had inherited them.
The air shifted as Jei stepped next to Shan. “Who is she?”
He struggled to release his words. “His wife. Queen Consort Lyssandra. Some of the princes look so much like her that there is little chance she's anyone else.
“Ohh, he looks like his father,” Lyssandra said. Her glance became a hard stare. “Why is he silver? He's a warlock, he should be violet right now.”
“He is a lightbinder as well as a warlock,” Nylian said.
“No matter. He will fulfill his purpose either way, and I'm certain the shadow will dominate shortly.” Lyssandra kissed Nylian again, then asked, “And what of his father? Is that problem solved?”
Nylian stared at the huge black dragon, who ignored everything else as she preened. “There was a complication. My warlocks did not return from their mission. I sent another, and she returned with my tracking object, which they had buried in the side of a hill. All seven of my warlocks were impaled from beneath by needles of ore. Dragon scales and gore littered the landscape. Ara . . . Ara was buried beneath a flower mound.”
“Reaper,” Lyssandra muttered. “Only a reaper could do something like that. Where did they find one?”
“They're traveling with Uldru, right?”
“Uldru can't be reapers. Their magic is pathetic and fanciful, little blue wisps they use to light the dark. We bred all other magic out of them centuries ago.” She sighed and tugged at the end of her black braid. “Maybe it was one of the orcs. I know they went to Sungate. Kendrian went with them, and so did the half-Fae abomination.”
Jei shuddered, her face pinched.
“Adina. I wish you would call her by her proper name,” Nylian said, his eyes narrowed. “You and I both know that she should be your heir, not Kembriana.”
Lyssandra scoffed and kicked at the pathway. “It doesn't work that way, Nylian. The succession of Guardians is granted by the Goddess of the Moon, Zaradia herself. I don't choose my heir, Zaradia does. When I pass from this life, Zaradia will grant the necessary knowledge to my rightful heir, as I was granted the knowledge when my mother died. Kembriana is my only surviving daughter. Adina is no one's daughter. I'm only sixty-four. I may still be young enough for you to give me another daughter, so perhaps we should try to create one. My heart burned for you in my absence, and I'd take you to bed right now if we didn't have to do this first. Of course, with you, it's more likely I'll birth another son. Still, we should try because Kembriana is incompetent, and we both know she ran off with our Spellkeeper's human brother. It was clear the empath had no interest in her affections, but that didn't keep her from pursuing him. That boy has such a quaint sense of honor and decency. It would be
endearing if it didn't render him useless.”
Shan needed to escape. He needed to take Maritan and find somewhere to hide, somewhere with a door that locked. Something was happening here, something big, and he knew it was about him.
He spun away and hurried toward the balcony doors. Blocked. A guard stood before each entrance.
Lyndarian stepped out from behind a topiary. He grabbed Shan's arm above the elbow, but didn't squeeze. “I'm sorry, Shan. I can't let you leave. This is almost over. Your pain will be lifted in a few minutes.”
“I don't want this,” Shan whimpered. Maritan yawned and opened his sleepy eyes. There was green within the blue-gray now, and it caught the sunlight peeking between the clearing clouds.
“I'm sorry. You never had a choice. This is what you are. It's what you were born for.”
“I was born because my mother wanted me.” Shan took a step back and bumped into Lyssandra.
The Moonlight Guardian gently set her hands above Shan's hips and pressed her chest into his back. “You were born because your parents were matched by your grandmother. She is the one who sent a message to your grandfather about a job opening in your father's scribe office. She watched your mother train with the wall sentinels, and she knew Katrin Sylleth was the type of person Daelis was attracted to. Eilie's mother and yours weren't the only dark-haired, intelligent, strong human girls he pursued, just the only ones he slept with. She knew his type, and she fed your mother to him. Ranalae's risky little pairing was successful, and you were born twenty years ago today, a Spellkeeper of power and potential not witnessed in centuries. We need half-elves, Shannon. We need Spellkeepers. Why do you think I'm letting my daughter and your brother live?”
“Clearly not because you love her,” Shan grumbled. Maritan squinted at him and cooed.
“Convergence, Shannon. The Lightborn and Sylleth lines have already converged to create one Spellkeeper. I believe my daughter's recklessness will provide Bacra with another, maybe even more than one. For the moment, that is more important than preserving the elven purity of the Guardian line. Regardless, Zaradia will likely pass my knowledge to Nyssandrian's eldest daughter instead of Kembriana unless my daughter comes to her senses and finds herself a proper elven mate once she tires of Tessen. So I'm leaving her alone for now while she breeds with your bastard lowborn brother and entertains the Veil Spellkeeper.”
“I think you just have no idea where they are and you're trying to hide your shame by claiming there was intent to all of this nonsense,” Shan said. He wiggled out of her hands and turned to face her. “You touch my brother and I will kill you. You touch any children he might have and I will kill you. Touch my parents, sisters, friends . . . that's right, I'll kill you. I'd kill you right now, Queen Constant Bitchsandra, but I don't want to get blood splatter on my baby.”
Lyssandra looked toward Nylian and laughed. “Oh, he's a feisty one, isn't he?”
“He speaks his mind,” Nylian said, his voice distant and his eyes fixed upon a flowering shrub.
“Well, good thing I left him with you and not someone who had enough of a soul left to become irritated by his nonsense.”
Shan shifted Maritan's weight as the baby contemplated crying. “Oh, I think I see what's going on here. You're not in charge of anything, are you, Nylian? You're taking orders from her. She's the true ruler of Bacra, isn't she? She's the leader of the Jarrah.”
“Jarrah?” Lyssandra laughed and shook her head. “No, they were a rogue branch of the whole. Depraved Nightshadow filth, more cult than order. What I lead is much larger than that little sect, and much older. Maybe if you behave, someday I'll let you learn about how this world truly works.”
Nylian looked up at the now-blue sky. “Lyssandra, it is about to begin.”
The air shuddered as a black dragon with green markings on his belly landed near the doors. An armored man dropped to the ground. He took off his helmet as he approached, revealing bright blue eyes and curly black hair.
“What have they done to you, Shan?” he asked, shock in his eyes. “Lyssandra?”
“Uncle Elsin?” Shan pulled away from Lyssandra. “What . . . why are you here? I mean, I know you're her Captain, but have you come here to watch them torture me?”
“No. I didn't know what had already been done to you was being taken further.” Elsin stopped just short of Shan and rubbed his beard. “You have a baby now?”
“Yeah. And he no longer has a mother, so I'm all he has. Take off your jacket.” Shan waited for Elsin to take off his armored jacket, then carefully slipped Maritan into his arms. “I don't trust you, but you're family. I don't think you'll do anything to him. I want him to be with family if I don't make it.”
“Shan, I would never hurt him.”
“We all seem to define hurt differently around here.” Shan kissed Maritan's cheeks and brow, then straightened his back and wiped tears from his eyes. “His name is Maritan. He's five weeks old as of yesterday. He's everything to me. Please hold him, and hand him to the half-Fae when he needs to be fed. Her name's Jei. She's helping me take care of him. He's dragonbound. Rayna is sleeping in a birdcage in my bedroom. Make sure she stays with him.”
“He will be back in your care within the hour, Shannon,” Nylian said.
“Forgive me if I can't believe a damned word you say,” Shan said. He kissed Maritan one final time, then backed away.
“Shan, Maritan is safe with me,” Elsin said, his voice gentle.
Shan gave him a sharp, sobbing nod. “I hope that's true.” He rubbed his sleeve over his wet cheeks, then turned toward Nylian. “I don't want to do this. You know that. I'm going willingly now, though. I need this to stop.”
“You choose to be completed?” Lyssandra asked.
“Yes.” Shan looked back toward Maritan, who was more interested in Elsin's beard than anything else. “He's all I have now. Him and the pain. I'll gladly let go of the pain if it means I can stay with him. I'll become what you want me to be as long as it keeps him safe. I'm done fighting, Nylian. Do what you want with me.”
“You've done well with him, my love,” Lyssandra said, a smile sparkling in her eyes. “You're still loyal to me, aren't you?”
Nylian's shoulders trembled and his jaw tensed. “What more could I possibly do to prove my loyalty? I ordered my warlocks to kill Ara because you told me to. I executed our firstborn because you told me to. I killed our granddaughters because you told me to. I allowed our children to believe I murdered their sister because you told me to. I became a monster for you.”
“You're that monster for all of us, my dear.” She walked her fingers down Shan's nose. “Every. Last. One. Bacra requires sacrifice to sustain itself. Shannon, you are not a sacrifice. You are something more and you will not die today. You will be set free.” She laughed and withdrew her hand. “In some regards.”
“Spellkeepers and sacrifices and Uldru slaves . . . you've got quite a long game going, don't you, Lyssandra?” Shan looked past her at the gathering crowd. There were warlocks and priestesses, silken nobles and hide-clad forest elves. Nyssandrian and Lyndarian stood with their two surviving brothers, Kalantor and Nellantor. Nylian's second and third wives and their children were absent, as were Jei's husband and older son. Jei herself stood next to Elsin with a mixture of fear and excitement in her pale eyes.
“You have no idea,” Lyssandra said.
“Just don't hurt my son, okay? What do I need to do?”
“Your son will live to die of old age.” Lyssandra indicated toward the labyrinth path. “Remove your clothing and lie in the center with your feet toward Sun Peak.”
Shan did as he was told. He was tired, so tired, and no longer felt an urge to fight the inevitable. Nylian slid a pillow under his head, then arranged bowls and tools on a low altar as Lyssandra passed them to him.
His eyes half closed in the bright sunlight, Shan watched Nylian and asked, “Will I remember any of this?”
“I don't know,” Nylian whispered. His e
yes darted toward Lyssandra. Was he afraid of her, or only of what he was about to do?
“You're not going to make me hurt the Uldru, are you?”
“The Uldru are insignificant. They don't matter.” Nylian ran his fingertips down the scars on Shan's cheeks, then returned to arranging.
“They matter to themselves. They matter to me. Are you going to make me hurt them?”
“No.” The look in Nylian's eyes told Shan he was appalled at the suggestion. So much emotion from an unemotional person. Worry spread across his face as Lyssandra knelt on Shan's other side.
“You said I'm to be the first completed Spellkeeper in three hundred years. You have no idea what's going to happen, do you?” Shan looked straight up, then closed his eyes and pretended the weight on his bare chest was Maritan instead of Lyssandra's pressing forearm. His breaths were shallow and rapid as he repeated over and over to himself, Just one more time. One more time and it's over. No more pain, just one more time. “I'm just gonna go to sleep so I don't have to look at you craven assblossoms anymore, okay?”
“Mouthy no matter what, isn't he?” Lyssandra's arm pressed harder. “Shannon, you need to concentrate on your breathing. You're hyperventilating.”
“I know. Reducing air intake can induce euphoria. I'm going with that approach. It's fun in the right context, but this isn't it.”
Nylian's cold hand touched Shan's face. “I'm ready.”
“Calm your nerves, Nylian. You're trembling.” The weight on Shan's chest shifted as Lyssandra looked upward. “The eclipse begins.”
A hand straightened the askew resilience and acorn pendants over Shan's heart. He wore them both now, linked together on a single silver chain. The hand traveled to his collarbone, then hot breath touched Shan's ear as Nylian leaned down and whispered, “Try to be still, Shannon. Don't speak.”
“I surrender,” Shan murmured.
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