by Sage, May
Because, for better or worse, they were one clan now. One family. He didn't say it. Loxy understood all the same.
She smiled. "I'll look forward to that."
Just as he turned his heel, movement caught their attention from the southwest. Just a rippling of leaves, but anyone who knew these woods realized what it was.
The part of Elden's army posted on the western borders of the Graywoods had reached them. The eastern front had already arrived a few hours ago. Next there would be the southern knights, who'd cross through the portal of Daryn leading directly to Wyhmur.
Their march north was imminent.
"You'd better get some sleep while you can," Vale recommended, not unkindly.
His tone reminded her that while the male was to be her daughter's groom, he was half a millennium older than Loxy.
In her time in the unseelie realm, she'd seen him perhaps twice. Each time he'd been drunk, kissing one stranger and torturing the next. The male standing before her now couldn't be more different. Loxy didn't know him well—he seemed warmer than his mother. A caretaker. She hoped that this side of him was the real Valerius Blackthorn. For the sake of her daughter, as well as the rest of the Isle.
If their plan worked out and he was crowned, the fate of all four realms would be in his grasp. No one should have that much power, but if someone had to sit on that throne, Vale was their best option.
At least he'd have Devi by his side.
Provided they all survived the march north.
Six
King of Sand
Devin Farel awoke to the smell of ashes and steel that night.
He knew. Right away, he knew. He'd suspected that something had been amiss for weeks.
Two weeks before the solstice, his father unexpectedly abdicated the throne. Almost immediately, his advisors pushed a visit to the unseelie realm. Devin saw the sense in it, though he wouldn't have chosen to do it so soon. Wouldn't visiting his own realm, getting to know the lords of his lands, be a more pressing issue? The members of his council argued he could meet lords on his way.
They took the scenic road. Instead of requesting to cross through the Graywoods—which would have made their travel a five-day ride—they went north, spending one night in each of the seelie countryside territories. Lords drank to his health and all was well, for a time.
Devin didn't understand why more men had joined them when they reached their northern borders. But he did find his advisors' explanation satisfactory. Yes, it did make sense that they needed a larger escort traveling through Corantius, and then riding down south to Asra, than they had in their own land.
He ignored the feeling in his stomach, attributing it to his inexperience and anxiety.
When he heard the explosion and rushed to his window in Wolvenfort to find the city of night under attack, he knew it was his doing. He may not have planned to wage war on the unseelie realm; instead his naivety had spelled doom.
Devin rushed out of his quarters to find Shea Blackthorn. He had to explain himself and ensure the famed queen didn't take this as his will. If he managed to convince her, there could still be peace between their nations.
His path was soon barred by a dozen soldiers in gold armor. Now that they'd changed their clothing from the seelie blue and white to their true colors, he knew them for what they were. Corantians. And he knew he was in over his head.
Corantius was not a realm of fae; more than half its lords were demi-gods. Scions. Devin didn't attempt to fight his way out of custody. They took him down to the throne hall where the unseelie court had greeted them just a night ago.
He and his advisors were detained, watched by two guards. No handcuffs, no curses or spells. The guard was too light. It felt like they were being protected, rather than imprisoned.
As though they were complicit.
Devin knew his decision that day would define his future. Define who he was, and perhaps what his realm would become.
Another fae may have remained next to his council and let their machinations unfold. Instead, he called to his powers, gathering as much energy as he could while the city screamed.
The Farels were folks of the air, whimsical masters of illusions. Devin had to admit he'd never been fond of his power. The Rivers in the north were known to call the powers of the sea to the shores and bring rain in the middle of droughts. The Ashes, Fyres and Cindres could burn their enemies where they stood. The Zephyrs were able to fly without even extending their wings. In the face of such legends, what was his legacy? Nothing to boast about, simple parlor tricks.
Devin had always favored his blade over his magic. Right now, he was grateful that his stringent education hadn't allowed for any gaps in mastery. His power was air. And he finally understood just how valuable it could be.
Devin gave his mind and body to the air, letting it move him, all the while maintaining the illusion of his presence in the hall for precious seconds. By the time the vision faded, he was in the empty kitchens. Ignoring the confused, angry guards shouting upstairs, Devin took a shabby cloth cloak left on a bench and slunk out into the service corridors, where no one thought to look for him.
The fighting had stopped in the streets. Corantians patrolled, but they never spared a glance for a poorly dressed fae looking down, walking unhurriedly. The cloak smelled of fish and onions. Devin used what was left of his energy to make his ears appear curved like a common fae's, his hair, graying. None of the shouting guards looking for the king spared him a glance. They let him leave the city with the forest workers fleeing at the doors. He was invisible. Common fae were invisible in this world. A fact he'd never felt resonate before.
Devin walked as far into the woods as he could before collapsing. He'd never maintained an illusion for more than a minute at a time. His escape had taken five hours. He didn't think he'd ever even understood what tired meant until this day.
Devin didn't know how long he slept. Hours, day, a week? He only came to when his mind alerted him to imminent danger. Devin opened his eyes to see four spears and a sword pointed at his chest.
A dark-haired beauty dressed in fyriron drew her weapon back, preparing to strike, but before Devin could get to his feet, a familiar figure placed herself between him and certain death.
"Wait!" It was the girl he'd danced with that first night in Asra. A lifetime ago. "That's the seelie king."
The warrior female bared her teeth. "And why would that warrant my waiting, exactly?"
A pertinent question. To her, he was the enemy. All clues pointed to him.
Jiya Duniel remained stubbornly between him and the blade. "Because the queen will want to decide if he lives or die."
At long last, the knight lowered her sword. "Fine. Bind him. If he escapes, be it on your head."
Devin was better rested. He might have been able to escape, perhaps even without magic: Jiya was a youth, and a common fae. She tied ropes of vines that felt loose and comfortable around his wrists. He could get out of them without straining.
He didn't. Betraying a female who had come to his aid wasn't in his nature.
They reached the unseelie queen's army south of Asra, and within the hour, Jiya came back with a knife. He looked up at her unblinking. She stepped forward and cut his bonds.
"We will feed you, if you're hungry."
"Thank all the gods. I'm ravenous." And surprised. Mostly surprised. "Shea told you to release me?"
It felt like a test of sorts.
Jiya nodded. "She'll receive you later. There are matters of greater importance to her now."
It indicated just how little regard she had for him, if there were matters more important than seeing the king of the seelie realm. Devin awaited his fate.
He still remembered their first meeting. He'd half-believed his life would be forfeit within an instant.
She received him in her tent after a long march east. His bonds had been cut hours ago, but he felt more trapped than he had in the throne hall or at sword point. Shea's very
presence felt like a threat.
She sipped from an iron goblet—an action that would have rendered him violently sick immediately, perhaps to emphasize just how different they were.
She needn't have gone through the trouble. He understood that well.
"I must congratulate you on getting out of Asra alone. When I located you in my keep, under guard, I believed you were lost. Not many manage to surprise me."
Devin wondered if there was a veiled accusation, if she believed he'd been released to be used as a spy.
"I believe no such thing."
He blinked. "You're psychic?"
Shea smiled. "No. I was mated to a psychic, however. There's also seer blood in his bloodline. Quite the useful arsenal."
Devin hadn't realized Shea had ever had a mate. Consorts, certainly, but a mate? And she said so in past tense.
True matings were never dissolved. The only way to break such a bond was…death.
Then, he knew. Somehow he knew.
Shea had been mated to the overking. Which made her the most terrifyingly powerful thing on the Isle right now. Mates could access each other’s' strength in their lifetime, and upon death, they could absorb it, make it their own.
If they survived the loss of the one person made for them.
An earth mage. A psychic. A seer. Devin couldn't even imagine how strong an adversary the queen was.
"Oh, there are worse things in this world. You lack imagination. And strength," she added, cold and regal. "You slept five days after a little bit of magic. I know youths of ten with more inner fortitude. That won't do. We need you to become more."
He'd believed he might greet death in the tent. Instead, he found a worse fate.
Shea Blackthorn's training.
Devin Farel had never had any reason to consider himself a weakling. He'd spent half a century navigating the most severe, austere court of the Isle. In Elderdale, nothing short of excellence was demanded of the prince and heir. And even when he had reached excellence in his schooling, his craft, his swordplay, his father showed nothing beyond contempt. So, he trained harder. Became stronger.
And for all that, he was spent. A month of traveling with the unseelie queen was all it had taken to break him.
The traveling itself may not have proved problematic, though they walked many miles in the dry heat of the southern unseelie deserts every day. But the queen took to training him. He could not devise a greater torment.
After their limbs were exhausted, they walked. Long after his toes pinched at the tips of his boots, they kept walking. And at last, a halt was called, the cooks on duty prepared meals with what they could find or hunt, tents were erected, a guard was set up, and those who'd performed these duties at their previous stop got to rest till morrow.
Not Devin. This was when the queen called him to spar with her.
Another word for beating him senseless while pointing out everything he did wrong. A lesser man would have begged for the mercy of a quick execution. Then, there were the nights when she wanted him to use his magic. Those were tormenting. Creating an illusion, keeping it while he attacked on another front, then doing it all over again for two hours nonstop.
The next day at dawn, he was expected to keep walking.
One month of this changed everything he knew about himself. Mentally and physically.
Devin had always been tanned. The seelie court were day dwellers, and their royal city was set in the south. After his time in the desert, his skin had never been so dark or dry. He barely recognized his reflection now. The growing beard couldn't have been more out of character. He'd never had facial hair before. Few fae of his line did. His once-slender limbs were bulkier, more defined, not unlike the seasoned knights who'd once been his guards.
But what had truly changed beyond recognition was his mind.
Once, he'd allowed tutors and professors to tell him how far he could go, how fast he could cast his spells, how strong he was.
Now he knew the truth. He was the only one who could define his own limits.
Devin turned west, listening to the shift in the air. He frowned.
"Anything of note?" Shea asked.
She was walking next to him for once. Devin knew it for a test, like everything else she did, or asked. She always knew everything—or so it seemed.
"I feel a shift at the border of the woods."
After roaming the desert for weeks, never staying still, retracing their steps, they'd finally crossed into the Graywoods two days ago.
Devin guessed they'd been moving to avoid a direct confrontation with the scions. What had changed, he wasn't sure. He didn't sit on the queen's council. Now they were finally heading toward Elderdale.
His home.
His attention had been easily caught because the woods were silent and still, watchful and unmoving. What he'd heard had been nothing of the sort.
Riders. At least a few dozen.
"Yes, and what do you make of that shift, king?" Whenever she called him “king,” it felt like a joke.
"I…" It was hard to put into words the whispers he caught in the wind, but he tried his best. "I'm not sure it feels like pursuit. They're too slow. And I can't feel any real power. Just…purpose."
Shea watched him intently, before inclining her head. "Indeed. You have good instincts. Trust them." Her voice carried through the woods as she called, "Halt!"
All stopped at once, obeying their queen unfailingly.
Devin doubted he'd ever inspire such trust.
She turned to him now. "Let us wait for the horde."
"The horde?" Devin was confused.
She smiled.
He wondered if he'd ever seen her smile before.
"Yes, Devin. I'd wager you've had enough of walking for a while."
That was putting it mildly.
The unexpected halt was a treat in itself, especially since Shea didn't demand they train while they waited.
They'd stopped in a clearing near a river. Devin sat with his feet in the water, enjoying the simplest of pleasures.
"How are the blisters?" Jiya asked.
He grinned. The fae had become a friend of sorts—at least, he liked to think she had. She was always in Shea's shadow, and Devin had noticed subtle changes in her.
She wasn't suffering through the queen's training as he was, but she was learning all the same. Her stride had changed, becoming quieter. She held herself differently—more alert perhaps.
"I'd kill for a healing," Devin admitted. "Or a pair of knitted socks."
"Typical of a male. Killing rather than learning how to knit."
"Who's to say I'm not a proficient knitter? I simply lack materials."
Their easy exchange was interrupted by the sound of hooves at first, then by shadows approaching. Finally, they appeared. Horses taller than any he'd seen, slender and muscular and almost too beautiful to behold. Three males rode in front of them, leading the four dozen gorgeous beasts.
Fifty horses or so. And there were thousands of soldiers in Shea's army.
Devin's heart sank.
"Never mind socks," murmured Jiya. "I'd kill to get one of those."
Seven
One Moment
Devi listened to Vale's explanation, eyes fixed on the map of Corantius just in front of her. She'd spent the better part of the day poring over their plan, analyzing every possible way it might fail. Five minutes ago, she'd believed a distraction might be helpful. Now all she wanted to do was to go back to the map.
Vale had fully recovered, and so had she. They were back on their feet, full of energy, stronger than ever. Their bond had changed something deep rooted inside her, inside them both. What, she couldn't tell. Regardless, Devi knew it had increased her strength.
In the morning, three out of the four parts of her father's army had arrived, and when the southern forces joined them, they'd head north, edging back into enemy territory. They would be outnumbered on unfamiliar lands. Making sure their plan was perfect was
paramount to their survival.
The plan had been discussed with the general, and with Vale, and with her mother just that morning. She doubted a youth of her age would miraculously find a flaw seasoned commanders had overlooked, but she couldn't help it. Checking out the map was comforting, easing her ragged nerves.
Until Vale came to tell her about her mother, anyway.
Devi listened without a word. Vale was playing with her hair. He'd taken to doing that of late, rolling a strand of hair around his index finger, curling it before letting it go, and starting all over again.
She didn't dislike it.
Then he was done. Devi laughed.
"You think I didn't glean as much the moment I saw her?"
That her mother had staged her death for her betterment had been obvious. It didn't mean Devi had to forgive her for it after a day or two, even if the timing and circumstances of her return had done a bit to endear her to her.
Devi had called for help, with everything she was, begging anyone who'd listen to come to her aid and save her mate. And Loxy had answered the call, tugging the bond between those who shared blood to locate her. They'd already been on their way, leaving the Graywoods for Corantius the instant Vale had recovered his father's heirlooms, as Elden had promised. But without Loxy, they might have wandered for days before finding them. And by then, Vale would have been dead.
"I thought you might value the fact that she isn't attempting to lie. She seems nice enough. Nicer than my mother, for one."
Devi grinned. "There isn't a female alive who isn't nicer than Shea Blackthorn. The unseelie queen doesn't need to be nice. She needs to be respected."
"Spoken like a true sycophant. She'd be proud."
Devi might have laughed, if her mind hadn't just caught on to something.
Thinking back to Loxy appearing in front of her had triggered a new idea.
Their plan was simple. As soon as they were sure Rook was in Corantius, the elven army would provide a distraction outside the gate of the Court of Crystal, and while the scions focused on them, Devi, Vale, along with a strike team they'd yet to form, would sneak into the city and make their way to the castle.
