by Mary Weber
It’s almost dawn when another shuffle outside my door alerts me just before Bron soldiers bust it down. They drag me out to join Myles and Rasha, who’ve obviously been freshly pulled from their quarters as well, and proceed to confiscate our knives before shoving us down the hallway.
Sir Gowon leads the way with a stony expression and refuses to answer any of Rasha’s questions or Myles’s demands, while I glare straight ahead and feel my hatred pound through my chest. It’s like a drumbeat from one of the refrains the Faelen minstrels used to sing. Slow. Steady. Hammering in the thought that as much as I try to figure out what anything means anymore, the chill in my veins might as well be screaming that I don’t know.
Or maybe I don’t want to know.
“Are they bleeding jesting?” Myles grumbles as they force us through the doors leading to the giant loading area we landed on four days ago. It’s holding the same airship we flew in on. The balloon’s been reinflated. “Couldn’t they have waited until a less hellish hour? Especially since, from the looks of it, the wraiths have barely got their blasted army assembled.”
The guard closest to us doesn’t answer.
Rasha wraps her arm through mine. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
Myles peers over at us. Clearly anything to do with one of us lying is of interest to him.
Five, six, seven steps I wait before dipping away from their stares. “Draewulf and Lady Isobel had the Mortisfaire bring me to them a few hours ago. They know about the power I consumed.”
They stop to look at me.
“He wanted Isobel to ‘assess’ me to see if I was ready.”
The Bron soldiers ram into us, shoving us forward—accidentally at first, then purposefully. “Keep moving,” the large one barks. His dark eyes flicker menacingly against his smooth black cheeks and short hair that’s trimmed clean. He lifts an arm cloaked in its red-and-black soldier’s sleeve, and for the first time I notice the number of medals sewn into the material. He points to the ship as Sir Gowon strides up beside him.
“You are not coming with us?” the large guard says to Gowon.
“My duty is here to protect our people, just as yours is to protect our king. We will meet again, my son.”
My brow goes up as the two men lock forearms briefly. Son? Then we’re moving forward.
“Are you certain?” Rasha is asking, and her voice has its airy tone.
“Lady Isobel was assessing to see if you were ready for what?” Myles says.
I peer away from Gowon and the guard and up at the lantern-lit airship as we stop at the loading plank. I can still feel Lady Isobel’s hand on my heart. Chilling it. Beginning to harden it. I rub over my chest where the ache is so raw.
“I’ve no idea, but it felt like a test.” My mind flicks back to Draewulf and the wraith’s conversation on the roof. “Is your vessel prepared?” the wraith had asked. “She performed as I said she would . . . Either way, it won’t be long.”
That word vessel keeps crawling beneath my skin, making me shiver. “I think he was assessing my abilities because he’s going to use me for something,” I whisper. “He said ‘she performed as expected.’ As if he was expecting it to . . . mature.”
Rasha flips around. “What?”
“That assumes they were talking about you.” Myles keeps his tone low and his gaze cool, but something in both tells me he’s suddenly worried too. It makes me want to argue with him. But I don’t say anything because the very thought that Draewulf could’ve known, could’ve been waiting for this thing in me to alter somehow, makes my blood curdle. Because it begs a new harrowing question:
What if “ready” meant I’d reached a point where he knew I could no longer stop him?
“It’s not just that.” I study Myles. “You heard him on the roof. They asked if his vessel was ready.”
“But how could he have known you’d go after the new abilities?” Rasha says.
“That’s a good question.” I look at Myles as half the guards shuffle past us to the ship’s boarding plank.
“If either of you are implying I had anything to do with it, you’re sorely mistaken. Or have you forgotten Draewulf’sss a wizard? A very smart one. If he wanted you to have them, he could’ve influenced any sort of circumstances to ensure that happened.”
“Circumstances involving you?” I say bitingly.
We’re next in front of the loading plank now. Rasha’s half looking around when she abruptly dips her voice. “Where are the other delegates?”
“Mossst likely being left behind.” Myles smooths his glossy hair down, as if anyone here cares what his hair looks like at four in the morning.
“Did the guards tell you that?”
“No, but it’s what I’d do if I were them. A few hostages left in the homeland are excellent security. In fact, I’m very much surprised he’sss even taking you, Your Highnessss.”
Rasha sniffs and watches her Cashlin guards ascend into the airship with an expression that says she fears Myles’s repulsiveness will rub off on her.
I look at the large Bron soldier standing in front of us. Gowon’s son. “Will they be killed?” I ask him.
His features stay stiff as he waves first Myles, then Princess Rasha onto the plank. “It is my understanding they’ll be left unharmed.”
I scoff. “By your Assembly perhaps, but what about the wraiths? Or will you just let them take care of that for you?”
“I’ve been assured they’ll be fine.” He beckons me to follow Myles and Rasha. “Except for . . .” His eyes flick up almost imperceptibly to the front of the silver airship, which is glowing from lantern light like the rest.
I track his gaze.
Squint through the dim.
What in—?
There’s an object tied to the forward-most staff—like a fish tied to a skewer—and it looks very much like Lord Wellimton.
“We’ll be taking him along,” the guard says. “By King Eogan’s request.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s alive.” The guard breaks into a smirk.
Very much alive in fact, if my ears are correct in tuning in to Wellimton’s yelled choice of Faelen swear words. My mouth goes dry. I glance back at the guard. “Are King Eogan and Lady Isobel on this ship?”
Suddenly everything within me is frantic, panicky. Oh hulls, I need them to be on this ship. The sensation is short-lived thanks to the pursing of his mouth. His gaze shifting toward the room above the airship’s dining area is a clear indication, whether he intended it to be or not. I smile smug-like as he gives me a shove onto the plank. Then the other guards are closing in behind, herding us up.
The closer we get to the airship’s deck, the thicker my skin bristles and the more I can feel the hissing. Even without seeing the wraiths, their presence hangs like the cloak over my spine, clinging and clammy in the light wind. Their whispers grow louder. Just like the guards who, as soon as I’ve stepped on deck, are yelling to pull the plank up and telling the captain to take off before I’ve even had a chance to grab hold of something stable amid the bustling bodies.
I count to ten before the ship shudders and makes a groaning sound, and suddenly we’re floating up, up, upward into the air above the Castle and the city. It’s another ten, fifteen seconds before my stomach catches up with us, and by that time the glow of the morning sky is bubbling out on the horizon.
We’re rising faster now to meet two other ships in the air. The atmosphere surrounding them flutters and bursts into ribboned lines of periwinkle and gold as the metallic fleet reflects the morning sun stretching her rays out to greet us.
It’s beautiful. And breathtaking. And terrible all in one. Like these mirrors of glorious light hovering above the heavy shroud of land and city beneath us that is surrounded by half-emptied wraith encampments. The camps look like leeches spotting the area, like a plague on the skin of this kingdom.
“Looks like you should’ve done more damage w
ith your Elemental powersss,” Myles mutters beside me. I follow his gaze to the forty or so airships hovering over an eighth as many warboats out in the ocean. If I thought the brackish army below was a pestilence on the earth, this, this is a pockmarked horror on the face of the Elisedd Sea.
They’re dangerous looking. And far too familiar.
“What do they need the warboats for if they have all these airships?” Rasha asks.
“I believe they carry fuel.”
Behind us, there’s a snap of fingers and we’re promptly surrounded by a horde of soldiers. “King Eogan would have us see you to your quarters now,” the large Bron guard says. He doesn’t give us time to question or argue but merely turns, and we’re pushed to obey.
They take the group of us through the same dining room to the same door leading to the same quarters we stayed in days ago. I look around the hall, at the lanterns, at the red carpet and metal walls. It also looks exactly the same, except this time, Rasha and I are given my tiny room to share, and Myles and the Cashlin guards are crammed into the other two.
“At least you get to keep your men this time.”
She nods and I don’t speak again until the soldiers exit, the hall door is locked, and their footsteps are fading. “We need to speak with Lady Isobel. I need to know what the rest of that Elegy means and . . .” I swallow. “Then I need to get Draewulf alone.”
Her expression turns cautious. “I agree—only, not the way you spoke with Sir Gowon.”
“I’ll be more careful, but at the end of it all, we need that information.”
“Can you be more careful, is the question.”
“Of course I can.”
“Will you?”
Is she jesting? “Okay, first off, he was an oaf. And second? You manipulate people every moment to gain access to their thoughts, so I’m not sure what I did was actually any different.”
“He was innocent. And I don’t hurt people.”
Right. I doubt some of them see it that way. I don’t say it though because I don’t want to fight. Whether I see the difference or not, I’ve no desire to go back to not communicating. Not when every moment now hangs on a thread, dangling back and forth like a pendulum.
I bite my lip. “What’s done is done. I’ll be more in control next time, and you do your best to read every litched intention.”
Her expression changes from caution to concern, and for a second she seems to be debating something. Finally, “Be careful not to confuse ability for your true nature, Nym. You are not your powers. If anything, the fact that you think you need them makes you a slave to them, and in doing so, weakens your true capabilities.”
This time I actually snort a laugh. Her words are clearly spoken by someone who’s never been a slave.
She frowns.
“Fine.” I lift my hands because I’ve already agreed to this and what more does she want? “I won’t rely on them too much with Lady Isobel, but if they are the only way to stop this, then I don’t understand what your offense is. Or have you forgotten you are willing to kill Eogan in order to stop Draewulf?”
“Yes, Eogan. Not everyone else. And my concern isn’t simply for harming others. It’s what I see you gain from it. Back there with Sir Gowon, you looked different. You looked like . . .”
She stops but I can almost hear her say it anyway. “Like Draewulf.” Or maybe, “Like Lady Isobel.”
After a moment she continues. “I can use my ability to see how best to pull the information from Lady Isobel. However, as much as I hate to admit it, we’re going to need Myles’s help influencing her mind. Even if that man is a disgrace to all things Uathúil.”
CHAPTER 32
BREATHE SLOWER IN THROUGH YOUR NOSE AND out through your mouth.” Myles gives an example while I look at the open door behind us, through which Rasha and her guards’ voices float in from our room. How much longer are they going to be meeting in there?
Myles snaps his fingers in front of my nose. “Are you listening? That’ll help keep you calm, which will keep the vortex stable. If that’sss in fact what you want.”
“Of course I need it stable,” I growl. “That’s not the issue. I need to wield it faster on Draewulf before he or Lady Isobel can interfere. But if we don’t get to either of them soon instead of sitting around here pretending—”
“I said breathe slower,” Myles growls back. He stalls a second to swallow as his face turns an off shade of yellow, then twitches the air around us and murmurs something. Abruptly the floor falls away and my stomach lurches at the sensation. I shut my mouth and move impatiently to anchor my feet on the carpet and settle my mind on his whispered suggestion that I’m standing on a high ledge overlooking the entire Hidden Lands. I hate this part. Or maybe it’s that part of me is beginning to like this part, to feed off this part.
Myles stirs up an image of Eogan holding his hands up in the form of claws, poised to rip his own chest open. The black wisps emerge from around his legs. “Breathe in and let it control you.”
“I’m trying but you’re just having me repeat the same scenario over and over when we have no idea how Draewulf will actually respond. I’m not sure this is going to get us to Isobel any quick—”
“Just do it.”
“Just do it,” I mutter. But I go ahead and press my hand toward the pretend Draewulf just as he brings down a claw. I press through it without even dodging and force the image to play out quickly, ignoring his moves and keeping my hand to his heart.
If Myles is bothered at my manipulating it, he’s too busy trying to keep his stomach bile down to say so.
Eogan’s body begins to seize, and then there are two of him. Of them. He slumps over and Draewulf rises out of him, furious and lashing out even as he weakens. I lean and tug harder. And yank Draewulf from his very skin in the same manner as I’ve done a hundred other times lately.
“Finish him.”
“You don’t have to say it every time,” I snap. I step forward to slip the knife from Eogan’s boot and bring it up to slit Draewulf’s throat. The mirage begins to dissipate.
I turn. “Happy now? Because I strongly suggest that if we’re not going to question Lady Isobel soon—”
Something catches my eye.
Something’s off with the still-fading scene.
Both Eogan and Draewulf are lying beside each other, but Eogan has his throat slit too.
The room shudders and tilts and the image vanishes quickly, and Myles is standing in front of me.
“What in litches?” I stare at him. “What in hulls was that?”
His hands go up. “Like I’ve said before—a scenario based on your fears.”
“That wasn’t my fears. That was your suggestion. I heard you muttering.”
He shrugs. “If he’sss not separated from Draewulf in time, you may have to kill him at some point. Are you able to do so?”
“I asked you to train me, not prepare me for what scenario you want to happen.” I pierce my glare through his face and only lightly notice how strong I’m shaking. “So I’ll ask again—what was that?”
“Manipulation. Preparation. Call it what you want, but peace will alwaysss require a steep price. If you’re prepared, you stand a much better chance of succeeding at this game.”
“The cost of peace took my Elemental race. I think I’m quite aware of what this game requires, thank you very much, but that—”
He gulps twice. “Good, then don’t lose sight of the goal because this anger you feel—that’sss what we want. Focus it on him when the time comes. It’s what will fuel your abilitiesss.”
“Or it’s what will turn her into you,” Rasha says.
We both glance over to see her standing in the doorway, disgust and concern coating her features.
“I believe you said you wanted to stay out of the training sessions,” Myles snarls. “In which case, I’ll kindly ask you to mind your—”
“I want to go over our plan regarding Lady Isobel.”
“And
I’m merely doing my part to help Nym save the world.”
“We both know that’s a lie, so you can go ahead and drop it. Her training is for your benefit more than charity.”
He glares down his nose at her and brushes an invisible speck from his shirtsleeve. “I’m doing more for her and this war than you or anyone else isss. So while you stand there—”
They can’t be serious. We don’t have time for their bickering any more than we have time to train. I look at them both. “Will you both just shut it for one minor minute so we can move on? So Myles wants to rule the world—it doesn’t mean he’s got a lick of a chance to actually do so.”
“He doesn’t just want to. He thinks he can.” Rasha walks around Myles and faces us. She sniffs and trails a frown down his entire thin frame. “And he needs you to help him do it.”
“Of course he does, but I’m not going to. Now let’s talk about Lady Isobel.”
“And why’d you come to Faelen a month ago, Princess?” Myles snaps. “Especially just when the war was coming to a head?”
“To show our support.”
I give up and glare at them.
“Oh really?” Myles says. “You were considering sending troops to our aid?”
“We may have.”
He sneers. “Or you knew Draewulf would be in Faelen. Or at least suspected it.”
Her fake smile falters. “We . . . may have heard a rumor he would attempt to enter Faelen. I personally told King Sedric. Even more, the moment I realized he was in Faelen, I rushed to the Keep, as you’ll recall.”
“What do you want him for?” Myles asks. “Or more precisely, what does your queen mum want him for?”
“Look,” I say over their voices. “We all want Draewulf dead, and while I’m very aware Myles has some ridiculous desire to see himself king, none of that matters if we can’t figure out that Elegy and what it means as far as saving Eogan and killing Draewulf.”
He turns to me. “The only thing the Elegy’s clear on regarding killing Draewulf is that only an Elemental can do so. You’ll forgive me for being obvious, but I think you should safely assume that means you.”