Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)

by Jaye McKenna

  Jaire’s eyes darted from Vayne to Kian before he said in a shaky voice, “Vayne just suggested that Mordax might have kept Tristin addicted to that drug on purpose. To keep him under his control. Maybe… maybe that’s why Mordax didn’t try very hard to teach him… that’s even more horrible. We have to help him if we can.”

  “He won’t get far from Shadowspire without that drug,” Vayne said.

  Jaire shuddered, and Kian reached across the table to cover his hand. “We’ll help him somehow, Your Highness. I promise.”

  Vayne stared down at the table. Dare he make the attempt to regain his physical form? There was only one way he knew of to escape the mythe, and that was to shatter the amulet. Unfortunately, he had no idea what would happen if he asked Jaire to do such a thing.

  It might kill him.

  Or, it might force him back into the human world. But after spending over two centuries trapped in the mythe, did he even have a body to return to? And what condition would it be in if he did?

  He’d never bothered to question Ashna about it, since it had quickly become clear to him that he couldn’t ask anyone for help. Now that he’d found someone who could hear him, he dared not retreat into the mythe to ask the dragon’s advice. Forty years or more could pass in the blink of an eye, and Vayne couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jaire alone in this place for what could amount to the rest of his life.

  Still… three lives hung in the balance, along with the fate of the Northern Alliance. With a sinking feeling, Vayne realized that if he took the risk, he might actually be able to continue his father’s work and free the northern kingdoms from the Council’s grip.

  But only if he survived.

  “Vayne?” Jaire’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Are you all right? You look ill.”

  “There’s a chance I could help you escape,” Vayne blurted out before he could change his mind.

  “I don’t see how,” Jaire said with a frown. “All you can do is talk to me and to Tristin. Even if you carry messages back and forth between us, there isn’t much we could accomplish.”

  “You must break the amulet,” Vayne said.

  Jaire’s hand flew to his throat and closed protectively over the gem. “What will that do to you?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Vayne said, shaking his head. “I hope it will free me.”

  “What is it, Jaire?” Kian asked. “What did he say?”

  “He says… he says we must break the amulet. Only, he doesn’t know what will happen to him if we do.”

  “Then you’ll have to—” Kian stopped short at the noise coming from across the room, and what little color was left in Jaire’s face drained away, leaving him as pale as a ghost.

  Vayne turned to see three Drachan soldiers walking into the room through the mythe-gate in the wall. The first had his sword drawn, as if he expected to be attacked. The other two followed, hands hovering over the hilts of their weapons, all three of them tensed for a fight.

  “You. Kian. Come on.”

  Kian turned wide eyes on Jaire, but he got up slowly. One of the soldiers moved forward and grabbed him by the neck, shoving him toward the mythe-gate.

  Before Vayne could say a word to stop him, Jaire shot up out of his seat and darted past the soldiers, toward the gate. He wasn’t quite fast enough. One of the men grabbed him as he went by and threw him to the floor.

  “Jaire!” Kian started struggling, and was clouted on the head. He went limp and collapsed to the floor.

  “Stop it!” Jaire shouted as he was hauled roughly to his feet. “You’ll hurt him!”

  “Jaire, calm down!” Vayne said. “You’ll only make it worse.”

  Jaire continued to struggle while Kian’s limp body was dragged through the mythe-gate. “Settle down,” the soldier growled at him.

  When Kian was through the gate, Jaire’s captor shoved him across the room. Jaire staggered toward Vayne, who reflexively held his arms out to catch him, only to watch the prince pass right through him. The soldier disappeared through the wall after the others. Jaire landed near the window with a grunt of pain and scrambled to his feet to tear after them. By the time Jaire crossed the room, the mythe-gate had gone and Jaire succeeded only in slamming hard into the wall. He sank to his knees and pounded his fists against it. “Bring him back! You mustn’t hurt him! He hasn’t done anything!”

  In all the years of his imprisonment, Vayne had never wished more for a physical presence. He knelt beside Jaire, but he couldn’t hold him or comfort him with his touch, couldn’t take hold of his wrists to stop him from pounding on the wall until his hands were raw and bruised.

  Instead of warm arms, all he could offer was the tiniest sliver of hope.

  He waited until Jaire had slumped back on his heels before saying quietly, “Jaire. I need you to help me. You must break the amulet. I can’t get free by myself.”

  * * *

  “Breaking the amulet is the only way,” Vayne said softly. “And you must help me do it.”

  Jaire stared up at him. What if he broke the amulet and Vayne ended up dead? Or lost? Though he’d never touched the ghost-prince, the thought of causing the man’s death troubled him deeply. “I… what if it kills you?”

  “I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If you can free me, I can go for help. If you don’t free me, there’s no chance. What will Garrik do when they threaten you to gain his cooperation?”

  “I… I don’t know,” Jaire whispered. “He’ll be terribly angry. And… and Garrik doesn’t think clearly when he’s angry. He especially doesn’t think clearly when I’m involved.” He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right. We must take the chance.” He swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Thank you. For risking yourself. What must I do?”

  “Take the amulet off and let’s see if we can free the stone.”

  With shaking hands, Jaire drew the fine silver chain over his head. He squeezed the stone tightly, then unclenched his fingers to reveal the emerald-green gem wrapped in its silver setting lying in his palm.

  “See how the setting wraps around it, protecting it?” Vayne’s voice trembled as he spoke. “It’s designed to break easily. Hold it up to the light, and you can probably see the flaw deep in the crystal. It shouldn’t take more than the pressure of your boot heel to shatter it, once it’s free of the setting.”

  Jaire blinked to clear his vision and examined the amulet closely. He lifted it to the light coming in the window, eyes seeking the dark fault line he’d noticed when he’d first found it. There it was, deep inside. Jaire studied the metalwork cage and found a spot near the top where two tiny loops of wire were twisted together.

  He pointed them out to Vayne. “I think if I unwrap these, it will open the setting and free the gem.”

  “Do it,” Vayne whispered.

  With fingers swollen and bruised from hammering on the stone, it took Jaire a few fumbling attempts to get hold of the fine loops. Once he began untwisting them, the intricate silver cage began to part, and before long, it opened enough for him to tip the stone out into his hand.

  “Now you must crush it,” Vayne said.

  “Vayne… I… I don’t know if I can. What if I hurt you?”

  “I would do it for you if I could, Jaire, but I cannot. You must be my hands in this. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. I am asking you — I am begging you — to break the gem. Please, Jaire. End my exile, and give me the chance to help you.”

  The ghost-prince’s words gave him strength; Vayne wanted this, so Jaire would do it for him. It would be selfish to keep him trapped just because Jaire wanted his company.

  He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved away from the wall.

  “Just crush it beneath my boot?”

  “Ai,” Vayne breathed. “I believe that will be enough.”

  Jaire set the gem on the floor and stared down at it, then lifted his eyes to Vayne. He studied the ghost-prince for a
long, long time, memorizing the lines of his face. “If this doesn’t work… I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company very much, and I wish… I wish I could have known you better. I would like to have touched you.” His face grew hot, but he kept his eyes fixed on Vayne, who gave him a sad smile.

  “I would like to have touched you, too, Jaire.”

  “Right then. Let’s do this.” Jaire raised his foot, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his boot heel down hard on the gem. A ripple of power shivered through the mythe as Jaire crushed the stone. He opened his eyes to see Vayne on his knees, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock before the ghost-prince vanished.

  * * *

  I’ve killed Vayne.

  Emptiness consumed Jaire. He dropped to his knees beside the shattered fragments of the amulet, one hand clutching convulsively at the spot where it had rested under his shirt.

  Was the ghost-prince truly gone?

  Jaire let his mythe-senses creep outward slowly, but all he could sense was Kian’s fear, so intense it nearly pushed him over the edge. With a whimper, he wove the thickest shielding pattern he knew. The dark green shards on the floor blurred as his eyes filled with tears of frustration.

  He hadn’t been able to help Vayne, and he couldn’t help Kian, either.

  Another wave of hopeless despair washed through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at the tiny green shards, all that remained of the ghost-prince. Hot tears trickled down his cheeks, and Jaire gave in to them. After a few minutes, he swallowed them back and forced himself to open his eyes.

  He couldn’t bear to look at the broken amulet for another moment. With a heavy heart, he used the edge of his hand to carefully brush the sharp emerald splinters into his palm. When he had them all, he made his way to the window. It only opened a crack, just enough to slip his hand through, but nowhere near enough to make his escape.

  The air outside was frigid, but Jaire stuck his hand out the window and tipped the shards out, watching as they disappeared into the fog below.

  “Goodbye, Vayne,” he whispered. “I suppose it was too much to hope that I might be able to free you. I’ll miss you terribly, but… maybe you’re better off, wherever you are. I hope so, anyway. Please take care of him, Aio.”

  He closed the window and went to sit down at the table, arms wrapped tightly about himself.

  What if the guards didn’t bring Kian back?

  What if—

  A flash of movement at the wall had him blinking the tears from his eyes in time to see two Drachan enter his prison, dragging Kian between them. They dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and left before Jaire could even frame a question.

  He moved to Kian’s side, relief and fear twining through him in equal measure.

  Kian stared up at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry…”

  “For what?” Jaire helped him sit up.

  “I’ve betrayed them.” Kian’s voice was hoarse and thick. “Garrik and Ambris, both.”

  Jaire fetched a cup of water from the cupboard. Food had mysteriously appeared at some point, but Jaire wasn’t hungry, and he rather doubted Kian was, either.

  He knelt beside the healer, offering him a drink. Kian’s hands shook too much to hold the cup steady, so Jaire held it for him. Kian drained it, then continued, “Faah brought in a… a Council Inquisitor. I couldn’t… I tried, Jaire, but he just… he smashed through my defenses like they weren’t even there. He took everything. Everything! They’re planning to send a group of Drachan to hunt down Ambris. Once they have him, the Council will have all the evidence they need to remove Garrik from the throne. Aio’s teeth, I wish we had some way to warn them.”

  “Kian—”

  “They’ll lie. They’ll tell Garrik and Ambris that you and I will be all right if they come quietly, but it won’t be true. Garrik mustn’t trust them. He can’t.”

  “Garrik’s not stupid,” Jaire said firmly. “He knows he can’t trust the Council.”

  Kian winced and dropped his head into his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Alarm pulsed through Jaire, and he lifted a hand to Kian’s shoulder. The healer was trembling, and when he lifted his head to look at Jaire, his golden-brown skin was very pale.

  “He hurt me,” Kian whispered. “Inside. When I tried to fight him.”

  Jaire patted Kian’s arm, wishing he could think of something more to do. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “For what? Betraying everyone I hold dear?” Kian let out a bark of bitter laughter, then winced and brought his hands back to his head.

  “For trying not to,” Jaire said gently. “For fighting, even though it hurt.” He stood and squared his shoulders. “Come on, then,” he said, trying to sound brave and sure of himself like Garrik always did. “Let’s get you to bed. They’ve left us some food. I’ll bring you something once I’ve got you settled.”

  * * *

  Vayne woke up in the mythe.

  He was lying in the ruins of the emerald spire. Like the amulet, it had shattered into a pile of glinting crystal shards. Of the little shelter he’d relied on for protection, there was no sign.

  Panic burned through his limbs. It felt like only moments had passed, but how long was it, really? How much time had passed for Jaire? And how was he ever going to return to the human world when his portal lay in ruins?

  Vayne rose and circled the remains of the spire. Tiny, razor-sharp shards dug into his bare feet, slicing through tender skin. He stared down at himself. The clothing he’d been wearing for the last two and a half centuries had disappeared, leaving him bare.

  What did that mean?

  His heart pounded in his chest. Was he trapped here for good?

  No. He wouldn’t accept that. There must be another way back to the human world. Jaire needed him, and he’d be damned if he would abandon the prince when he was trapped and afraid.

  On the far side of the spire, he found the largest piece of crystal yet, a chunk as thick as his arm, its edges so sharp he could see them glinting in the mythe-light.

  He dared not try to pick it up. If the state of his feet was any indication, it would slice his hands to ribbons. Vayne leaned forward and pressed his hand against it. He closed his eyes, visualizing the pattern that would take him to the human world.

  The pattern shivered, as if it was struggling to find the place where it fit. Vayne focused every bit of his considerable will upon it, sharpening the lines, sculpting every detail until it was perfect.

  The air around him shimmered and shifted, the landscape of the mythe melting around him, but far more slowly than it ought. A deep, penetrating cold seeped into him, riming his very bones with ice. The pattern wavered in his mind, and he fought to hold it steady, fought against the thin, stretched feeling that told him he was losing it.

  What would happen if he couldn’t hold onto it?

  Horrified at the thought of being lost somewhere beyond the reach of human and dragon alike, Vayne redoubled his efforts.

  The mythe boiled and swirled around him, tossing him on invisible waves, pounding his mind and body until his focus began to slip. In desperation, he reached down into the core of himself, deeper than he’d ever reached before, drawing out as much fire and power as he could, and using it to strengthen the pattern.

  Something wrenched and broke. The pattern dissolved, and the mythe closed in on him like a dark and vengeful ocean.

  * * *

  Vayne was cold.

  Aio’s teeth and tail, he couldn’t remember ever having been so cold. The ground was rough and icy, sucking every bit of warmth right out of him. He pried open gritty eyes and found himself in a grey mist, so thick he couldn’t see much farther beyond the hand he raised in front of his face.

  It was almost like the fog that surrounded him when he strayed too far from the amulet, except… The air smelled like cold stone and snow, and Vayne inhaled deeply.

  Had he escaped?

  A cool breez
e kissed his skin, and he looked down at himself. He still wore only his skin; the clothing he’d been trapped in for over two centuries was gone.

  He peered through the mist, squinting.

  “Jaire?”

  No answer.

  Vayne rolled over and pushed himself up off the ground. His limbs felt heavy and awkward, and it took him several tries to gain his feet.

  The cold bit deep, freezing his very bones. He needed to find shelter before the weather finished him. It stood to reason that if he had made it back to the human world, he’d have materialized close to the broken amulet… didn’t it?

  If that was so, Shadowspire would be close by.

  He turned a slow circle, but he could see nothing through the thick fog. His feet were already nearly numb, and when he tried to take a step, he stumbled and went down hard on his knees, scraping them on the icy stone.

  A pattern formed in his mind, and Vayne hesitated for only a moment. Shifting into his dragon form would allow him to rise above the fog, perhaps locate the tower. He stood completely still and reached for the glowing core of power at his center. What little power remained was a sullen glow, deep within. He needed rest, needed to replenish himself.

  No; he needed to shift. He could worry about resting later, when he’d assured himself that Jaire was safe.

  The shift felt slow and sluggish, as if his physical body had forgotten how to do it. Halfway through the transformation, everything clicked into place, and moments later, he was rising above the fog on glittering wings of emerald green.

  Brilliant sunlight dazzled his eyes. A shard of black crystal loomed above him, crystalline facets glinting in the sun. Up near the top were several windows.

  Shadowspire?

  Vayne blinked hard, bringing down the inner eyelids that revealed the streams of brilliantly colored air currents. Heart pounding, he rode a river of orange and gold up the side of the tower toward Jaire.