by Jen McIntosh
‘Explain yourself,’ he said, grinding the words out from between clenched teeth.
‘Grandfather,’ she said, her voice just a little too sweet as she gestured between them in introduction, ‘Alexan. Alexan, my grandfather.’ Alexan tried his best to hide his scepticism. The old man was no relation of Théon’s father, and Diathor’s father was long dead. Théon seemed to sense his hesitation and glanced over her shoulder at him, smiling. ‘I might be a few generations out, but it’s close enough. You can call him Silvermane.’
‘Théon,’ the old man growled in warning. Alexan didn’t blame him. Her irreverence in such a tense situation was irritating. His own patience was wearing thin already, given it was his life on the line.
But she continued on, unperturbed. ‘Alexan is a Darkling, probably sent by my father to kill me, even if he won’t admit it. But I figured he wasn’t that dangerous, so I just brought him through the wards, within striking distance of my sister, with no precautions.’ Her voice was laden with sarcasm as she dropped Alexan’s weapons at her feet.
If the old man had been furious before, he was incandescent with rage now. In his temper, his knuckles turned white around the hilt of his sword, and he bared his teeth in warning. ‘Théon!’ he bellowed, limping forward. ‘If you don’t give me a straight answer, I swear, by the Gods, I will kill you both!’
Alexan moved, surging to protect her – even if she didn’t deserve it after goading the old man. He lifted her by the waist and tossed her behind him, dropping into a defensive crouch over her. Silvermane brought his blade high and slashed downward, the silver blade flashing like lightning through the dark of the night. The blow should have severed Alexan’s head from his shoulders. Instead, it glanced off a Casting of solid air. He glanced back and saw Théon on her feet, wind coiling around her in readiness, her eyes pulsing with that awful light once more.
‘Drop it,’ she breathed, and Alexan shuddered to hear her father’s menace touch her lips again. The old man stepped back but made no move to relinquish his weapon. Her aura flared, and her fingers twitched around it. ‘Don’t,’ she warned him. ‘I owe him a life-debt. I can’t let you kill him.’
The old man let the sword slip from his grasp. It clattered to the ground with bleak finality, and Silvermane staggered back another step. Illyandi appeared from the doorway in a whirlwind of skirts and golden hair, slipping his arm around her slender shoulders and fixing baleful eyes on Théon. Green, lighter than Diathor’s, and flecked through with gold. There was no sign of recognition on that lovely face as she glanced at him. A hundred years was a long time. A Casting flickered between them, glinting like oak leaves in the morning sun. She would shield against her own sister? Interesting.
‘You owe Silvermane a life-debt too,’ Illyandi was saying. ‘Are you going to choose a Darkling over your own grandfather?’
‘You can’t owe family a life-debt,’ Théon snapped, releasing the Casting. ‘That’s just called family.’
Alexan kept his face impassive. So the old man was Théon’s kin? If so, she was right. Family were responsible for each other, bound by blood, so the bond of a life-debt was void. That didn’t, however, mean that she’d been forced to protect Alexan from Silvermane. Blood was the strongest bond of all. No. For whatever reason, she’d chosen Alexan of her own volition.
‘We’re your blood,’ Illyandi argued. Her voice was lovely, and she did look very much like her mother, but with none of Diathor’s warmth and kindness. Théon, by comparison, had her mother’s fire. It radiated off her as she stepped up to stand beside him. The gaze with which she pinned the old man was merciless.
‘You might be my blood, but it wasn’t you who was there for us when we needed you,’ she said dispassionately, though Alexan could smell the tension rolling off her.
‘And what? This Darkling was?’ Silvermane spat.
‘Yes!’ she snarled.
Stunned silence echoed in response.
‘Before the Claiming,’ Alexan explained in a dead voice, ‘I was a member of the Royal Guard. I swore my life in service to the Elf-Queen and would have gladly given it to defend her. But she bid me save her children instead. Once they were safe, I sought to avenge her death.’
But Silvermane wasn’t done. ‘And look at what that recklessness has cost you.’
‘I knew the risks, old man. I didn’t march in there blind, and I regret nothing.’
‘You are a fool,’ Silvermane hissed, eyeing him with disgust.
Alexan shrugged. He hardly cared what the old bastard thought of him. ‘Perhaps. But I’m also still here. There aren’t many who’ve walked into Elucion since the Fall that have walked out again. I haven’t survived this long by making rash decisions and acting on impulse.’
‘Luck,’ the old man spat. ‘Nothing but luck and the machinations of a madman. A madman you now serve, General.’
‘Skill,’ Alexan argued, ignoring the accusation. ‘Experience. Cunning. And a tenacity that I learned from a young girl, shamed and shunned by her own family for something beyond her control.’
The old man opened his mouth to argue, but Théon cut him off with an exasperated sigh. ‘As touching as all this is, we don’t have time for it. Kieyin was here.’
Silvermane gaped, slack-jawed, like she’d slapped him. ‘What?’
‘You heard. So we don’t have time for this. I don’t trust a Darkling bound to the King any more than you do, but he saved my life, and right now, we don’t have a lot of options. Kieyin will be back eventually with reinforcements, so we need to leave, and I’ll sleep a lot better knowing we have another fighter with us on the road.’
The old man hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue but unable to fault her reasoning. ‘So be it.’
‘A rousing proclamation. Inspiring,’ Théon said. She turned to her sister. ‘We need to pack. Can you get started while I pull what we need from the byre?’ Illyandi nodded and helped the old man back inside, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder at Alexan. Théon blew out a breath. ‘That went well.’
‘I expected worse,’ he admitted. ‘The journey will be dangerous.’
She snorted. ‘I’ve been in danger since the moment that monster planted me in my mother’s womb. It’s my sister I worry about. Even if I trusted you with my life – which I’m not sure I do – I don’t know if I can trust you with Illyandi’s.’
‘I am sworn to defend your family, Théon,’ said Alexan. ‘I couldn’t harm a Princess of Illyol even if I wanted to – no matter who ordered me otherwise.’
Another half-truth. Illyandi was safe enough but, like it or not, Théon was bastard-born Shade-spawn. The oath of the Royal Guard was unlikely to protect her. Still, it seemed to settle some of her nerves at least. He stepped closer and looked down at her with as much reassurance and kindness as he could muster. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to help. She smiled sadly up at him.
‘Thank you, Alexan. For all of it,’ she whispered in a small voice. Perhaps there was some of that shy young girl left in there.
‘You need never thank me,’ he repeated. ‘I swore my life to the Elf-Queen. It is yours. Forever.’
She smiled more broadly now and nodded. ‘For my first command – there’s a wagon behind the byre. You can hitch one of the horses to it and saddle the other two.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he replied with a bow.
She looked him over once more, a wicked grin on her lips. ‘I could get used to that. It’s always a pleasure to watch handsome men bow to me.’
Alexan blinked. Stared at her in confusion. She only winked and slipped inside, leaving him alone to his tasks.
Chapter Fifteen
Renila’s heart was heavy as she climbed the stairs to the tower one last time. The hours following the Lady’s announcement had been most trying. Erion’s fury had reached breaking point, and Renila had sent him back to their room before he could say something he would regret. Suriya and Lucan had been distraught but insisted the story they’d
told their mother was the truth. There had been no Darkling, no magic, just a childish adventure gone awry.
Renila couldn’t believe that her son had done any of the things they said he had, and when she’d spoken to Erion later, he’d stuck by his story. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that the twins had magic, that his story was at least plausible. It would only make their betrayal worse in his eyes.
She’d tried to confront their mother – she was the one who had warned Renila that the twins’ magic would surface soon, after all – but the Lady refused to see her. Suriya and Lucan had gone to beg on her behalf, but they hadn’t returned. If she knew them at all, they would be too ashamed of their failure to face her.
Not that Renila blamed them. It was unfair to hold children to account for the actions of their parents. The confusion in their stories was frustrating, but the strange thing was that she got the feeling they believed what they were saying. Even more confusing was that Erion wasn’t lying. Yet both stories could not be true.
She sighed and stepped out onto the turret. Farran was waiting for her, his shoulders slumped in resignation and his kind, brown eyes weary. He smiled sadly when he saw her and held a hand out. She took it and allowed him to tug her closer. They stood in silence, side by side, watching the sky lighten as the dawn approached.
‘I’d offer to speak to her myself, if I thought it would help,’ he murmured.
Renila smiled. ‘I know you would, but it won’t.’
‘What happened, Renila?’ he asked. She looked up into eyes heavy with frustration, in a kind, handsome face lined with worry, and realised that she loved him. Without any doubt, she loved him. And though he was not hers to love, she decided then to trust him. Besides, what did she have to lose now?
So she told him. Everything. How she had come to the castle. How she knew nothing of her past save what the Lady told her. How the Lady had warned her of the twins’ magic and hated Erion with a passion that she could not fathom. Showed him the necklace she wore, the only keepsake from whatever life she had known before. And then she told him what had happened between the twins and Erion, and their conflicting stories of the night’s events.
And when she was done, she felt lighter and happier than she had a right to be. Farran was quiet for a long time, his brows lowering as he processed her tale.
‘Say something?’ she whispered when he remained silent. But he said nothing. Instead, he pulled her to him. With one hand on the small of her back, he pressed her against his chest, while the other cupped her face, tilting it up to look at him. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender at first, and she froze in shock. But as her surprise subsided, she melted into his arms and sighed in contentment. Her lips parted and Farran groaned as the kiss deepened.
After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers and breathing. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I laid eyes on you.’
‘And now, because I’m leaving, you can,’ she murmured without bitterness. He had his reasons, and they were justified. It wasn’t fair of her to expect anything else. He was a married man. Cold fear gripped at her heart, and she stepped back rather than tempt either of them again.
‘Where will you go?’ he asked, keeping hold of her hands.
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve never lived anywhere but here. At least not anywhere that I can remember.’
He frowned. ‘I have family in Ironden. You could go there. I’ll write a letter of recommendation for you – they’ll find work for you, I’m sure.’
Renila nodded. ‘It’s a thought,’ she agreed. They fell silent for a while, each memorising the other’s face.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ he asked. ‘Food? Water? Warm clothes and blankets?’
She nodded again, fighting against the tears pricking at the back of her eyes, struggling to speak past the lump in her throat. ‘Mal sorted us out.’
Frustration was written on his handsome face, and he opened his mouth to speak again. Renila placed her finger against his lips and shook her head. She didn’t want to hear the words … not out loud.
She looked past him, her attention turning to the dawn. Sunrise. The time the Lady had set for their departure. But her gaze was drawn away, and she squinted in the early morning sunlight, looking towards the forest.
Out of the rising sun, a rider galloped towards the castle.
His mount was bright, shining white, and he wore light, fine armour that glinted in the dawn. Power pulsed and surged around him, the ground trembling beneath his horse’s hooves. Thunder echoed through the keep, a roar of defiance to announce his arrival.
And though she thought she should cower in fear and dread, instead there was only a peculiar swell of hope in her heart.
She didn’t need to ask to realise that this wasn’t one of Farran’s men. His mount was far too fine, and his armour was strange. She was vaguely aware of Farran sounding the alarm behind her. The warning clamour of the bells echoing around the castle grounds, the shouts of the men running to their posts followed by the clatter of the portcullis being lowered. But she paid it little heed, entranced by the approaching stranger.
‘Go back to your room and bar the door,’ Farran yelled over his shoulder as he bolted down the stairs. ‘I’ll come for you when it’s safe.’
She hesitated. There was a yearning, a desperation, in her chest that she could not explain. But it made her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat as she watched the rider draw closer.
Even from this distance, the barely restrained fury in his face was clear. His storm-black hair snapped behind him like a pennon as he urged his steed faster. But the portcullis clanged shut as he approached, and he pulled up hard with a shout of frustration. Thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground beneath her feet. His horse circled with agitation while he eyed the battlements. A storm raged around him in a peculiar aura that sent chills down her spine. She’d seen something like that before … though where it had been eluded her.
‘Gaelan!’ he roared. ‘I know you’re in there! Open this damn gate, or I swear by Athair, I will tear this place down with my bare hands!’
There was a long pause, and his horse continued to pace while he waited. But then, with a reluctant creak, the unmistakable sound of the portcullis being raised echoed up from below. The rider kicked his heels into his mount’s flanks, and with a triumphant scream, it thundered into the courtyard.
She ran. Down the stairs and through the kitchen, along the corridors to her room. She threw the door open to find Erion peering out the window at the commotion outside.
‘Stay here,’ she ordered. Before he could reply, she pulled the door shut and locked it. He wouldn’t be happy, but she would deal with his foul mood later. His safety came first. She sprinted down another corridor, to the door that would take her to the side of the courtyard, and slipped out to join the crowd gathered there.
The stranger was in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by Farran’s men, their pikes levelled at him. His horse – a magnificent stallion – pranced and snorted with annoyance but kept out of reach.
But the rider? The rider was perhaps the most beautiful man that Renila had ever seen. He was taller than even Farran, with broad shoulders and the most astonishing face. His hair was as black as night, and his eyes … his eyes were like a thunderstorm, an ethereal shade that lay somewhere between dark grey and pale purple, churning with power that ached to be unleashed.
Then his gaze fell on Renila, and he stilled. Beneath him, the stallion froze, quivering as the rider’s strange aura flickered around them. A sense of familiarity hit Renila like a blow to the gut, and she staggered as though winded from the force of that recognition. But she had no memory of this man.
‘Lord Alvar,’ came the bitter voice of the Lady. The rider looked away, and his gaze, which had softened at the sight of Renila, turned furious once more. Renila looked towards the source
of his ire and saw the proud form of the Lady striding out of the castle, Farran at her side.
‘Gaelan,’ he snarled.
‘Lady Gaelan,’ she corrected him, drawing to a halt. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You know damn well what I’m doing here,’ he growled.
The Lady arched a sardonic brow. ‘Stand your men down, Captain,’ she ordered Farran. Her gaze found Renila in the crowd, and she scowled.
‘Are you sure that’s wise, my Lady?’ Farran asked. ‘We can’t be sure that he’s trustworthy.’
The Lady snorted, her eyes still on Renila. There was a malicious glint in them that made Renila shiver with fear.
‘Of course he’s trustworthy,’ she said with a smug smile. ‘He’s my husband.’
The ground had dropped away beneath her feet, stomach lurching as the Lady’s words filtered through. But something deep within her chest was screaming with the wrongness of it all. Liar, it roared. Heat rose in her cheeks as a rage that she didn’t understand coursed through her veins. She couldn’t breathe for the fury. Gasping, she staggered backwards, shoving her way back through the crowd. There were eyes on her – Lord Alvar’s or the Lady’s, she didn’t know or care. Unable to see for tears of anger that she could not explain, she grasped blindly for the door.
She stumbled as she slipped back inside. A gust of wind from the courtyard had blown out the torch, but she welcomed the darkness. Hidden from sight and safe once more, she leaned against the wall, savouring the unyielding strength of the stone walls beneath her hands. But as she relaxed and her temper cooled, a fathomless despair came crashing down around her. A broken sob escaped her lips, and she slid to the floor. The icy flagstones were an anchor as wave upon wave of sorrow and guilt surged over her. Threatened to drown her in a sea of emotions that made no sense at all.
When those inexplicable tears had run dry, she wiped her eyes and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. Why had the sight of a complete stranger caused such a swell of hope? And why, then, had hearing the Lady claim him as her husband made her so angry? Why did this Lord Alvar make her feel so much regret that the weight of it threatened to crush her?
