by Jen McIntosh
He wasn’t sure if it was the sound of her own name, or just the pure terror in Illyandi’s voice that roused Théon to consciousness. But she surged to her feet, looking between him and Illyandi. He saw the moment she made her decision, saw the certainty in her lovely face. He roared at her to stop, begged her not to do it. A small, bitter smile twisted her lips, but there was forgiveness in her eyes as she turned her back on him.
She threw her hands up, flooding the wards with her power.
Sealing Illyandi inside.
Safe from Jenia.
Safe from him.
She’d known what it would cost her. She’d left herself exposed and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He slammed into her, fingers closing around her throat as he choked the life from her. He wanted to make it quick, but Jenia was guiding his hands – making Théon suffer, making Illyandi suffer. The Princess was screaming, pounding her fists against the now-solid wards, fighting her Dragon lover while he struggled to pull her back. There were only a couple of feet separating them, but it might as well have been a thousand miles. Not even Illyandi’s magic could break through the spell Théon had worked.
He could only watch, a prisoner in his own body, as the light faded from Théon’s beautiful eyes. Illyandi was begging him to stop. The sound of his name on her lips would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. But it was the pathetic gasp of Théon’s dying breath that cut the deepest.
It was done. His Queen was dead. He staggered back from her corpse, staring in horror at hands that were now his to control. His strength failed him. He crashed to his knees and roared up at the dawn in agony. On the other side of the wards, Illyandi was sobbing. Faolin held her to his chest, his eyes wet with unshed tears. Face twisted with hate and bloodlust.
But it was not for him.
He sensed the moment Jenia appeared at his side. She looked down at Théon’s body and sighed. ‘What a waste,’ she said. Her eyes flickered up to Illyandi and Faolin, trapped behind the wards. ‘I suppose there’s always the consolation prize. I think the Dragon’s head would be the perfect finishing touch to decorate the throne room back in Elucion, don’t you agree, Alexan?’ He didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Théon’s body. Couldn’t believe she was gone. ‘The Princess,’ Jenia continued, eyeing Illyandi with distaste, ‘is a different matter. The Dragon girl too. He’d want them alive. They’re good breeding stock, if a little frigid, and he’s just lost one heir. They could give him another.’
He only vaguely noted the bitterness in Jenia’s voice. It was common knowledge that she couldn’t give their master an heir. Why else would he have sought Princess Diathor and Lady Kylar and fathered children on them? No, Jenia wouldn’t tolerate another woman in his bed – no matter the justification. She’d kill Illyandi rather than risk being replaced.
Alexan didn’t know where he found the strength, what power he summoned to act. Perhaps it was the sight of the proud, haughty Illyandi on her knees, the sound of her keening as she screamed for her sister. Perhaps it was the memory of watching Diathor die for no other crime than loving her own child. Perhaps it was knowing that Théon had given her life to protect the Princess, and that he would not allow such a sacrifice to be in vain. Maybe it was none of those things, maybe it was all of them. He didn’t care.
He stood. His hand snaked out and gripped Jenia by the throat, squeezing tightly. Just as she’d made him do to Théon. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t catch her breath enough to summon any sound, but her commands pulsed down the bond. His legs buckled from the effort, but he held fast. He had no idea how – he’d never known anyone to fight the Claiming and win. All he knew was that Jenia had to be stopped.
His gaze fixed on Jenia, savouring the panic in her bloody eyes, but he felt the moment the change began. His blood was boiling in his veins, changing in response to some other magic awakening within him. Something more powerful was Claiming him.
Théon was dead. The binding spell was broken. The Shade was loose. Her blood was in his veins. Had been for weeks. Strengthening him. Claiming him. And now it was free. He couldn’t see the change, but he felt it. Deep within his soul. He was hers now. Her Darkling. Claimed by her Shade blood, even in death.
Jenia seemed to realise he was beyond her control, and she scrabbled for the amulet around her throat. Too late, he realised what it was as her bloody palm closed around it. The air beside her split open, and through it walked a nightmare.
Pale eyes and dark red hair, glinting like fine wine …
Alexan released an explosive breath when he realised it was not the King who had stepped through the rip in the world. The look Kieyin gave him was one of hurt and betrayal. And, if there was any mercy in the Wielding blast that sent Alexan flying, it was only that he didn’t kill him. Kieyin’s arms wrapped around Jenia and then they were gone.
Dawn had broken, bathing the glen in the pale light of the morning. The sky overhead was clear and the soft breeze that caressed his cheek still carried the edge of night, even as the warmth of the sun kissed his skin. It was a vision of the world at peace. And as he gazed out across the ocean, Alexan felt all that remained of his tired and weary soul shatter.
His breaths came in furious pants as he stared at the spot where his prey had vanished. Transference. A growl of frustration rumbled in his chest. His fight with Jenia was far from over. After all she’d done, he would not rest until he was smiling down on her corpse. But as the peace of the morning seeped into the cracks of his broken heart, his rage turned to sorrow, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
Illyandi gasped. His attention snapped around, just as something stirred in the grass nearby.
Théon.
He didn’t have the strength to stand, so he crawled instead. His hand found her wrist, searching for a pulse. There. A beat against his fingers. Faint but defiant. At his touch, he heard her take a shuddering breath and sobbed with relief.
He dragged himself up to sitting, leaning over her, cupping her face in his hands and murmuring thanks to whatever Gods watched over her. But his thanks fell silent as her eyes opened. They were not evergreen cat eyes that stared up at him. They were the pale eyes of the Shade.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
In the weeks since Erion had stood in the Shade King’s throne room, Kieyin had done as his sovereign had ordered. Erion had hardly been allowed to leave his sight. Even when Seren joined them, the Shade had maintained a watchful eye on him. There had been that one day when, without warning, Kieyin had flinched and staggered to his feet, ordering Seren to stand watch before vanishing. He’d returned less than an hour later, and since then, he had been distant … almost sullen.
His mood was infectious. Erion could feel resentment boiling in his weary veins. Even though Kieyin had ordered a hot bath drawn for him, provided him with clean clothes and a delicious meal of fried fish and steamed vegetables. Even though he’d let him sleep in his massive bed. It changed nothing. He was still a prisoner. Just because they made him comfortable didn’t excuse them for taking him from his mother.
The Shade seemed to sense his unease. In some effort to make it up to him, he had promised Erion a treat he swore the boy would enjoy. Which was how Erion ended up climbing the one-hundred-and-sixty-two stairs to what Kieyin called the eyrie. It was an enormous tower that rose out of the centre of the Shade King’s palace, a spiral staircase ascending the middle of it. He was breathing hard by about halfway, and by the time he reached the top, he was gasping through a stitch in his side. Kieyin walked behind him, not commenting or judging whenever he had to stop to catch his breath. Exhaustion pulled at Erion again, and he cursed whatever illness sank its claws into him. Cursed himself for tiring so easily.
He would have been breathless regardless, once he realised what they’d climbed to see. The top of the tower was open – a five-sided floor covered by a matching roof supported on struts. But the sides were open to the vast expanse of air between them and the ground below. On each
edge was a V-shaped protrusion, making the pentagonal floor more of a five-pointed star. And inlaid in each ledge was a nest. Four of them were empty. But in one …
He wanted to say eagle, but that would not have done it justice. The bird was large enough to carry a man – possibly two or three – and far more spectacular than a simple eagle.
‘Her name is Amara,’ said Kieyin, his voice tender and full of love.
Erion couldn’t look away. She was beautiful. Her sleek feathers were pure white and swept back and off her neck, framing her head like a crown. Her beak gleamed like polished gold in the pale dawn light, and every breathtaking inch of her radiated blistering heat. The air around her shimmered with it.
Seeing them, she rose and stretched her mighty wings – knocking Erion over with the blast of air that they swept up – and screeched in welcome. The Shade chuckled and helped Erion to his feet without taking his eyes off the bird, murmuring to her all the while. Then she turned a dark, baleful eye on Erion. Acting on instinct, he stilled and stared back, dipping his head in respect. Then, without warning, she returned the gesture.
A breath of relief slipped out, and he could have sworn Amara gave him a mischievous wink. He blinked and shook his head. That would be ridiculous. ‘What …?’ He couldn’t find the words.
‘Amara is a firebird,’ Kieyin answered. ‘One of the last, in fact.’ He looked as though he were about to say more when his attention was drawn to a dark speck on the horizon, approaching fast. Amara clicked her beak irritably and gave Kieyin a reproachful look. Chuckling, the Shade murmured an apology and laid a reassuring hand on her neck. ‘Behave yourself,’ he admonished.
Then the dark speck became another firebird that shot towards the eyrie at breakneck speed. Amara huffed and shoved her noble head under one mighty wing, pretending she was fast asleep.
And as the other firebird swooped in and landed on the opposite perch, Erion understood why. This one was even bigger than Amara, with feathers of pure black and a beak and talons the colour of wrought iron. And astride its neck was the Shade King.
He looked younger than he had in the throne room. Happier and more carefree. And there was warmth in his gaze as he dismounted and stroked his firebird’s beak in thanks. He glanced at Amara and smirked, but there was tenderness there too, though he said nothing to the bird feigning sleep. Then his gaze fell on Kieyin and Erion, and any thoughts of kindness vanished.
‘How is she?’
There was a muscle leaping in Kieyin’s jaw. ‘Alive. She’s waiting for you in your chambers.’
The King nodded. ‘Thank you. For saving her. I don’t know what I would have done—’
He broke off, looking to the horizon while he took a deep, shuddering breath. Kieyin only shrugged, as if to say that there was no need for gratitude, before producing an envelope from inside his jacket. Erion doubted the King missed the broken seal – he could see it from across the eyrie – but the Shade didn’t comment on it. His gaze remained impassive while he opened the letter and read it. But as his dreadful eyes scanned the page, his gaze grew darker, and his brows furrowed in anger. All around him, his power crackled and sparked like a blacksmith’s forge, and when he was done, the letter turned to ash in his hand. His gaze went to Kieyin.
‘You read it?’ he asked. Kieyin snorted and didn’t reply, but the look he offered the King said the question offended him. The King nodded and gestured for Kieyin to accompany him. ‘Jenia will have to wait. Bring the boy,’ was all he said, and they followed him back down the stairs and through the palace.
The room to which he led them was large, but far less grand than the throne room. In it was a table upon which was a map. Erion shuddered when he noted that the corners of the map were pinned with four wicked-looking daggers. Chairs were placed around the table, but the King ignored these, standing as he pored over the map. Kieyin stood across from him, but he motioned for Erion to take a seat. He did as he was bid, even if it terrified him to sit at this table. So close to the Shade King.
‘We’ve got Zorana and the Queens to the north – possibly joining forces – and we’re hemmed in by the sea to the south. And now Mazron has cut us off from Ciaron. The only way out is east, and that means straying close to Revalla,’ the King mused out loud.
Erion was speaking before he even realised it. ‘What’s wrong with Revalla?’ He regretted his outburst as the King frowned, but Kieyin spoke before the King could punish Erion.
‘It’s haunted. Anyone who ventures there never returns, at least, not in any useful state. Gibbering wrecks, their minds melted in their heads. Long dead they might be, but the ghosts of Revalla’s fallen are still a force to be reckoned with.’
The King nodded in agreement, his lip curling in distaste as he looked back at the map. ‘We don’t have the numbers to take her back by force. Not if the Darkling Queens have sided with him.’
‘I don’t think the alliance is set in stone,’ Kieyin argued. ‘Zorana doesn’t trust them that much. She can’t have told Drosta who he was hunting. He would have never taken her to Dar Kual if he’d known.’
The King frowned, studying the map. ‘Drosta?’
‘The Darkling who handed her over to the Queens,’ explained Kieyin. ‘He’s one of theirs, but my sources seem to think he’s working for Zorana – at least to some extent. He was also the one escorting the shipment of slaves from Ciaron.’
The King nodded. ‘If Mazron is in Dar Kual, Ciaron is open.’
‘I doubt it will stay that way for long.’
‘Perhaps,’ the King mused, studying the map through narrowed eyes. As if examining the pieces of a puzzle – all he had to do was figure out how best to fit them together. Erion studied it too, trying to make sense of the puzzle. ‘Send Corrigan. Tell him to bring the Ciaron Nightwalkers back into the fold. Whatever it takes.’
‘Mazron will get wind of it, eventually.’
There was nothing but the promise of violence in the King’s gaze. ‘I know.’
‘You want him distracted while I slip in and steal her right out from under his nose.’
A thin, vicious smile. ‘That’s one option.’
‘You want me to kill him?’ asked Kieyin.
‘I’d rather you brought him back here in chains, so I might have that pleasure myself,’ the King mused. ‘But if the opportunity arises, I don’t care how it happens. I just want him dead.’
‘What about Zorana? Killing him will give her the cause she’s been looking for. That’s why she went after Keriath. She’s trying to unbalance you – and it looks like it’s working.’
A warning growl ripped through the room, and Erion quailed beneath the force of such a temper. But the King only said, ‘Watch it.’
Kieyin’s hands slammed down on the table, scattering a nearby pile of paper.
‘Answer the fucking question,’ he snarled. ‘I don’t care what I promised Alexan – if you think I’m putting my life on the line for her without knowing that you’ve thought this through—’
The King leaned over. ‘You’ll do as I tell you or—’
‘Or what?’ Kieyin interrupted, standing nose to nose with his sovereign. ‘Even if I can get through Mazron, she won’t come quietly. You know damn well what she says about you.’ The King flinched. Infinitesimally, but Erion caught it. Kieyin did too and seemed to take it as a signal to keep pushing. ‘Théon made her choice. She knew she could have come home any time she wanted. She chose death instead.’
The Shade King stepped back and sat down in his throne-like chair, his shoulders slumped with weariness. ‘Théon is the reason we’re safe from Zorana,’ he said in a hollow voice. ‘She’s not dead. I’d know if she was. I felt her hovering on the brink. But she never crossed over. I don’t know how, but she survived. And with Alexan at her side …’
‘She’ll try to retake Illyol,’ Kieyin said.
The King nodded, looking once more to the map. ‘She was never going to tolerate a Shade on her mother’s throne. A
lexan’s presence will ensure her success.’
‘I can’t take him with me to Dar Kual,’ Kieyin said, gesturing at Erion.
The King turned to consider Erion and smiled. It made his blood run cold. ‘Leave the boy with me. Have the rooms next to mine made up for him. I want to keep him where I can see him.’
‘Seren won’t like it,’ Kieyin warned.
‘Seren doesn’t have to like it,’ the King snapped, without taking his eyes off Erion. Then he looked back to Kieyin and stood. ‘Leave Théon to Alexan. She’ll find her way home eventually. It’s Keriath who needs you now. Go.’ Kieyin nodded and stood. But as he turned to leave, the King placed a firm hand on his shoulder. ‘She may not come quietly, but I would trust no one else to do what is necessary. I would prefer that you spare her but, if it comes to it, swear to me you will make it quick. She’s suffered enough.’
Kieyin bowed his head. ‘I swear it.’
Then he was gone, leaving Erion alone with the Shade King.
It was almost sunset by the time Suriya crawled from the bed, having slept the whole night and the whole day following. Given how awful she felt, it would take even longer to recover all the energy she had channelled into her brother. She padded through the suite, on bare feet and wearing Gaelan’s oversized nightgown, in search of food. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Despite her exhaustion, sleep had not come easily in this strange place. Even when she had drifted off, she had been plagued once more by strange dreams that left her with an unshakeable sense of dread in her stomach.
