* * *
It was a matter of moments before Hunter was brought before the king’s chair, though the throne was empty. Hundreds of Iron Bound lined the gray stone walls of the arena, thousands more spilling in through every door. It was a performance, Hunter reminded himself. Entertainment before the main event. The chosen was on trial, days before the reaping. Not something they would want to miss.
He wondered what had happened in the days he’d been absent, what turmoil the broken veil had caused on this side. He’d seen what it had done to Mackenzie’s world, he’d seen what had happened when the monsters were allowed to run wild. Azral had planned well. A few of them could have been handled. But somehow, Azral had managed much more. He’d brought them aboard, shown them the tear in the gateway, their way through.
If Hunter wasn’t freed now, he wasn’t certain how the gateway would close. He wasn’t certain the reaping would be complete, that their energy would be brought to this side.
If that didn’t happen, there could be only one outcome. The monsters would move to the undying lands. They would stay on that side, feed on that energy directly until they had taken too much.
Both realms would die.
Hunter stood in the center of so many of his kind, avoiding the remembered tale of that other reaper’s fate. Hunter had once been the Iron Bound’s savior, hope for their world. But that was before he’d started disappearing, before the rumors of his time over there. The king had made excuses, always certain to secure his own place. But as Malkyn stepped to the edge of a balcony, Hunter could feel the heat of his stare. The man had not forgiven him, despite what ends he’d taken to get the chosen under his control.
The noise of the surrounding Iron Bound did not hush upon the king’s appearance; that would wait until he’d taken his chair. So when Malkyn dropped from his perch to glide down to Hunter’s level and walk across the podium, no one heard their exchange.
The king had a massive frame, a full head taller than Hunter and twice as broad. His brow sat low and his features wide, his skin a golden fur so much like the villain in Mackenzie’s fable. Malkyn stopped in front of Hunter, his heavy black cape swinging wide over a bare torso, thickened bone-like ridges drawing attention to his chest. The king didn’t paint himself or bother with trimmings. He could hold his own among any man.
“Nightsbane,” Malkyn muttered. “What trouble have you caused us now?”
The words were not meant for reply, and Hunter didn’t answer. He stared straight forward, through the man instead of into those hostile blue eyes.
Malkyn’s thin lips sat in a constant grimace, as if he’d been born without the ability to find humor in anything. He pressed a golden palm against Hunter’s chest, running a claw down the ragged, bloody tee-shirt so that it fell open, too easily. “So dependent on your earthly trappings.” Malkyn’s talon raked Hunter’s skin as it tore the last bit of material, exposing the healed cut on Hunter’s side. “You are in our realm now, gatekeeper. You must remember our ways.”
Hunter clutched the cut shirt, tearing it free from his skin. His chest was bare, except for the small silver medallion that hung from a chain around his neck. A reminder. A warning.
But the king knew who Hunter was. The king knew exactly who he was. “You are a King’s Son, Nightsbane. You are here until you are chosen to lead.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched, despite every effort he made to avoid response, but the coliseum was filling up. Malkyn turned, lifting from the platform without another word. The rest would be spoken for show.
Across the empty space and well above where Hunter stood alone on the platform, the king’s chair waited. It was a chair of ash and tuffaceous stone, bones of the dead molded to Malkyn’s shape. The back rose high above him, mirroring the spikes of the castle’s seven spires. It was elevated above Azral and the kingsmen, though none were allowed a seat.
It was a position Hunter had never wanted to claim.
The crowd grew still as Malkyn approached his throne, but the king did not take his place. He spoke into the arena, gaze traveling the watching Iron Bound.
“As told by our ancestors before the dawn of time, into the dying lands was born a son. Upon this moon, he shall lead us into the inner realm where we might cull the spirits for the coming season, bring them home to become our own.” His words echoed with the surety of a wingbeat. “He is the key, he is the One. He will recall our soldiers and restore order among the realms for all time to come. This king among our kind can only surrender to his true successor. The son of a son.”
Malkyn’s gaze fell to Hunter at the same moment the crowd shifted.
The same moment Mackenzie—a human girl—was drawn onto the platform.
Chapter 19
“Nightsbane,” the king said. “Son of a son, the key and the chosen, you have brought a soul unto this realm before their time has come.”
The king paused, allowing the Iron Bound to get their fill of Mackenzie, giving time for the murmur of unrest to spread through the crowd.
Hunter couldn’t have been the only one to notice Malkyn had not mentioned his years of going into the undying realm before the reaping, the others who’d gone after.
The thousands who lingered even now on the other side.
He might have led them to believe it was a hunting party, a group to return Hunter to this side. But that wouldn’t account for how the gateway was opened, how the other Iron Bound got through.
Because the current king couldn’t have unlocked it. Hunter was the key. The one.
Hunter kept his eyes on the king. But he could feel Mackenzie’s presence beside him, where Krea had positioned her just out of arm’s reach. He had drawn every bit of power he could and energy rushed through him, lighting the marks on his skin. It was only a faint glow, but it was the single thing he’d had to hide in the other realm, all the human eye could perceive that marked him as different.
For the first time in his life, Hunter felt naked, exposed. It didn’t matter that she was only a girl, that he’d been without a shirt in front of her a half-dozen times already. The marks were there now, the patterns on his skin that named him Iron Bound.
“The girl wishes to know what happens,” Krea announced. Her words were directed at no one in particular, despite the gathered crowd. “I shall tell her.”
Hunter forced steady, even breaths, waiting for retribution. But the king disregarded the older woman’s voice entirely.
Krea leaned close to Mackenzie, whispering. “King says Nightsbane broke one law. King waits for Nightsbane’s defense.”
Mackenzie’s reply was no louder than a breath, and Hunter had to resist the urge to look at her, to see how terrified she would be in the face of this coliseum full of monsters. In the face of his king.
She had apparently asked Krea to repeat herself, because Krea said, “Nightsbane.” There was another whisper and Krea laughed. “He translates poorly.”
Mackenzie had not known the name this king had given him. He had never been Nightsbane to her, not a King’s Son, not a gatekeeper. Hunter imagined telling her, in those first few hours after she’d found him under Azral’s gaze. He’d woken from fever dreams, her face pressed against his chest as she slept, clearly having dreams of her own. Nightmares of the very creatures surrounding them. He couldn’t have told her, not then. Not once he’d allowed her to lock herself in a basement with him.
“Breaking of this oldest law is no minor transgression,” Malkyn said. “That is why the penalty must be severe.”
“It’s too many.” Mackenzie’s voice rose, and Hunter glanced at Krea, a warning to keep the girl quiet.
Mackenzie caught Hunter’s eye. “There are too many,” she said. She was pressing a hand against her chest, the sick and pain showing through every facet of her expression. It took him a moment to understand. This arena was filled with Iron Bound. Not the hundreds that had filled her skies.
Hundreds of thousands.
“How many will come?” she w
hispered. “How many will they take?”
Her voice was so desperate, so dangerous, that Hunter couldn’t stop himself from answering. “Thousands,” he said. “Thousands upon thousands.”
“And for that reason,” the king boomed, “the laws are binding.”
Binding.
Why wasn’t he mentioning the others? Why hadn’t he asked how the gateway had opened?
“It brings me great sorrow, for this is a son of the king,” Malkyn said. Azral waited in the background, a winged beast among a line of kingsmen. “The price for this offense must be as great as the deed.”
No, Hunter thought. No, no, no.
“I fear for the realm in the days to come, that we will know no greater trials than the potential loss of our reaping,” the king continued. “But hardships will strengthen us all. May the next son of a son—”
“No,” Hunter said, stepping forward with such strength that the crowd—which had been growing agitated with the possibility of a lost reaping—fell silent once more. Hunter sucked in a shallow breath, glancing around the hall. His eyes caught on Krea, her cunning smile as she wound her wiry fingers through Mackenzie’s.
He was caught. It wouldn’t matter what he said now. Nothing would save them.
And that blasted legend kept replaying in his head.
“She is mine,” Hunter said. “I claim the girl…” His words hitched, a catch in his throat, and the crowd hung in suspense. “As my queen.”
The roar that took up the coliseum did more than Hunter’s power could have. It was a deafening howl, the bellow of a hundred thousand Iron Bound. Hunter’s skin tingled, hair rising on end. His heart beat like thunder, pulse feverish. He had done this; he had caused the chaos of this room.
Hunter stared at Malkyn, at those dark blue eyes and ever-present scowl. This man was a king. He was a beast, a leader, the ruler of the realm.
And Hunter had just challenged him for the throne in front of his entire kingdom.
The initial crash of disbelief among the crowd gave way to tremors, but still Malkyn did not respond. Hunter waited for denial, for rage, for his king to laugh.
None of those happened. No emotion crossed Malkyn’s face.
Beside him, Hunter could hear Krea attempting to explain.
“What?” Mackenzie said. “Wait, why—” But Hunter did not turn to her. This was bigger than a human girl. This was bigger than her realm. This was everything.
There are games in the winds, the virago had said.
The king would have them killed. The king would risk that once Hunter was gone, the power would revert back to him. Azral had not planned this alone. Their king had betrayed the oldest laws. If he hadn’t spoken, hadn’t made the challenge, it would have been over.
Malkyn had wanted an execution. Hunter had given him a fight to the death.
Amid the noise of the crowd, the king’s gaze floated to Mackenzie. Hunter was certain Malkyn could not possibly hear the girl’s agitated voice, but Hunter finally allowed his own gaze to fall to her as well.
Her face was flushed, cheeks a hot crimson and hair a mess of waves. Krea had draped a long cape over her, the thin white fabric clasped at one shoulder, the block letters of her faded tee-shirt visible at the other side.
“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Did you just—did you just claim me?”
Hunter held his shoulders high, turning no more than his gaze in her direction, expression still. Under his breath, he said, “They were going to execute us, Mackenzie.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by execute?”
He stared at her for a long moment, unsure exactly how they were even having such a ridiculous conversation, how he’d just named her his queen and risked the entire realm if both he and Malkyn were killed. “It is this or death, Mackenzie.” And then, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself, added, “Can being claimed really be that bad?”
She pursed her lips, as if actually considering whether death trumped being tied to him, and Hunter’s jaw tensed, stare going back to the king.
Malkyn’s mouth twitched, sending a pulse of alarm through Hunter’s chest. Was it a smile?
The expression was gone in an instant, the king’s hand raised to silence the crowd. “Upon these days of the reaping, I shall stay my hand against the King’s Son.” Malkyn’s eyes burned blue. Hunter couldn’t seem to find his breath. “For the protection of the realm, we shall resume this matter at the turn of the earth-bound moon.”
Malkyn’s chin lowered, meeting his massive chest as he leveled his gaze on Hunter. “The dying lands will retain a gatekeeper. At the least until a new son is born.”
The words hit Hunter like a bolt in the chest. He and the king were the only two gatekeepers left. One of them would die. Malkyn planned on fighting Hunter, days after the reaping, so that at least one with that power remained. At least one of them could close the gate.
And the king thought it himself.
He expected Hunter to die. By a king’s hand.
He expected to be alive for the next son’s birth. A chosen he could actually control.
The cacophony rose again, but Hunter didn’t hesitate. There was no waiting to be released. He’d been given a stay… on his death sentence. He grabbed Mackenzie by the arm, glaring at Krea in the process, and stepped to the edge of the podium, pulling Mackenzie against him as their feet lifted from the ground.
Mackenzie’s pulse was racing, fingers digging into Hunter’s bare skin. “What’s happening?”
“The king has granted us a stay,” he said.
Her boots pressed against him, climbing her tighter up his side. “A stay, so that’s—so it’s a good thing?”
Hunter sighed. “He still may kill me in my sleep, but at the very least, we’ve got some time.” At the very least he could hide Mackenzie on her side. At the very least, he could be certain the gateway was closed.
Mackenzie stared up at him, her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder. “In your sleep?”
“Not to worry,” he said. “I won’t rest until we get you to the other side.”
“Yeah,” she muttered, staring back at the shouting crowd of Iron Bound as they cleared the arena walls. “Me either.”
Chapter 20
Hunter returned to his rooms, not settling Mackenzie to the gray stone floor until the doors were shut behind them. She took a deep breath, and then slid her fingers free of their grip. She stared up at him, and Hunter had the unfamiliar sensation of being laid bare.
Everyone in this world had known of his birth, of his duty, of how their fate was dependent upon his life. But no single being in the human world had ever been more than a passing stranger to Hunter.
And no one in either world had ever held his concern the way this girl did.
Mackenzie’s hand raised to his skin, hovering over the faint glow of the marks crossing his chest and shoulder, a question. Hunter’s ability to speak was lost, caught beneath that same hitch in his throat, but he gave her permission with his eyes. Her touch was feather-light, the faintest stroke across his skin, and impulses warred inside Hunter, wanting him to reach out to her, to close his eyes, to do, to be. But he did not.
Mackenzie looked up at him, dark eyes glittering with some emotion he couldn’t quite name. She swallowed. “Is it…” Her lip drew in. “Is it magic?”
Hunter laughed, the tension between them suddenly broken, and Mackenzie’s hand slid down his chest. It rested there for a moment, and then she snatched it away when she remembered she was touching his bare skin.
“It is a kind of storage, I guess.” He reached for her shoulder, unclasping Krea’s long silk cape. Mackenzie stepped free of the material, seemingly grateful to be back in only tee-shirt and jeans. “For the reaping.”
She nodded, though he doubted she could fully understand. The Iron Bound were painted in her world, an eager group of rangers and guards. But this was their own realm, and they wore only the capes and furs of their homeland. The e
mbellishments were for her, for the humans and the excitement of the hunt. The Iron Bound apparently hadn’t realized they didn’t need them; flying beasts with horns would have been more than enough. And Hunter’s marks were something else entirely, a symptom of the power running beneath.
“Krea said—” Mackenzie paused, glancing the room for any sign of the other woman, but her eyes came back to his. “Nightsbane?”
Hunter’s voice dropped, though the likelihood of anyone listening was probably low. “Nightsbane is the name the king bestowed upon me. My true name, from my true father, translates roughly to Hunter in your tongue.” In truth, it was closer to one who searches, but Hunter had chosen his translation years ago, finding something that worked within her world.
Mackenzie’s brow drew together, and he was sure she was remembering his words. He is not my father, but he is king. And I am his possession. “Your real father…”
Hunter shook his head. “The king doesn’t allow for lingering questions of ownership.”
Mackenzie paled. “I think—” She waved a hand in front of her face, though the room was neither hot nor stuffy. “Is there some place to get some air?”
There was a balcony outside Hunter’s window, but the city rested beneath, swamped with Iron Bound. What Mackenzie wanted was a breeze, the wind she’d left behind.
She wanted her own realm.
“I’ll take you to the forests,” Hunter promised. “As soon as the crowds have had a chance to clear out.”
“When are they going?” Mackenzie asked. “When will the gateway open and those… men take all the people back?” She shook her head. “Take them here. Whatever. The reaping,” she said. “When will it come?”
There was a pained look on her face, and Hunter could see the deeper, more cutting question beneath: Why?
He took her hand. “Perhaps it would be better to show you.”
He held his arm wide, the first time he’d been able to ask permission to carry her, and Mackenzie stepped close, pressing into his side. They were quiet as they flew out of the castle, Hunter purposefully staying low. Now that the king had called him out publicly, Hunter felt safer than he had the whole of his life. But it wouldn’t be for long, and there was no reason to bring more attention.
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