The Shadow Hour

by Melissa Grey

  Dorian drew a dagger from a sheath at his hip. It was a simple blade; the hilt was unadorned save for a plain bronze inlay on the pommel, and after years of use, the worn brown leather grip had contoured to the shape of Dorian’s hand. Etched into the bronze was the winged dragon Caius had used as his crest during his reign as Dragon Prince. The dagger had been a gift from Caius on Dorian’s one-hundred-fiftieth birthday. Dorian’s blue eye had lit up, and he’d cradled it as if it was the finest thing he’d ever owned. “Your dominant hand, please.”

  Caius offered him his right hand. He could feel Altair’s gaze on him, burning a hole in his back.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Dorian said, the tip of the dagger resting against the center of Caius’s palm, indenting the skin without piercing it. “You remember how it works?”

  “Like calls to like,” Caius said. “Blood calls to blood. There is no blood bond greater than that between twins. My blood will call to her, and she’ll sense its pull. She’ll know how to find me through the darkness.”

  “If she feels like cooperating,” Dorian muttered.

  “I have faith in her,” said Caius. He knew he shouldn’t, but the part of him that still loved Tanith, no matter what atrocities she committed, couldn’t shake the hope that he would be able to reach her.

  “That’s always been your blind spot.” And with that, Dorian sliced Caius’s palm, deeply enough for the onset of pain to be delayed by a few seconds. Blood welled up in his cupped hand. Dorian dipped his index finger into the growing pool of crimson and drew a line of angular symbols on Caius’s arm from elbow to wrist. It was an ancient form of Drakhar, one that Caius hoped Tanith would remember when she felt the spell’s tug. In order for the spell to work, she would need to replicate it on the other side. If she ignored his summons, then all this would be for naught.

  Satisfied with the runes, Dorian rolled up one of his own sleeves and drew the same symbols, but reversed, on his skin. The mirror images would bind them, allowing Dorian to pull Caius back should he drift off, lost to the expanse of nothingness. The anchor could technically be anyone, even a stranger, but the spell was most effective when there was a bond. The relationship between the two men had evolved over the years, and it hadn’t always been one between equals, but the bond was there and it was strong. No matter where Dorian’s heart lay, he would always be Caius’s friend. That incontrovertible truth was as undeniable and as unchanging as the sun’s arc through the sky.

  Dorian retreated to the outer edge of the circle, as far from Altair as the Avicen general would allow. The way Dorian’s hand kept flitting to his eye patch had not escaped Caius’s notice.

  “When you’re ready,” Dorian said, “summon the in-between. The spell will be most effective if you conclude your business before the blood has fully dried.”

  Caius fought not to roll his eyes. “I know.” He gave Dorian a small smile of feigned confidence. “Always such a worrier.”

  He jested, but Dorian was right. The blood would dry quickly and he wouldn’t have much time. Just minutes. Some of his arguments with Tanith had lasted months. One exceptional dispute over who was to blame for an entire cabinet’s worth of shattered glassware had lasted for years. Now he had a tiny window to somehow smooth over relations between the Avicen and the Drakharin, when the most stubborn person he’d ever known was sitting on the latter’s throne.

  Sometimes, one simply had to build Rome in a day.

  Dorian caught his eye. “Ready?”

  Caius braced himself.

  No, he thought.

  “Yes,” he said.

  He held out his bloodied hand and concentrated on that well of power within. Tendrils of ink-black darkness burst from his palm, as if the blood pouring from the wound had turned to smoke. It expanded, erasing from sight first Dorian and their Avicen companions, then the ring of mushrooms, and finally the crescent sliver of the moon.

  The sensation was not unlike falling. The dirt and grass and pebbles beneath Caius’s boots disintegrated into the ether. He was everywhere; he was nowhere. The in-between held him suspended, floating, a speck of life in a vast sea of darkness, weightless and aimless. There was no place on the planet that knew darkness this pure, this undisrupted by even the dimmest spark of light. It was as if he were adrift in the cosmos without the stars to guide him.

  Now came the tricky part.

  Tanith would be able to feel his blood calling to hers, but she would need to access the in-between as well. She would require her own anchor, someone to pull her back to solid ground. The last time Caius had done this spell, he had been his sister’s anchor. They had trusted each other then, enough to place their lives in the other’s hands. He had never known Tanith to let anyone besides him past her defenses. The armor she built around herself was even stronger than the gold-plated suit she wore into battle. Personal connections, she had once claimed, courted weakness. His sister was like castle-forged iron, made in the fire and shaped into something sharp and deadly.

  Without an anchor, Tanith would be unable to meet him.

  And so, when a faint flicker of light pierced the veil of blackness, Caius had to swallow his surprise.

  The last time he’d seen his sister, she had been wreathed by fire, both her own and Echo’s. Her gilded armor had been stained scarlet with the blood of the fallen, and her own blood had oozed from the wound at her shoulder. The wound that Caius had inflicted when his knife had found a gap in her armor. Tanith had always been fond of telling him he had good aim. He wondered if she admired it as much now.

  The flicker of light grew, until suddenly, Tanith was there, standing before him in a diaphanous gown made of red silk. Specially modified armor plates covered her torso and a single shoulder. It was armor valued for its form, not its function; it was a statement. Do not mistake my beauty for softness, it said. Many had made that mistake with Tanith, but few ever repeated it.

  Her long blond hair was in thin braids coiled around her head into a crown. The style was lovely and complex, and it, too, served a purpose. It kept the hair off Tanith’s face and out of the way should she find the need to draw the longsword at her hip, held by a belt that matched her armor. Screaming dragons were carved into the metalwork. Another statement, this one vastly less subtle. Cross me and die, those dragons screamed.

  Caius hadn’t realized until that moment how much he missed her. Her absence from his life was like the phantom pain of an amputated limb. They may have stood on opposing sides of a conflict, but she was his sister, and nothing would ever change that.

  “Hello, Brother,” said Tanith. Both her arms were bare, and one of them bore the same runes as Caius’s, also written in blood. The shapes were sloppy, as if she’d done them in a rush. He wasn’t sure if he had imagined it or if there was a trace of wistfulness in her greeting. Her scarlet eyes weren’t soft, but they weren’t hard either, and for Tanith, that was something. Perhaps she had missed him, too.

  “Tanith,” he said. “I can’t say I was expecting you to actually show.”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  “Who’s your anchor?”

  Tanith’s mouth stretched into a wry grin. “The royal treasurer.”

  “Oeric?” he asked.

  That arrogant, vain, self-important buffoon? With hair the color of burnished gold and eyes his admirers liked to compare to gray winter skies, Oeric was handsome enough, but Caius couldn’t imagine his sister falling for a pretty face and a fat purse. Unless access to a copious amount of gold was the source of Oeric’s appeal. It would help to explain the sudden efficacy of Tanith’s power grab. Those of the court who couldn’t be bullied had likely been bought. Fear was a good motivator, but sometimes greed was better.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Oeric.”

  “I hadn’t realized the two of you were so close,” Caius said. “Though I suppose he does have his uses.”

  Tanith sighed, a familiar sound. It almost felt like they hadn’t tried to mortall
y wound each other months earlier. “Spare me your judgment, Caius. There are a great many things you don’t know about me. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I would whore myself out for the throne.”

  “Well, did you?”

  Her palm cracked against his cheek. The sting of her slap was nearly as bad as her fire. Caius worked his jaw, knowing he would probably have a hand-shaped bruise on his face later.

  “Fair enough,” he said. They didn’t have time for the venomous banter of estranged siblings. It was time to discuss the only thing that mattered. “I assume you heard about the attack on the Avicen Nest.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of Tanith’s mouth. “I did,” she said. Caius was not surprised. The Drakharin had their spies, even among the Avicen. “I’ll be sure to extend my condolences.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  The grin vanished. “Do you really think I’m that reckless? Attacking the Nest in broad daylight, surrounded by all those humans, would be insane. As much as the thought of Avicen casualties pleases me, I would never endanger my own people like that.” She examined the blood on her arm, judgment radiating off her in waves. “I want to say I’m surprised you care so much, but you have a history of keeping the Avicen a touch too close.”

  Memories danced in Caius’s mind, unwelcome and unwanted. Black and white feathers. A cabin by the sea. The smell of smoke. “I won’t rise to your bait, Tanith. I’m here to ask for a truce on behalf of the Avicen. There is something far more dangerous out there, and it is much bigger than our old hatreds.”

  Tanith stared at him blankly. Then she burst into laughter. “Have you gone mad?” She sobered, her raucous laughter subsiding into faint chuckles. “I may not have had anything to do with the attack, but I can’t say it wasn’t…inspiring.”

  Caius frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that two can play the game you started,” she said. “You left quite the treasure trove of research behind in your haste to depart the keep. I know that the kuçedra is the firebird’s counterpart. And I know that it can be bound to an earthly vessel, just like the firebird. You have your monster, and soon I will have my shadow beast. Right now it is a wild power, running loose like a feral dog. I will be its vessel.”

  Such a thing was madness. To even attempt to wrangle the power of an entity like the kuçedra would be certain suicide. It may have been the firebird’s counterpart on this plane of existence, but Caius knew that some forces were beyond taming. “Tanith, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. The kuçedra cannot be held on a leash. I’ve seen it. You won’t be able to control it. It will devour you. It won’t be used as a weapon, targeted at your leisure. It will destroy anything it comes across.”

  She shook her head, sending a few strands of blond hair across her forehead. “You never had much faith in me, did you?”

  Caius let out a bitter laugh. “Is that what you think? Tanith, I had more faith in you than anyone. If I’d had any less, I would have seen you sneaking up behind me to steal the crown before it was too late. I believed in you, and you used that to your advantage, whether or not you want to admit it.”

  Her lips were pressed together as if she were physically restraining words fighting to get free. Whether those words were apologies or rebuttals, he would never know. One of Tanith’s hands rose to her bloodied arm, fingers curling as if to scratch, but she pulled back before she could ruin the marks. Caius could feel it, too, the blood slowly caking on his skin. It was their ticking clock.

  “Don’t do this,” Caius said. “It’s not like you, Tanith. You can be overzealous, but you’re not reckless. Do you know what I think?”

  “No, but I have the sneaking suspicion you plan on informing me.” Her words were tough, but there was something about the tone of her voice that made Caius hope she could be reached. That some part of her, deeply buried though it might be, loved her twin brother enough to listen.

  “I think you wanted me to reach out to you. I think you wanted me to try to talk you out of the insanity you’re planning.”

  “Gods, you were always so condescending.” It wasn’t a denial. Her response was brusque, but Caius knew her. He knew her better than anyone else in the world, sometimes even better than herself. Hiding behind her words was a reluctant confession.

  “Tanith, please, I am begging you—”

  She barked out a laugh. “Begging? And to think, a scant few months ago, you were the Dragon Prince and now you’re nothing more than a beggar. I suppose the higher you fly, the harder you fall.”

  “This isn’t about my dignity. I am afraid for you. Maybe there’s too much bad blood between us now to fix what’s broken, but binding yourself to the kuçedra will solve nothing. If we fight, then we fight, but please, Tanith, please, don’t go chasing the kuçedra. It is a creature of pain and death, and that is all it will bring, even to you. Especially to you.”

  Tanith’s hand came to rest on the pommel of her sword, determination written in every inch of her posture. “You forget the point of war, Caius. It isn’t pretty. It isn’t noble. It is hard and cruel and unforgiving. There will be pain and death. There always is. That is the way of things.” As she spoke, she seemed to deflate. She reached for him then, cupping his cheek in her hand. Her touch was soft, her palm cool and dry. Caius held his breath. “I never wanted you to be my enemy. Please believe that. I have caused you pain, I know. And I’m truly sorry. I did what I thought was right. What was necessary. But we must play the roles in which we’ve cast ourselves. You have chosen your side, and I have chosen mine.”

  The skin on Caius’s arm itched. The blood was nearly dry. They had seconds, if that. He could feel Dorian on the other end of the tether, trying to pull him back. Caius resisted, but he wouldn’t last long.

  “Tanith—”

  “Don’t.” She gave him a sad smile, a true smile. There was nothing biting or cruel in its shape. He wondered if she regretted the blood that she had spilled over the years, if the ghosts of the dead haunted her as they haunted him. “This war will end, as I promised it would. I will see to that. My only hope is that you will live to see that end, and one day, that you will forgive me for the things I have done and will do. But I am not seeking your permission, Caius. You do not rule me. You never have.” She let her hand fall away. “Goodbye, Brother.”

  And just as abruptly as she had appeared, she was gone. In her place, there was only darkness. All the things Caius wanted to say were swallowed by the in-between. His skin tingled, and again, he felt Dorian’s tug. This time, he let it take him. Sorrow made his heart grow heavy, and he wondered if he would ever see Tanith again. And if he did, whether she would still be his sister, or if dabbling with the forces of darkness would turn her into something unrecognizable.

  He was still a little dazed when he breathed in the humid river air. His vision was blurry, and it wasn’t until Dorian materialized before him, brows drawn together in concern, that he realized it was because tears had formed in his eyes. They didn’t fall. They hovered on his lashes, waiting. He was already mourning his sister. She was strong—perhaps the strongest person he had ever known, but no one was that strong. The kuçedra was a monster beyond reason. It would not be controlled. Not by Tanith. Not by anyone.

  Dorian cracked a weak smile and gripped Caius’s shoulder. “I take it that went as well as expected.” Behind him, Altair hovered, flanked by his Warhawks.

  “We have to stop her,” Caius said. His voice sounded thin, his words broken. “Tanith is going to doom us all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jasper, being Jasper, had claimed one of the nicest rooms in their part of the castle for himself. Echo didn’t know how he did it. Bribery maybe. Or blackmail. Either scenario was just as likely. The bedroom was palatial, the mattress and chairs luxuriously plush, the view of the river astonishing. Trust Jasper to land on his feet wherever he fell, no matter how rocky the terrain.

  Echo
had rallied their little group to this meeting under the pretext of forming a plan—the feeling of being helpless grated on her nerves—but silence descended among them, each person lost to their own private troubles. The Warhawks Altair had ordered to guard them agreed to stand just outside the door more readily than Echo had thought they would. But as their gazes flitted to Caius and away, she thought maybe they’d spent enough time in the presence of Drakharin for one day. Rowan was nowhere to be found. Echo felt ashamed of how relieved she was to not have to see him.

  “I have a contact that might be able to shed some light on the kuçedra,” Caius offered after some time. “A professor in Edinburgh by the name of Aloysius Stirling. Well, technically a professor.”

  “What makes his professorship technical?” Echo asked.

  “He has a reputation for being a bit of a crackpot,” said Caius, his words laced with magnanimity. “He’s still affiliated with the University of Edinburgh, but he doesn’t teach anymore.”

  “Why didn’t they just fire him?”

  Caius shrugged. “He has tenure. Now he spends all his time researching the folklore and mythology of ancient civilizations, including ones that don’t exist as far as humans are concerned. I found him when I was researching the firebird on my own. He had access to some excellent primary resources.” An eager glint appeared in Caius’s eyes that resonated with Echo. She knew that particular type of delight, the kind that accompanied extreme nerdiness.

  “That might help us with figuring out how to deal with the kuçedra,” Echo said. “But what about Tanith? We’re sort of fighting a war on two fronts here.”

  From his perch at the window seat, Quinn said, “I have an idea.”

  It was Jasper who said what they were all thinking: “Really?”

  The stars in Quinn’s eyes danced as he rolled them. “Yes, really. It’s no secret that there’s a bounty on all your heads. The Dragon Prince has promised many pretty rewards for information concerning your whereabouts and even more for your capture.” His smile was slow and lascivious. “One can’t help but wonder what she would pay for the firebird herself.”