Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  “No!” Farwin cried.

  Denan shifted above her. A struggle. The sound of a fist connecting. Someone falling. Larkin reached for her magic. But her mental grip was slipping, the buzzing in her sigils flickering to life before dying again. Denan’s crushing weight was suddenly gone.

  “Larkin?” Tam’s voice came from right beside her.

  Light flashed like dying fireflies. Someone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Tam? She tried to answer, but what came out of her mouth was gibberish.

  “Get Magalia!” Tam shouted. “She’s with Sela!”

  Scrambling steps. Farwin? One of the other pages?

  “Just lie still,” Tam said.

  Larkin closed her eyes—her inability to see was less disturbing if it was her choice. She concentrated on her breaths. Not the fact that her husband—her heartsong—had just brutally attacked her.

  It isn’t him. It’s the wraith inside him, corrupting his mind.

  Light. The wraiths were slowly taking everything from her. Again, she could only see Garrot.

  Lock it up. Like he taught me.

  She breathed in, slowly filling her lungs. Breathed out the hurt. She took that hurt, locked it in a chest, and threw it in a lake. That lake iced over, trapping her emotions behind a thick pane. As the chest sunk out of sight, a cold numbness spread through her body.

  More steps sounded on her right.

  “Drink this,” Magalia said.

  Larkin opened her eyes and was relieved to find her vision back. Tam and Magalia knelt on either side of her. On the floor, West had Denan in a headlock, the corruption a jagged, evil thing on his torso. Denan’s expression was blank, his body limp. What did that mean?

  The pages crowded at the doorpane with their mouths hanging open. Farwin’s eye was rapidly swelling shut. Farwin must have jumped on Denan right after he’d attacked her. Denan had hit the boy.

  The chest deep in the frozen lake rattled, desperate to break free.

  Magalia helped Larkin sit up. She swayed a bit. Magalia steadied her and handed her a cup. Larkin brought it to her lips and drank the bitter draft. Magalia gave her a damp compress that smelled of herbs. Larkin pressed it to her cheek, wincing as the pain sharpened.

  “Anything broken?” Magalia asked, her voice brisk.

  Just my head. Magalia wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m sorry,” Larkin whispered, too ashamed to say the words out loud. “But Garrot was too far gone to save.”

  Magalia swallowed hard three times before she spoke, her voice shaking. “You could have tried.”

  “We would have lost Alorica and Denan,” Larkin said.

  “I know.” Magalia stood. “But I don’t think I can forgive you.”

  Larkin understood. Sometimes anger wasn’t rational.

  Tam scooped Larkin up and laid her on the bed. The compress leaked water that ran around her ear and into her hair.

  Magalia handed another compress and some pain powder to Farwin. She motioned to all the boys. “Out.”

  “You will keep this to yourselves,” Tam said sternly.

  Each boy nodded profusely. But no secret remained for long. What would happen when news spread that the king had hit his queen and one of his pages? The fact that he’d done it because of his blight would only make it worse. Make him seem out of control. Corrupted.

  Magalia knelt before Denan. “Denan. Denan, look at me.”

  He blinked a few times and shook his head. “Magalia?”

  She looked up at West. “Let him go but be ready.”

  Tam shifted so he was between Larkin and Denan, his weight on the balls of his feet and his arms up. West eased his hold a little at a time.

  Denan sat up on his own. “Light, the nightmares.” He breathed in through his teeth. “Hurts.” He put his hand to his side.

  “He’s himself again,” Magalia said.

  Clearly confused by the healer’s words, Denan looked about the room, his eyes catching on Larkin. He swore and tried to stand, fell back, and groaned in pain. “Larkin, what happened?”

  “You happened,” Magalia spat.

  Denan blinked at her in confusion.

  “Magalia,” Tam said warningly.

  She stormed to her kit, pulled out different vials, and began pouring them into a glass bottle.

  Hand on his side, Denan struggled to stand and shuffled across the room. He dropped to his knees before Larkin and reached out as if to touch her before pulling back. “I— I did this?”

  He’d hit her. It wasn’t him, but still . . . The safety she’d always found in his presence had been turned against her. A trust had been broken. The thought tugged tears from her eyes.

  She tried to blink them back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No, I would never . . .” He shot another pleading look at Tam.

  “Look at your hand,” Magalia snapped.

  Denan held up his fist, his right knuckle red and swollen. His eyes widened. He sank to his haunches and leaned against her nightstand. “No.”

  Larkin hated the tears spilling from her eyes. “It wasn’t you.”

  Magalia handed him the bottle. “One swallow.”

  Denan took the bottle with shaking hands and downed a mouthful, wincing at the taste. The smell of it wafted through the room. It was the same medicine Garrot had been sipping from a flask. Magalia must have given it to him.

  The healer stomped back to the table.

  “The cursed have a hard time grasping reality right after waking,” Tam said. “None of us blame you.”

  “I blame him,” West muttered.

  “West, stop being so overprotective,” Larkin barked.

  “It’s my job!” He rounded on Denan, one hand on his sword hilt. “I won’t stand by and let anyone hurt her. Even if that someone is you. Understand?”

  “I’m glad of it,” Denan said with a shaking voice.

  “How dare you,” Larkin seethed at West.

  Tam beat her to it. He squared off in front of the other man. “Out.”

  West clenched his jaw and seemed to consider arguing. But Tam was his commanding officer. Muttering, West departed.

  “You too,” Magalia ordered Tam.

  Tam paused beside Denan and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re awake. You had us all worried.” Tam hurried for the doorpane before either man had to watch the other tear up.

  “Call for my council,” Denan called after him, his voice thick.

  Nodding, Tam left.

  Magalia rounded on them. “First, you should know that Sela’s condition hasn’t changed, though we got her to drink some water. It may be something the ardents caused; it may not. I don’t know, and I’m sorry.”

  “It was the ardents,” Larkin said. The helplessness of not being able to help her sister ate at her.

  “I searched her everywhere—there’s no sign of blight,” Magalia said. “I’ve tried everything I can think of.”

  Larkin nodded. “Thank you for that.”

  Magalia nodded once and turned to Denan. “I’ve been treating Garrot since he came to the Alamant.”

  Denan didn’t seem surprised, but then, he had spies watching the academy day and night.

  Magalia softened. “It’s going to be much worse than before—the nightmares, the pain . . . you might start to hear the wraiths in your head.”

  Oh, light, Larkin thought. Oh, ancestors. Please. Denan is the best person I know. He doesn’t deserve this.

  Magalia’s lips tightened, and she shook her head. “The concoction I gave you will make it bearable. But it will also dull your senses, and eventually, it will kill you. I’m sorry.” She quietly left.

  Larkin’s fists clenched at her sides. “We’re going to have to move up the timetable for the invasion into Valynthia.”

  Denan sat heavily beside her on the bed. He studied her bruised cheek. “Light, I swore I’d never hurt you.”

  Larkin huffed a laugh, ignoring the pulse of pain. “You’ve hurt me plenty o
f times during sparring.”

  He didn’t even try to laugh at her joke. “Tam’s rubbing off on you.”

  “Garrot lasted at least three months, and his blight was more advanced than yours. If we move up the invasion a couple months, we can have the Black Tree down in three.”

  Denan braced both hands on either side of her head. “Larkin, we both knew that this moment might come.”

  She finally met his gaze. “You can’t give up.”

  “I will fight to the end,” he said. “But we also have to prepare for other options. I’m going to grow weaker. You’re going to have to take my place.”

  She’d never felt more overwhelmed than in that moment. “I’m not ready.”

  “When the time comes, you will be.”

  He pushed to his feet, picked up his chest, and stuffed clothing inside.

  She pushed up on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m moving into one of the other rooms.”

  “What? No.” She pushed herself out of the bed, wavering woozily for a moment before finding her balance.

  Denan hefted the chest and started toward the doorpane. She blocked him. His arms were already shaking—his sickness had clearly sapped much of his strength.

  He set the chest down. “I’m not safe to be with.”

  The chest felt like a wall between them. She circled it and came to stand at his side. “Only at night. Sleep in the nursery. We’ll raise the barrier.”

  “I won’t risk you.”

  She took his face gently between her palms and stepped flush against him. He froze, his body thrumming with tension.

  “I am a woman; I’m not so easily broken. And neither are you. We’re going to get through this.”

  He closed his eyes. A tear tracked down his cheek. He looked so defeated. So weak. This man, whose strength was as unbreakable as a mountain . . . was breaking. It tore her in two. Desperate to comfort him—to connect with him—she lifted and pressed her mouth against his. He hesitated a moment, as if frozen with indecision.

  “Denan,” she whispered against his lips.

  He crushed her to him, his grip so tight it hurt. His mouth claimed hers. She kissed him back just as hard. Held on just as tightly. He hauled her shift over her head and pulled her against him, skin to skin. An unnatural cold seeped into her from his blight. A wrongness.

  She didn’t care. This was Denan. Her heartsong. And she would take every bit of him, good and bad, for as long as she could.

  Council

  Larkin slipped into Mama’s room. Mama and the babies were nowhere to be found. Sela lay on the bed with a thin blanket pulled up to her chest. Her hands rested at her sides, her hair splayed over the pillow. She looked so still and pale that Larkin rushed to her side and placed a hand before her mouth, relieved to feel a puff of breath against her fingertips.

  Larkin collapsed on the bed and held her head in her hands. “I wish you would wake up.” Open her green eyes and smile. Larkin took her sister’s hand. She didn’t so much as stir. “What did the wraiths do to you, sunshine?”

  Magalia and Mama had both searched for any signs of the blight. They hadn’t found anything. But they didn’t have Larkin’s magic. She flared her sigils and wove the weir enchantment—strands of liquid gold in a gossamer net. Larkin pressed them into her sister, spread the magic wider and wider. Sigils rooted through Sela’s body, magic like Larkin had never felt before humming in them. But she found no trace of shadow. No darkness.

  She shook her head in frustration and released her sigils, letting the magic fade to nothing.

  “You didn’t find anything?” Nesha stood by the table.

  Larkin hadn’t heard her come in. Her sister’s eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. No matter what Garrot had done, Nesha had loved him. Now that he was gone, Larkin found that she could see past her hurt and anger to the compassion that resided beneath.

  “No,” Larkin admitted.

  Nesha’s fists tightened. “You couldn’t save Raeneth or Papa. You refused to help Garrot. You can’t help Sela. What can you do?”

  No matter what Larkin said, it wouldn’t be good enough. “If you want to blame someone, fine. Blame me.” She bent and kissed Sela’s forehead and then started for the door.

  Nesha caught her arm, a beat of remorse crossing her face. “I’m sorry. Denan . . . Magalia told me.”

  Garrot’s fate will not be Denan’s. “I can’t.” Larkin pulled free and stepped, gasping, outside. Denan leaned against a rail, his arms folded over his chest. The guards and pages stood a respectful distance away.

  Denan crossed the distance to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Larkin braced herself against the rail and breathed deep, concentrating on keeping everything locked away. It was a beautiful day. The lake was a patchwork of shadows pooling beneath trees and vibrant blue water. But in the distance, the White Tree was missing more branches—emptiness where before there had been color and light.

  “I’m fine.”

  He reached for her. “Larkin—”

  She pushed past him and changed the subject. “I thought the council was waiting for us. What’s this meeting about?”

  Denan considered her before letting it go with a sigh. He started toward the common room. “We’ve always planned on making you a true queen.”

  You will never make it as queen echoed in her head. Larkin stiffened in dread. Was the Alamant ready to accept her for the queen she would be? She wasn’t sure. “Are you sure this is the right time?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Together, they stepped through the doorpane. Gendrin, Aaryn, and Mytin waited on the other side, all of them dripping sweat in the cloistered room. Larkin was relieved Jaslin wasn’t there.

  Aaryn pushed back from the table and hurried over to Denan. “You look like you haven’t eaten in a week!” She fussed with his tunic, tugging out wrinkles and straightening the shoulders of the garment she’d made for him.

  Denan bore her ministrations patiently. “Any more citizens unaccounted for?” He directed his question to the entire room.

  “No,” Gendrin said. “I’ve lent the constables as many men as I can spare for patrols.”

  Viscott came in with the butler, both bearing trays of cold fish and salad greens. The three of them joined Gendrin at the table. Across from her, Mytin poured Denan a cup of cold lilac tea. Already sweltering, Larkin fanned herself.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Aaryn murmured, eyeing the bruise on Larkin’s face.

  Larkin gave a tight smile. “All part of being an enchantress.”

  Aaryn hummed unhappily.

  “The populace has been instructed to seal off all panes,” Gendrin said. “No one is swimming anymore.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Which is why we’ve had an increase in heat sickness.”

  Mytin heaped a fillet of fish and salad greens onto Denan’s plate. “You need to regain your strength.” He cooked the meals in their family. He was good too. He eyed Larkin’s bruised face. “You too, dear. Greens are good for healing.”

  Keeping her gaze down, Larkin dutifully ate a mouthful of leaves drizzled with a reduction of gobby and vinegar. At her first bite, she realized how hungry she was. Mytin grunted in approval as she ate in earnest.

  “Farwin,” Denan called.

  The boy came in and handed Denan an official-looking document sealed with Denan’s crest of the three-headed snake—the decree naming her queen. Denan nodded at the boy, who shot Larkin a smile and took his leave.

  Mytin and Aaryn exchanged a loaded glance. The four of them had discussed this at length, so they had probably guessed the document’s contents.

  Denan passed it down to Gendrin. Fancy gold filigree flashed as he broke the seal and unfolded it. Larkin’s stomach tightened, and she found it hard to swallow. She set down her utensils. Gendrin looked up, both his eyebrows raised.

  Denan laced his hands together and sat back in his chair. “I have named Larkin my equal. In the
event of my death or incapacity, she will rule in my stead.”

  Mytin and Aaryn exchanged another loaded glance.

  Aaryn reached into the bag she always carried with her and began knitting. “I thought you meant to wait until things settled down before bringing this up.”

  Denan sipped his tea. “We live in dangerous times, Mother.”

  Clearly, her husband had no intention of telling his parents that his blight had spread, which wasn’t fair to them. But they were his parents. Larkin wouldn’t interfere in their relationship.

  Gendrin braced his elbows on the table and leaned into his steepled hands. “Denan, you have always valued my honesty. So I’m going to be honest with you now. I have nothing against Larkin. I even believe she’d be a fine queen, but I can’t support her. At least, not yet.”

  And here she’d thought Gendrin might be growing to respect her.

  “Why?” Denan asked evenly.

  “The people won’t accept her,” Gendrin said.

  The words hurt, but he wasn’t wrong.

  Mytin leaned forward. “You seem to have forgotten that Larkin has the monarch sigil. The White Tree has already chosen her as queen.”

  “The enchantresses adore her,” Aaryn added.

  Gendrin nodded. “Yet another reason the men won’t follow her. A king ruling lends balance. A queen further tips the scales toward the enchantresses. The imbalance of power makes them uneasy.” At Denan’s hard look, he held out his hands. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying not yet.”

  Funny thing was, Larkin agreed with Gendrin. She wasn’t ready. Nor were the people. They needed Denan to lead them.

  Denan leaned forward. “The tree is dying. There isn’t time for dissension.” He rose to his feet and braced his hands on the table. His gaze locked on each member of the council. “The people will follow you. You will follow her.”

  Gendrin stared at the decree for a long time. “Very well.” He reached down and signed it. “You need to be very careful how you proceed, Denan. Take your time.”

  Denan winced, his hand going to his side. “I don’t have more time.”

  Aaryn’s needles stopped clacking. “What do you mean?”

  Denan’s questioning gaze locked with Larkin’s. Should he tell them?