by Mary Weber
Someone tumbles against me and I reach out to keep from tripping. “Beg your pardon,” I mutter, before recognizing one of the few Bron guards allowed in the Castle this week. Part of Eogan’s personal protection unit left here from Bron. He stares coolly, but there’s a slight awareness in his gaze that says he knows who I am.
He doesn’t move.
I don’t either.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“For twenty months he’d been makin’ war with Bron and Faelen.” The entertainer’s voice grows more exuberant by the second. “Now he was lookin’ to make a deal! Swore he’d become Faelen’s ally. For a price. Which was . . .”
The guard in front of me glances at the dwarf and smiles.
My neck twitches. Ah litches.
“Our Elementals,” someone in the crowd shouts. And just like that the entire room shifts its attention.
I don’t have to look beyond the first few faces to know that two hundred more gazes are glued to me.
“So tragic, so horrific,” the dwarf says. “The price was the Elementals. Condemned to death by King Willem’s and Draewulf’s treaty note. An’ the Sea of Elisedd, she’s churned noisy ’bout it ever since. Cryin’ for those Elemental children for the past hundred years. Until . . .”
To the side of me a woman giggles too prettily. When I peer over, there’s a man with jagged black hair beside her, leaning into her, and a host of Faelen soldiers nearby.
The audience abruptly roars, and then the Bron guard steps around me, blocking my path. When I glance up he shrugs. “King Eogan’s not available yet. You should watch the show.” He points toward the dwarf who has jumped and vaulted himself across a portion of the room to land below the balcony where King Sedric is standing. The little man shoves his hands up to indicate the young king. “Until King Sedric, the Elemental, and King Eogan defeated him!”
The spectators erupt. Even King Sedric applauds and yells over the noise. “Finally someone who’ll tell the legend as a banner of victory rather than a warning!” Then, before the entertainer can pick the story up again, the king raises a goblet and beckons for quiet.
“My friends,” his voice rings loud. Confident. “I toast the demise of Draewulf and the end to our hundred-year war. Here’s to the ushering in of a new era. Of peace. Of sanctuary for all, including our Elementals.” He looks past his subjects right to me and grins. Tips his glass. “Beginning with Nym, whom I offer the gift of freedom from slavery and the undying gratitude of our entire Faelen nation!”
Whoever’s working the wall mirrors flashes the candle lights onto my face. I step back, half blinded, as the citizens whoop and toss their hats in the air with drink-heavy approval. It takes me a second to remember to curtsy in spite of the fact that everything inside me is tempted to scream at them that we’re about to be anything but free.
But the guard moves and the lights leave my face to land on the cluster surrounding the giggling lady and the jagged-haired man, whom the dwarf is now pointing at. The man lifts his head. It’s Eogan-who-is-Draewulf.
I open my mouth. To out him. To unleash on him the Faelen soldiers who may believe me, or more likely would just think I’m drunk.
I move toward him. But he merely stands there looking out over the audience, giving a brandishing wave and an enormous smile, followed by a respectful nod toward King Sedric. I scowl—What’s the wretch waiting for?—and edge to the side while keeping between him and the king. I reach for my ankle knives as the crowd continues cheering.
As soon as the lights flash away, the monster goes back to the woman beside him—one of those who’d giggled when the tittering man had insulted my slave status minutes ago. What’s Draewulf doing? Why is he keeping Sedric alive?
I work my way closer until I’m only feet away and can see Draewulf shift his gloating attention to the dwarf, then back again to the lady. He bends over her and says something.
I freeze just as his hand reaches up the back of her dress’s skirt and grabs her thigh. She laughs but there’s a hint of discomfort in it now.
My gut slithers to the floor. If there were any siren left in my blood, he’d be dust.
His hand gropes higher. I choke. Then abruptly, Eogan-who-is-Draewulf moves his wolfish gaze up to connect with mine. He smirks. And something clicks.
He’s going to kill us all.
Before I can look away, his other hand slides up the woman’s back and casually slips around her neck, like a noose. She chuckles and it sounds like she’s hoping he’s playing. Too bad she can’t see his expression, which is as black as hulls.
The dwarf’s voice grows louder as back in front of the stage he’s assuring the crowd the shape-shifter will never again enjoy the scent of fresh blood. “And his only survivin’ kin isn’t a shape-shifter,” he yells. “She’s a Mortisfaire.”
From beneath my dress I slide out one of the knives Eogan made and wait for the dwarf to add something about how Lady Isobel can turn our hearts to stone with one touch. But he doesn’t because King Sedric speaks again.
“I can assure all of us that Draewulf’s daughter will no longer be a threat. After her betrayal of Faelen, she’s not welcome here. If Lady Isobel appears—when she appears—she’ll be held accountable for her crimes of betraying our Faelen kingdom just like the Lady Adora!”
The crowd cheers as, in front of me, Eogan whips toward the king. His eyes narrow to slits, and I’m close enough to hear his feral growl over the crowd’s rabid hollering.
I take the final step behind him and the woman and lean in to inhale Eogan’s scent. A rush of horror and heartache finds my stomach, my nostrils, my throat. It burns and trickles and digs into that part of me that knows, without a doubt, that Eogan is already gone and I am saving our people once again.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper anyway.
Four, five, nine seconds I count before I grip the handle tighter and, with a quiet sob, shove my blade in my trainer’s back.
CHAPTER 4
NYM!”
I freeze.
Eogan’s broad shoulders stiffen, then he turns. His amused expression morphs into a glower aimed at my face as Princess Rasha floats over in her Cashlin-styled, glossy red gown, her dark brown hair twisted in a single spiral down to her delicate elbow.
“Nym,” she says again, in that whimsical tone that sounds as if she’s on herbs.
I frown and glance over to find her eyes riddled with shock and ringed with the glowing scarlet tint that indicates she’s using her Luminescent ability, which, when focused enough, reads people’s intentions.
Suddenly the weight of the knife in my hand feels awkward even though it hardly connected with Eogan’s skin. I doubt it even drew blood. I pull back and attempt to hide the blade against my thin skirts.
Until I realize her look of alarm is not for me.
Rasha’s gaping at Eogan, her gaze glimmering stronger.
Abruptly she clamps herself to my side and wraps her hand around my arm as the audience breaks into applause. The larger candelabras are reigniting and the dwarf’s ending his story to louder cheering than I’ve ever heard the legend met with.
Eogan-who-is-Draewulf scowls at Rasha as if he’s quite aware of her ability—as if he knows she can see into him and who he really is—before he turns to resettle his glare full on me. His lips twist. “Pushing your luck, aren’t you?” He juts his face near enough that his damp breath fuses to my hair. “Don’t make me tire of this, pet. You’d hate to be . . .”—his gaze darts in the direction of King Sedric—“the cause of any unfortunate accidents.”
My blade is thrusting for his stomach before he can blink, but Rasha’s hand stops mine. “Nym, wait.” Her grip becomes insistent, forcing my retreat. I turn to demand an explanation but she’s still staring at Eogan with an expression that’s gone beyond horror. Her sunburn-colored skin has drained to pale.
“Nym—”
“He’s Draewulf, I know,” I whisper. “Now let go.”
“But Eoga
n—”
“I know.”
Her fingers dig in as she turns to look me full in the face, her eyes willing me to understand. “He’s still Eogan.”
“Yes, now—” I frown. Blink. “What?”
Eogan dips next to me again, so close his suit brushes my bare shoulders and a musky wolf scent fills my lungs. He reaches for a wineglass from the lady who, up until a moment ago, was flirting with him but now appears to be trying to distance herself from the lot of us. He hoists the drink above his head and snorts hot breath in my face.
“Your Majesty!” he says, and turns. “A toast to you!”
“Hear, hear!” The requisite cries swell throughout the Hall as the lights flit off the mirrors to focus first on Eogan, then Sedric. “To the king!”
“King Sedric!”
I spin on Rasha. “I don’t understand. He’s Draewulf.”
“Yes. But Eogan’s not fully dead yet.” Her voice wafts its high pitch. “Draewulf’s still in the process of taking over.”
No.
“Like butterflies sharing the same chrysalis.”
I step back.
Oh hulls, no.
I look around with no idea how to be in this moment. What to be in this moment. Because if the discovery of Draewulf shifting into Eogan’s body was unbearable, this . . . this is the undoing of my spine.
The grave I’ve spent the last hour trying to seal up while keeping the final pieces of me from falling apart has just opened to reveal the person inside isn’t quite dead. Only half dead. Half consumed. And now I will watch his final remnants fade as the monster who killed Colin, and is now devouring Eogan, gloats.
I brace for my Elemental curse to itch and surge, to exact revenge for what’s been done, but it doesn’t. And the realization crashes in all over again that I no longer have it. That I am merely a carved-out, angry-as-hulls girl.
I think I’m going to vomit. “Rasha—”
“And to you, King Eogan,” King Sedric speaks up. “And your kingdom of Bron, Faelen’s new friend and ally.”
“Hear, hear!” Eogan joins the audience’s cheers, his tone mocking, turning my stomach sick with what he’s about to do. I lift my knife again to the low of his back.
Rasha’s hand slips down over the bandages on my fingers and grips the blade handle. “I said wait,” she whispers.
“And to the kingdom of Cashlin!”
“To Cashlin!”
“And Princess Rasha!”
“Princess Rasha, marry me!” some rabid swooner yells.
Without releasing my hand, she responds to the compliment by sashaying a flamboyant curtsy at the court and yelling back, “Feel free to ask my mum’s permission.” The crowd laughs and the blinding lights slide away, but Eogan raises his glass once again and they’re instantly returned to us.
“If I may go beyond a toast, Your Highness,” Eogan says.
I yank away from Rasha. “Oh of all the litches, let’s just—”
“Nym, you have to trust me.” Her frantic voice fills my ear.
“I am honored by Your Majesty,” Eogan-who-is-Draewulf booms. “To carry your extension of friendship home to Bron, both in the form of your word and your delegates when I depart. No one knows better the amount of work required in upcoming days to make this peace treaty a reality among our subjects as we rebuild our hearts and lands.” He pauses. Clears his throat. “Thus, if I might be so bold to ask . . . as a continued symbol of goodwill, and in celebration of what is to come . . .”
His tone grows elevated, agitated. Obligating, as it carries over the entire room. “I’m officially requesting that I, and your delegates, move up the departure date for the trip to my homeland. I will leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
My gasp joins the audience’s. I peek at Rasha. Was this what she wanted me to wait for? To hear Draewulf announce his intention to depart sooner? We won’t even make it until then.
King Sedric hesitates a moment, and I catch the flash of concern. Then he’s extending his goblet toward Eogan. “Go with the Creator!” he bellows, and the approval it elicits is overwhelming. Just like Eogan’s sneer as he turns, suddenly in my face, consuming my vision.
“Sleep well tonight, pet.” There’s no attempt to hide the malevolence coating his words. He steps away to join his Bron and Faelen guards and the lights move away for good.
I twirl on Rasha. “What the bolcrane just happened? You wanted me to wait until—what—he moved up his time frame for taking you and the delegates to Bron? What blasted difference does that make?” But even as I say it, my voice cracks.
“If you’d killed him, you would be dead right now! And Eogan—”
“Do you think I care? Look at him! You could’ve let me free him and myself quickly. Because if I don’t, we might all end up dead.”
She grabs the side of my skirt as I start to follow him. “That’s what I’m telling you—I am looking, and Eogan’s still whole inside his body. Whatever Draewulf’s done, he hasn’t managed full control.” She throws her hands up, glancing around as if trying to find a better way to explain. “Draewulf hasn’t been able to even begin absorbing Eogan.”
The world stops.
My breath stops.
Even as the room keeps going and the crowd’s voices keep soaring.
“Eogan’s soul, his essence, is still intact. Draewulf’s not taken it.”
I shake my head. That’s not possible. Maybe her Luminescent powers don’t work as well as she thinks they do—Eogan once told me they’re not always clear. Maybe her sight is hazy. “Draewulf indicated he took him over at the Keep a week ago, and I saw the bruising and the incision even then. I just didn’t connect it.”
“I’m not debating that he invaded his physical form. I’m just telling you what I see. And what I see are two whole men sharing the same shell. Eogan just can’t surface.”
Hope, joy, heartbursts tear at me. Eogan’s still whole? Is that actually possible? I flip around and watch the back of him stride through the crowd toward the balcony door as the party guests press us toward the railing and stairs. My breath is thin. “Rasha, how good is your sight?”
“There’s a lot of interference in here, but I’m still better than most Luminescents twice my eighteen years.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone surviving a shifting before?”
“Never.”
I slip my hand in hers and pull her to follow him. “But somehow he did and we need to figure out why.”
“I’m working on that, but where are we going?” she says a tad too loud, which garners interest from a few people.
I smile for their benefit and keep walking, pointing a discreet hand toward Eogan. “Just following him,” I say in a way I hope makes me sound lovesick and not like a desperate murderer.
“To do what exactly?”
“To keep an eye on him. To figure something out. I don’t know—can’t you tell what I’m planning?”
“Maybe if your ideas weren’t fluctuating all over the place like a band of hyper ferret-cats. Because honestly? I’m not a magician.” Except the way her reddish gaze is suddenly narrowing in on me, we both know she might as well be.
I ignore the blossoming frown and duck us around one of those councilmen with the giant airship hats. “Can you see what’s keeping him alive?”
She jerks me to a halt. Her eerie stare is boring holes straight into me. “Your ability . . .” She actually sounds incredulous. “I was so focused on . . . I didn’t . . .” Abruptly, she takes a step backward and nearly trips as she whispers, “He took it.”
My chest, my veins, my nerves ache. I turn and keep walking after Eogan. “He used Eogan’s block to cut it out.”
“And you’re unable to get it back,” she says in her airy voice, as the full picture apparently dawns in whatever way it does for Luminescents. She jumps to catch up. “When?”
“After you left my room earlier.” I weave us around a servant with two drink trays, and then we’re at the do
or Eogan and his men have just left through. I see them ahead down the candlelit hall, rounding a corner. “Just tell me how much time he has. Is there any chance of him surviving long enough until Draewulf moves on to take another host?”
“I don’t know. Up until now no one thought it possible to survive this long. It’s something to do with his blocking ability.”
“What about separating Eogan from Draewulf? I mean, if there was a way . . .”
“It’s never been done. The host would die.”
We round the corner and spot them again up ahead. “But hypothetically?”
“Hypothetically? There are always possibilities.”
I may only have known her a matter of days, but even I can tell she doesn’t believe it. I ask anyway. “Do you think you could see clear enough to know?”
Another two bends in the hall, and we take them in time to see Eogan unlocking a room. There’s a brisk exchange between him and his men while the Faelen guards look on before he enters and his door clicks shut. The Bron guards position themselves on each side of it like huge onyx statues, and the Faelen soldiers settle around them.
Rasha looks at me sideways. “I’m not sure. Their intentions are all over the place. Between Eogan and Draewulf and the block—it’s like the positive and negative are morphed. Hazy. Same as when someone’s not yet decided on a course of action.” A pause and then she perks up. “Although . . . it doesn’t appear that either of them have harmful objectives before he leaves tomorrow. On that they seem aligned.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let it out all in one tremble just as one of the guards turns our way. Rasha and I pull back behind the corner and study each other. Her eyes dim to their normal dark brown coloring, her ability receding with the glow.
“Are you telling me he’s not going to destroy the court or King Sedric tonight?”
She shakes her head. “Not from what I can determine.”
“Can you promise that?”
“Nearly 95 percent.”
I bite my lip. “I need time,” I finally whisper. “A couple of hours—maybe a day or two even—to watch for any change. To see if Draewulf absorbs more of Eogan or to research whether it’s possible he could survive a shift. After that, we’ll do . . . whatever needs to be done.”
