“Mm-hm.” She bit her lip and trembled.
“Nathaera.” He reached out and caught her hand where it rested against the windowsill. Ice cold. He brought it to his lips, slowly, snaring her eyes as he tenderly kissed her fingertips. Her knuckles. Her wrist.
She watched him, unmoving, breathless, eyes bright and wide, glorious in the glow of the distant moon in its faraway sky.
“I love you, Nathaera,” he whispered. “My steadfast, brave, foolish lady. I love you dearly.”
She stood still as the tower walls. Gasped. Flung her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. “I’m dreaming! Only dreaming. But what a lovely, wondrous dream. Sweet Afallon Above, let me never wake.”
Gwyn caught her chin in his hand and lifted her head until she met his gaze. He bent down, caught her lips with his, and kissed her. She answered, tentative. It was a sweet, lingering kiss. After a moment, the two pulled back and stared into one another’s eyes, content to find what burned there: adoration, devotion. Love.
“Goodnight, Gwynter,” whispered Nathaera, tears slipping unchecked down her cheeks.
“Goodnight, my dearest lady.”
She withdrew and left him alone in his tower. Though his heart ached, warmth cocooned his soul, and his hope burned a little brighter.
Part IV
Crown of the Blighted
Chapter 29
The first thaw of spring brought an army to the gates of Talbethé. Dripping icicles made their last stand against the ramparts of the keep, while Gwyn stood before the open gate to receive the approaching force of arms. The musky scent of the horses floated into the courtyard as the Crane banner bobbed above a forerider upon his steed, beside which merrily danced the Swan banner.
Celin stood next to Gwyn to welcome his kin.
At the head of the 500 Ilidreth bowmen, Gwyn spotted a familiar face. He smiled at the memory. The Ilidreth commander bore the same amusement in a vivid smile and twinkling eye. He raised a hand in greeting as he reined in his horse. “Hail, Winter King, once my captive simply called Gwyn. Do you still claim not to be a mage?”
“Be welcome in the company of many mages, High Lord Bowrin of the Ilidreth allied forces under the Crane King’s banner,” replied Gwyn with a broad grin.
Celin looked between them, eyebrow arched. “I see you are already acquainted. Your Majesty, you have not been idle a day in your life, I suspect.”
“Some years were more eventful than others,” said Gwyn. “I had the high honor of accompanying Lord Bowrin through the woods of Ilid for a few short days before Kive and I escaped. It was shortly after I made your acquaintance, in truth.”
Bowrin laughed. “High honor indeed, though that honor belonged to me. Forgive my ignorance of your heritage.” He bowed his head.
Gwyn’s smile slipped a little. “We were both ignorant, and I long often for those days when I was but a fledgling mage. Please, dismount and refresh yourselves. Be welcome. You’ve had a lengthy ride.”
Bowrin made a hand signal, and his men dismounted in unison. As Gwyn’s aides rushed forward to provide whatever the new troop required, Gwyn and his Ilidreth allies headed for the inner keep.
“The Crow King’s ranks are daily swelling,” said Bowrin as they walked. “Two Simaeri cities who openly swore fealty to Your Majesty were torched a fortnight ago. The flames burned black. I would venture to guess it was the Fiend’s work.”
Celin sighed. “Yet more tragedy is heaped upon the soil of this ancient land. How much more darkness can the Crow King invoke?”
“Darkness begets darkness,” said Bowrin. “His magic grows stronger with every act, Lord Celin’Laen. He has also ordered an attack on the borders of Ilid, but none of his soldiers will march to the Woods. They still fear the Ilidreth.”
“That will be advantageous,” Gwyn murmured.
Celin nodded.
Bowrin went on. “Fear also drives the Simaeri to adhere to the Crow’s wishes. He demands more men, and more men bend the knee to his tainted throne, heeding the call. There are rumors and stories he has circulated about you. The Winter King is now a dark tale ringing like a dooming knell across the whole of Simaerin. You’re a dread specter used to frighten the most wicked child into submission. The Crow King has decreed that the very world will burn under your tyrant hand should you ascend the throne of any land. Ignorance, fear, and prejudice work in his favor, leading many to take up his holy cause with zealous fervor.”
Gwyn swallowed hard against this bit of news, though it shouldn’t surprise him. The ancient line of Wintervale had long been anathema to the country and its people. No doubt the Crow King had wished to banish any notions that previous rulers were better than him. If the people of Simaerin thought the Wintervale kings were tyrants, then the Crow King was free to oppress them meticulously, like a slow poison over time, and none would be the wiser, for days of old were deemed far crueler.
The question remained: Why? What purpose did the Crow King’s machinations serve? Was madness the only reason for his careful schemes? Did he have an ultimate goal, a point he meant to achieve? Or was this but a game, and Gwyn was only the latest contender to be crushed under the king’s talons?
Well. Gwyn’s hands curled into tight fists. This contender will not succumb. This was not a game to him, nor would he let the Crow King continue in his evil course.
Spring had come. It was time to march on Crowwell.
Chapter 30
‘Gwynter, will you ride with me?’
Teeth gritted, Gwyn blocked his opponent’s sword as the voice rushed through his mind. Anywhere, Aluem.
The unicorn tossed his mane. ‘Now?’
Gwyn lowered his sword and Prince Fayett stumbled to a halt mid charge, hair stuck to his sweaty brow. “Are you all right, Your Majesty?”
Nodding, Gwyn sheathed his broadsword. “Enough training for now. I thank you for your time, Your Highness.”
Fayett waved that away with a casual hand and nodded toward Aluem. “Does the unicorn call you?”
“He does.”
“Then go. We can spar another day.”
Gwyn bowed his head and trotted to Aluem’s side. “Where do we ride?”
‘Across the Weave.’
Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
‘Come, and I shall show you.’
Gwyn mounted. Aluem cantered toward the keep gate, which opened as they neared. Beneath the portcullis and out into the open fields they rode, and here Aluem broke into a full gallop. Gwyn hunched forward and let the wind toss his long hair as it might. The unicorn rode south for nearly an hour, then his pace slowed to a canter, a trot, and he halted before a grove of willow trees whose thirsty vines dipped their heads into a little spring at their center.
Reverently Aluem started forward again, hooves silent against the earth. A sacred hush drifted through the grove, and Gwyn held his tongue, afraid to break the stillness.
‘Dismount and peer into the pool.’
Gwyn slid from Aluem’s back and picked his way around the tree roots until he gazed upon the reflective surface and met his own eyes in the water. Those eyes widened, for though his image stood within the pool, his surroundings there were vastly altered.
“Swan Castle?” whispered Gwyn as he recognized the spires of that once-grand edifice. His voice thundered within the grove, far too loud and coarse for such a realm. I’m standing inside a Vale, he realized. It felt much like Celin’s secret home within the northern woods of Ilid. This pool belonged to the Ilidreth.
‘Few Vales remain in the mundane world, and fewer still serve the purpose of this place. This is a pool of memory.’
Gwyn glanced at Aluem. “Am I to view the past?”
‘If you deem it wise. I cannot say. Perhaps it shall reveal what answers we need in this age of war. Or perhaps it will show only sorrow. I thought to give you the choice, for the dearest gift granted to Man above all else is Choice.’
“Do I step into the water?
”
‘Yes.’
Gwyn searched the pool, studying the memory of spires belonging to a faraway age and place. He drew a breath, gathering his nerve. To learn the truth, to witness the horrors he suspected would follow, enveloped him with chilling fear. But if this might offer a chance to win against the Crow King, I must try. He slipped into the water. It swelled up to swallow him, warm as an embrace, caressing as a mother’s touch, welcome and sweet.
His vision blurred. He could still breathe, though air filled his lungs languidly. Black leeched away color, air grew scarce, and then the water receded back down to his ankles.
Here the world shone brighter. Memory had crystallized light and color, encasing it in vivid detail too profound to be real. Flowers shimmered. Birdsong floated on streams of sweet, aromatic wind tasting like flowers and honey. Life hummed all about him, bursting with joy.
Laughter sounded on the succulent breeze. Gwyn’s heart tightened. He strode from the pool, out of the grove of willow trees, and entered the courtyard of Shaeswéath, the throne of Ilid, home of Prince Kive. There, beneath the fountain of his grandfather, sat the prince himself robed in rich motley patterns, crowned in silvery light. Beside him, exquisite and graceful and human, sat the lady queen: Shalesta of Crane Castle. In her hands she held a lily pad from which she sipped golden water.
A presence stood beside Gwyn. He started, and glanced right to find Aluem there, pearlescent eyes sorrowful. ‘Long has it been since the world was so full of light and wonder. Do you sense the innocence of this age, Gwynter? Do you taste the succor of beneficence? Of fair trade, tolerance, and kindness? ‘Tis a cup sweeter than the purest water to sip once more from such a time. My soul longs for these tender moments—for they are never more than that. Alas, Gwynter! How bleak the world is. How foolhardy its inhabitants. How steeped in greed and warmongering. But that is the way of it, for it is in such turmoil that we can come to love and honor tender memory and feelings. I must endure.’
Gwyn rested his hand on Aluem’s neck, hoping to convey some meager measure of consolation. “If only the innocent weren’t the ones most wounded in conflict. But I suppose that which is good and wholesome is targeted most ardently by evil.” He frowned. “If only I understood what makes evil. How does the choice to do harm penetrate a man’s heart? Is he born to it?”
‘Nay,’ said Aluem. ‘Choice is given to Man, as I said before. Never is he born to play a certain role upon the stage. He must choose to rise to such, or to play some other part. You, Gwynter, were not required to oppose the Crow King. You chose to do so.’
“I didn’t choose to be a king,” Gwyn whispered.
‘Aye, but your parents and their forebears made the choices which led to your birth. And even so, you could walk away from your birthright.’
Gwyn smiled wanly. “With a glad heart, I would.”
‘Then why do you not?’
He hesitated. “Because I must do all I can for Simaerin.”
‘Indeed. For this you have chosen.’
As they spoke, Gwyn and his unicorn watched the queen and prince bask under a warm sun, enjoying the faint breezes. Now another figure strode into view, as familiar as the first two: the Crow King—or, rather, Kovien, as he was once named. This long-ago shade of the Crow King had already chosen evil as he strode toward his family, gait rigid, his mien dark, hair flowing long and black as a crow’s wings. In one hand he gripped a sword, in the other he held a crown of obsidian black bedecked in blood rubies glittering with malevolence in the sunlight.
Gwyn started forward, sensing the bloodlust and rage within Kovien, but he stopped himself. This is only memory, long past. “Aluem, can I bear to watch?”
The unicorn didn’t answer.
Kovien reached his kin. Shalesta rose from the fountain’s edge with concern written in the lines of her brow.
Kive rose in the next heartbeat, gasping. “My brother, you are ill!”
Kovien said nothing. He reached up and placed the jagged crown upon his own head.
Shalesta and Kive shrank back.
Gwyn felt the malignant force radiating from the crown. “What is that?”
Aluem pawed the earth. ‘An ancient relic molded from the blood of thousands. ‘Twas the same artifact which ended the divine life of your beloved Afallon, for he who wears the Crown of the Blighted wields the unholy magic of Hell itself.’
Gwyn recoiled. His heart flinched as he understood. “That is his weapon, Aluem. That is how the Crow King will end magic. But if he wields such a force, why has he not already succeeded? Why has he waited so long and why doesn’t he use it now to defeat my army? Are there limitations to its power? Rites or magics required to work its ruin?”
‘It killed a god. It ended the line of Wintervale. It purged the Ilidreth. I do not think the Crown itself lacks strength, but rather its wielder does. The Crow King, for all his cunning and all his magic, is only Ilidreth. No doubt it has taken its toll with every use. Perhaps he is loath to use it unless he absolutely must.’
Gwyn lifted his eyes again to the scene where Shalesta begged her son not to use such blatant evil.
Kovien remained still, unmoved. “Father is dead,” he said. “I slew him within the throne room. Behold.” With a flick of his wrist, King Roth appeared against the grass, limp and pale as fallen snow.
The queen let out a cry and fell to her knees, pressed a hand to her face, and wept.
Kive remained standing, eyes wide as he shuddered. “Why, Kovien? I do not understand.”
“I am called to this purpose,” answered the Crow. “I must heed the voice.”
Kive shook his head. His eyes, so pale and innocent, shone with tears. He trembled harder. Gwyn understood. The specter before Kive was his brother no longer, but a creature molded in madness.
“I must stop you, if I can,” Kive said.
Kovien smiled softly. “Behold, Kive. Your betrothed.” He pointed his sword to the ground, and there at its tip formed a coffin of rich wood cloaked in a banner newly familiar to Gwyn. A silver tree against a black field bore two swords crossing before it: the royal crest of Wintervale.
Kive stared at the coffin.
“I would not open it,” said Kovien, “but I suspect you shall. What remains of her lies within. The Simaeri princess was compelled to jump from the heights of Londolin three days ago.”
Kive sprang to the coffin to throw aside the banner and wrench open the box. Gwyn couldn’t see within, but Kive’s expression confirmed the truth. The fae prince sank before the wooden casket and sobbed. “Why, Kovien? Why did she jump?”
“She was inconsolable when I informed her that her family had died. That you were mad. That the Vales of Ilid had been destroyed. All this was too much for the fair Liliaé. She fell.”
Kive sprang to his feet, bounded the few yards to his brother, and snatched his tunic. “Why?”
“Because it’s all true. I’ve foreseen it, brother. All shall come to pass, for it is required to purge the world of all its injustices. To end the human race, with its unquenchable cycle of corruption.”
“But we’re human! Our mother is human!”
Kovien’s eyes hardened. “We are half human, true. Long has this truth plagued me, but at last I understand its necessity. Only someone born of both races—a human mage and Ilidreth combined—could wield the Crown and survive. Its wrath would otherwise consume a mage at the first use. An Ilidreth would shrink from the task, for we have become frightened of our birthright. We were meant to rule this world, Kive; meant to guard it against corruption and suffering, yet what have we done but look on and see each running unchecked through every epoch of humanity? I say enough! This task I shall gladly undertake. And you, brother, shall witness this world’s end.”
Kive released Kovien and took a step back. “You’re mad. Something has driven you mad. What happened upon the south seas?”
“I told you,” said Kovien. “I heeded the voice.”
Night had spread its long
fingers across Simaerin when Gwyn stepped from the pool, shivering, weary to his core. He knelt in the wet grass along the bank and stared into the shadows before him as Aluem stood at his side.
He had watched it all. Watched as Kovien cursed Shalesta with eternal slumber. Watched as he locked Kive away in the dungeons of Swan Castle and began his mad tirade against his own people. He slaughtered many. Fed them to Kive. Fed Kive’s betrothed to him. Humiliated him in unspeakable ways, all to break his mind.
Kive remained resilient. He staved off madness for years. Years that flew by in awful moments before Gwyn’s eyes. And then, under the scourge of time and imprisonment, at last Kive crumbled. His mind and spirit joined his shattered heart in the darkest recesses of his soul. He bent the knee to his lord and master: the fearsome Crow became his world, his one constant, the thing he loved and hated most.
The memory racked Gwyn’s soul. How could anyone commit such atrocities? And to murder and maim his own kin? His lifeblood?
“Why?” Gwyn growled. “What was the point, Kovien?”
‘Gwynter, behold.’
Gwyn turned back to the pool. He expected to find the night sky reflected on its surface. Instead, he found the image of a ship upon a storming sea. He understood at once what he must do, and he slipped back into the water to learn the reason for Kovien’s crusade against the world.
Chapter 31
“Has there been any word from your father, Prince Fayett?”
The Fraeli heir shook his head. “Nothing, though it’s possible the channel remains impassible. The Spring thaw is late this year.”
Gathered within the council chamber of Keep Talbethé, Gwyn’s officers and allied commanders sat around the table, including High Lords Celin’Laen and Bowrin, Crown Prince Fayett of Fraelin, and General Cadogan ren Silverard. Aluem had also come and now stood near Gwyn at the table’s head. Gone was the Crow heraldry that once adorned the chamber. In its place hung the Swan, Unicorn, and Crane banners, swaying in a faint breeze wafting from a window whose drapes had been tied aside to let in the fresh spring air.
The Complete Duology Page 48
