by Hannah West
Mercer’s arm pressed against my shoulder. He looked at me out of the corner of his white eye. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you to Arna?”
“You should go with Tilmorn to Yorth. They need all the help they can get clearing the plague. And Tilmorn needs you to help him remember who he is.” I gulped. “Besides, I don’t want you to see me do what I have to do.”
“I have seen you do it,” Mercer reminded me. “And I know now why you must.”
I turned to him, lacing my fingers into the soft, sandy hairs at his nape. “You’ll come to Arna as the Queen of Calgoran’s lover, nothing less.”
“Summon me at your leisure, my queen,” he said against my lips, catching me up in a kiss.
“So this is it?” Glisette demanded, looking from Mercer and me on one side to Kadri, Rayed, Rynna, and Theslyn on the other. “The heroes disband for now?”
“I’m afraid we have a long road of recovery ahead,” I said. “But we can’t rebuild while the realm’s enemies hold power.”
“Will you go back to Wenryn?” Kadri asked Rynna and Theslyn.
“Yes,” Rynna answered softly.
Kadri pursed her lips, making a valiant attempt at nonchalance. With a bursting laugh, Rynna gripped the back of Kadri’s neck and drew her against her, sliding her lips over Kadri’s. “But not until after we help you in Yorth,” she amended.
“And then what?” Kadri asked. “I must marry Fabian, if he’ll still have me.”
“But Kadri, you can’t marry Fabian when—” Glisette started.
“Someone will need to sign parchment while Fabian is busy naming newly discovered islands after himself.” Rayed sighed.
Rynna smiled. “The Queen of Yorth can make diplomatic visits to the deep woods.”
“But…but what if I can’t bring myself to leave Wenryn?” Kadri asked.
“Then you won’t leave,” Rynna answered, her gold eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Rynna…” Theslyn warned, though he hung his arm casually around Kadri’s shoulders as he spoke. “You know we can’t keep humans.”
“I’m not a pet,” Kadri said, laughing, her dark eyes resplendent as she looked from Theslyn to Rynna. “And just because you can’t keep me doesn’t mean I’m not yours.”
“Well, now that I feel as though I’ve eaten a whole platter of sugar cakes, I suppose it’s time I return to Pontaval,” Glisette snorted. Though she had claimed months ago to be uninterested in ruling, I could see the fantasy playing behind her eyes, the glint of a jeweled crown within them.
I extracted King Tiernan’s portal from my satchel as Tilmorn hiked up the hill to join us.
“I’ll see you all in Yorth in two weeks’ time,” I said. “Be ready. Rebuilding the Realm Alliance will not be easy.”
I unlatched the portal and it did as I wished, opening to the wooded spot along the sea where I’d practiced my magic. Tilmorn’s eyes barely grazed over mine as he stepped through. He hadn’t been able to look at me yet.
Mercer touched his forehead to mine. “Be careful,” he whispered, and followed his brother.
After saying her goodbyes to Rynna and Theslyn, Kadri embraced me. “I’ll see you down there,” I said against her shoulder.
“I think when the tower’s gone, they should build a statue of us in its place,” Glisette mused when only the two of us remained. She propped her hands on her hips and flashed me a wry smile as I opened her portal to Pontaval. “Let’s hope they don’t make it to scale, or everyone will know how short you are.”
“Let’s hope they don’t depict you as horrid and bedraggled as you look right now.”
Glisette’s exiting laugh was tinged with annoyance.
EAR hung over Arna like a fog. The city practically reeked of it as I pushed open my windowpane and looked out on the stone wall that bordered the palace.
That wall should have made Arna’s leaders look strong and unapproachable. Instead, it made them look nervous. It was a hastily constructed eyesore, nowhere near as magnificent as the royal residence it protected. Curling the blue-streaked bronze elicrin stone in my fist, I exited my bedroom, not bothering to make my footfalls land softly on the carpet.
I caught the hum of voices bubbling from the upstairs ladies’ tea parlor and strode down the corridor. Two guards in the Moth King’s livery rushed to attention. I flicked my wrists and snapped my way up their spines. When they collapsed to the floor, I looked up and found the cracks running up the walls, the ones I’d made when Melkior had taken Calanthe from me. Then I stepped over the pair of corpses and shoved open the tea parlor’s doors.
Aunt Sylvana and Elythia shrieked in surprise, but my mother’s and Odessa’s eyes went wide with something that looked like perilous hope. A rustling in the corridor announced the approach of two more guards. I waited until they laid hands on me, jerking me away from my family. Without even glancing over my shoulder, I felled both guards.
Sylvana screamed again as their bodies toppled. Only she and my mother still possessed elicrin stones, and I imagined their ownership was rather tentative.
“Is King Tiernan alive?” I asked.
No one dared speak except my mother, who shook her head and finally found her voice. “Without a Healer, he died last night. He was very ill.”
I cursed viciously. “You were told he was ill?”
“That’s what we were told, dear,” Mother said, dancing around the truth.
“And Melkior?”
“Alive,” Sylvana answered. “Though he’ll have to prove his loyalty to the true king if he wants to sit on the Conclave.”
“There will be no Conclave,” I said. “There will be no king.” I closed my eyes and summoned Sylvana’s power from her ruby elicrin stone.
“What’s happening?” she asked as I breathed in her Confounder gift. I wouldn’t use it, however; I wanted everyone to know what I was doing and why. But I let it settle inside me before I turned and strode away, hearing the rustle of skirts as they followed. “What did you do to me?” Sylvana demanded.
My footfalls seemed to echo across the kingdom as I charted my course to the receiving hall. The thuds of guards’ falling bodies and gasps of shock followed me like drumbeats, until I turned around and only Odessa and my mother lingered behind me, because the others had fled. They both nodded, urging me on.
At the far end of the receiving hall, Prosper sat on the throne, leaning his right elbow on the elaborate armrest, the gold crown poised atop his dark, thick waves. His left arm hung limp in his lap, and it pleased me to ponder the pain he must have endured without an elicrin Healer at his disposal.
Neswick sat at his right hand, Ander at his left. The rest of the Conclave perched nearby. They had the air of men who had sat in power since the beginning of time.
Their elicrin stones caught the light of the overhead chandeliers and flickered with exuberance that their trained faces were too stately to reflect. They were holding court, little fake kings in their toy palace, and relishing every second of it.
My boots streaked mud across the pristine marble tiles. The nobles seated in the hall cast glances at me over their shoulders, ranging from derisive to leery.
Ander noticed me before the other members of the Conclave. His lips parted in surprise. I unhooked my cloak and dropped it as I approached. The flesh on my arms prickled with anticipation.
I held up Valmarys’s elicrin stone. “Your master is dead,” I said, tossing it to the floor.
Gasps traveled through the crowd. Prosper pressed his shoulders against the upholstered red velvet of his borrowed throne. His gray eyes darkened as they landed on me.
“How courteous of you to come straight to my court and confess to murder,” he said, beckoning guards from the corners of the room. “Now my men don’t have to hunt you down.”
I let four guards seize me, two of them yanking my arms behind my back while the other two planted themselves in front of me, blocking my way.
With a thrumming ye
t patient exhilaration, I closed my eyes and shrugged my shoulders, stretching and loosening the muscles. A guard dropped dead with each movement. The thuds resonated through the receiving hall.
A feral smile crept across my face. I opened my eyes and found the Conclave members leaning forward in their seats, alarmed.
“Knox!” Prosper called, his voice nearly cracking.
The five men sat back in their chairs, more comfortable now as Knox’s pale gray elicrin stone swirled with reluctant white light. I let him wrestle with his guilt, face the hard choice. He had an unborn son to think of, or at least so he thought. But soon his reluctance turned to clear frustration. “I’m sorry, my king,” he whispered, breathless, confused. “I can’t extinguish her power.”
Prosper looked apt to lash out at him.
“Oh, it’s not his fault, though I know you have reason to believe he wouldn’t hurt me,” I said, striding forward, clasping my hands behind my back.
“Valory, stop!” Ander said, attempting to halt me with a firm hand. He was clearly accustomed to the effectiveness of the gesture. “You can ask for mercy.”
“The truth is that I’m not like you,” I went on, ignoring him. “You see, not only am I more powerful than all of you, but I am the rightful heir to King Tiernan’s throne. Melkior will tell you.”
Melkior sent me a look of combined admiration and murderous intent for exposing his loyalties. He cleared his throat. “King Tiernan named Valory heir before he died. He made me witness.”
“My uncle has been ill, and in no state of mind to appoint a new heir,” Prosper huffed, rising. “The line of succession has long been established.”
A crack raced out from my toes, splitting the dais in half, crawling up the wall to the ceiling. The massive chandeliers overhead swayed with a metallic clang, threatening to drop.
Prosper’s elicrin stone brightened, but I ripped out his power with a yank of my fingers. One by one, I plucked their powers away, leaving only Neswick’s and absorbing the others with delectation.
I relished the rustle of panic and confusion. “I’d wager you didn’t think the age of surrender would come so soon,” I said, skimming my gaze across the men’s faces and landing on Neswick, my father’s murderer. “What about you, Neswick? You figured you had many more years ahead of you, didn’t you?”
“I—”
I tore away his elicrin gift before he could answer. His chest burst open as I revoked the power that never should have been his. Vaguely, I heard screams, but some sounded more riveted than fearful.
Ivria, forgive me, I thought as I drew my knife. Prosper had plotted against his own family, twisting his flesh and blood into submission. And he deserved the same treatment.
He drew his ceremonial sword, wincing from the pain plaguing his opposite shoulder. I wondered if he’d ever truly used a sword the way Mercer had. He attacked, his lunges graceful and his strokes decisive. I leapt back as he swiped the blade and ripped my tunic, drawing a thin line of blood from the skin over my ribs.
Prosper laughed. I closed my fist and crumbled his sword to dust. Then I drove forward, plunging my knife into his belly.
“For King Tiernan,” I said as my uncle’s blood rushed over my hands.
Ander cried out, his stiff boots squeaking as he dashed to catch his father. Prosper gasped and gulped, blood seeping to the corners of his mouth and staining his shirt. Melkior’s grandfather stood to attack. I twitched my fingers and broke him like a twig.
Ander released his father to charge at me, slamming me down and knocking the knife from my hands. My shoulder hit the floor at an angle and I felt something inside me rip and crack. Violent pain demolished my body. The dangling chandeliers whirled above me. To be reminded of pain was to be reminded that I’d inflicted so much of it in Darmeska.
But anger clawed its way out of the devastation in my heart. The Ander I once loved as a brother had changed, leaving this husk behind. The Conclave was diseased, regal on the surface and rotten at the core. It had to be uprooted. Blood had to be shed.
Fighting for breath, I propped up on an elbow. Ander kicked me in the face. My mother rushed forward to help me. “Stop, Ander!” she managed to command with calm. “Don’t hurt her and she’ll spare you. We all know this wasn’t your idea. Right, Valory? Don’t you know that?”
My mother’s eyes pleaded with me to spare him. She hoped to salvage as much of her family as she could.
“You will never rule Arna,” Ander spat at me. “The people won’t allow it. Everyone knows you are a disgrace, a murderer. They know you killed Ivria and you will never be forgiven.”
I stood up, my shoulders lopsided, and studied the faces in the crowd. Staggering a few steps, I picked up my knife and faced Ander again. “Many years ago, one of our ancestors named himself sovereign, drew borders, and claimed lands,” I said, echoing the Moth King’s words. “Maybe his subjects liked him or perhaps they hated him. But it didn’t matter. He was powerful enough to maintain his standing.” I looked him in the eyes. “But I don’t deserve to rule purely because I can take the throne, do I? Fortunately, King Tiernan named me heir. I am queen. And you are nothing.”
Ander reached for his sword to strike me down, but I plunged my knife beneath his collarbone. He fell to his knees, moaning in anguish. Panic permeated his expression, and a small, insignificant part of me wanted to say I was sorry, that I loved him. The words nearly tore out of my throat.
Aunt Sylvana lunged for me, clawing, screaming through her tears. I held her wrists until the fight left her and she sank down next to her dead son. I let her go.
My left arm hung limp. But I swallowed the pain and looked at my mother. Her eyes were wide and replete with reverent horror.
“Ander will have a son,” Sylvana snarled, looking up at me through her dark curls. She and Ivria looked so much alike. Her gaze shot back to Elythia, who gulped, waiting to see what I would do. “The throne rightfully belongs to him.”
I stood and stepped over Ander’s body, my soles treading heavily in his blood. Melkior’s father scurried away. I walked down the crack running over the dais and mounted the crooked, blood-spattered steps, turning to face a court of awestruck eyes.
But they would learn to trust me. I would do right by these people.
The Realm Alliance would prosper. Only the just and goodhearted would earn the right to be elicromancers.
I sat on the velvet throne and leaned back, testing it for fit. My bloody fingers tapped on the scrollwork of the gilded wood as I draped my arms over the armrests and crossed my legs. Melkior strode forward and brazenly picked Prosper’s crown off the floor, wearing his same smug smile as he advanced to place it on my head.
My voice boomed through the hall. “The bastard is welcome to fight me for it.”
FRAGRANT breeze sifted through the rosebushes crawling up to the balcony. I shielded my eyes to look down at the courtyard where Ambrosine shuffled to the coach, wearing a sage-green dress with draping strands of pearls. She turned back at us, glaring daggers through a pearl-studded lace veil held in place by a crown of pink roses.
She looked ridiculous, especially with the servant trailing behind her, nearly collapsing under the weight of her favorite mirror.
“Do you think she’ll be happier in her new life?” Perennia asked.
“I hope so,” I sighed. “I know we’ll be happier without her.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“Maybe the responsibility of motherhood will give her a greater sense of purpose.”
“Uncle said the King and Princess of Perispos are both kind and lovely. I hope they can manage to be patient with her.”
“Let’s hope the daughter’s not too lovely,” I said, recalling how Ambrosine had ripped that gorgeous gown away from my reflection. “She might tear out the girl’s heart in envy.”
Perennia managed to laugh. “No matter how she tortures her new stepdaughter, she’ll never be half as ruthless as you.”
; I pinched her arm.
“Ouch! See?”
I smiled, but my smile faded quickly. Ambrosine’s envy was something I might once have found satisfying. We traded in it. We looked so alike that all it took was losing a bit of sleep or waking up with a blemish for one of us to surpass the other in beauty. It had always been a harmless rivalry. But the way she had glared at me as she pressed that gown of sparkling twilight to my neck…
“We lost her somewhere, didn’t we?” I asked. “Somewhere between Mother’s and Father’s deaths, Devorian leaving, Uncle threatening to give us away like tokens to various dukes and earls…she lost hope. She was always praised for her beauty. She clung to it when it seemed there was nothing else left.”
Perennia wiped away a solitary tear as we watched the coach rattle through the open gates. “Why don’t you ask a Healer to tend to that scar when you go to Yorth?” she asked with a sniffle, turning to me so she wouldn’t have to see Ambrosine disappear in the distance.
I sipped from my goblet of blush wine and smacked my lips once in annoyance. “Because I don’t mind it. Do you?”
My lovely little sister shook her head, offering a neutral shrug. “Actually, in a way, it makes you look more like a ruler…as if you earned it.”
I set down my wine and absentmindedly stroked the tight scar stretching from my eyebrow to the apple of my cheek. In truth, it reminded me of him, of what we had endured together. But the vibrant longing for Mercer that I’d felt on the journey had seeped away when I’d seen him and Valory together. I’d never caught his eye, not beyond a passing lustful glance, the type of glance that he’d rerouted from Kadri or me to his true quarry. Even I could not compete with the strong hold Valory had over him.
A trace of the longing burrowed in my chest. The familiar, soft fire inside me burned, making my knees feel limp. I would have to set my sights on one of Ambrosine’s handpicked and eager male attendants.
“Should we use the mirror to peek in on Devorian?” Perennia asked. “I’ve been checking on them every day.”
