by M. L. Greye
“Good.” Emry dipped her head once. “So, what news from court?”
She didn’t mean her father’s Court. It was how she now inquired after her Committee and growing followers.
“I have some unsettling news actually,” he said with a frown.
“Oh?” She blinked.
“Just beyond the meadows where your Eyes train, a young woman was discovered watching them.” His brow drew close together. “When Warks approached her, she pulled out a blade and stuck it into her own chest. She then disappeared into black mist.”
Emry stared at him. “Shadow? She disappeared into shadow?”
“Have you seen something like this before?” He asked incredulously.
“Not exactly,” she replied, hesitantly. “But perhaps something similar. Tell Warks to inform me immediately if anything like this happens again.”
“Of course.” Levric offered her a small smile.
She noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Were they because of her? She winced. Had he rushed to get to her, losing sleep over it? “You look like you could use some rest, Ric,” she told him. “Have I been working you too hard?”
To her surprise, he chuckled. “No, if I look tired, it’s because of my son, not you.”
“Declan?” Emry’s heart quickened at his name. She should be ashamed of herself – at how her stomach fluttered – but she was too curious to care. “Are he and his wife not well?”
Levric’s brow rose in surprise. “Declan isn’t married.”
“What?” All the air rushed out of her on that one word.
“Why did you think he was married?” Levric asked.
“Llydia mentioned all her children back in Anexia were wed. I just-” Emry stopped. She felt as though the floor had fallen out from beneath her. Like the world had suddenly flipped upside down. “He’s really not married?”
“He is not.”
Emry was going to pass out. Or fly. She couldn’t take in enough air and was taking in too much at the same time. She was both elated and terrified.
Declan wasn’t married. The real Declan wasn’t married. He was free. He wasn’t married!
All at once, Emry was on her feet. Levric stared up at her, startled. There was no time for her to explain. She had to get out of this inn and back to the palace. She needed to demand a Trials from her father. And above all else, she needed to have Declan for her Knight. She would request him from Levric. Later, though. After her father approved of her Trials.
“I have to go,” Emry announced, slightly louder than she’d intended. She dropped her voice and added her usual farewell, “Watch after Anexia while I’m gone. Keep an eye out for my next letter. I’ll meet you back here in a month.”
She didn’t give him a chance to refute it. Spinning on her heels, she whirled around to the inn’s door and was through it in four long strides.
Declan wasn’t married.
Emry wasn’t sure if she had ever heard anything quite so lovely in her entire life. As she crossed the street to her own inn, she didn’t even feel the night’s chill. Declan wasn’t married. Did anything else matter?
:::::
Emry had been here before. She was in a forest – on a path she’d last seen covered in snow. The same barren trees she’d seen over a year ago had sprouted fresh leaves. They quivered in the cool night breeze.
It was another full moon. Emry loved a full moon. She tipped back her head and shut her eyes – allowing her skin to suck in the silvery light. It tingled through her – filling her, invigorating her. She could stay like this for hours.
“Why must you torment me?”
She whirled. She’d know his voice anywhere. Declan stood about three steps away – barely out of reach. His beard was gone, and his long, shaggy hair had been shorn close to his head. Emry loved the transformation – preferred it. He truly was a beautiful man – intoxicating, really.
It probably wasn’t fair to compare him with Trez – both men were handsome in their own right. Yet, when she looked at Trez, her heart didn’t suddenly beat just a little bit quicker. Her hands didn’t yearn to hold him. Declan called to her in a way she didn’t quite understand.
But had he asked her a question? She blinked. “What did you say?”
He ran his hands through his now short hair, sticking it up on end in a way that made him even more breathtaking. If that was possible.
“I want to help The Mistress,” he said, startling her.
“Good?” She tried to keep her voice even, but her heart was stuttering.
He wanted to help her? Did he know what she was? It seemed unlikely. Levric had her entire Committee so tight-lipped over her duel identities that she doubted he’d even tell his own son.
“Why are you here, Emry?” Declan breathed. His eyes were filled with such sorrow Emry’s breath caught in her throat. She had no idea what plagued him, but she wanted to relieve him of it as soon as possible.
Closing the distance between them, she laid a hand on his cheek. His skin quivered beneath her touch. Still, he leaned into her hand and shut his eyes. “I’m here because I can’t stay away,” she admitted honestly.
Slowly, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. He moaned, and Emry bit his bottom lip with her own. His arms wrapped around her, tugging her against him, and his mouth crushed hers. She parted her lips and he ran his tongue along the inside of her lip – his signature move she’d come to absolutely adore.
They’d kissed before. Many times. Sweet kisses. Soft kisses. Fast kisses. Slow. This kiss, though … It was demanding and satisfying and deprived. Chaotic and calm.
Emry’s hands ran up his chest, gripping onto his shirt. His hands moved up and down her back – through her hair, disheveling her completely.
Still she wanted more. More of this kiss. More of his arms around her. More of him. She didn’t think she could ever grow tired of his mouth on hers.
She loved him with all that she was. Every fiber of her being. Every breathe. Every heartbeat. Declan owned her soul.
But all at once he was gone. One second he was there in front of her, and the next he was gone. Emry stumbled forward a step, stunned. She tossed her head back and forth, scanning the dark woods surrounding her. “Dec?” She called out.
“I think this is goodbye, Emry,” he said quietly from behind her.
She spun around. His back was against a tree. His hands gripped onto its bark, as if to steady him. As if to tie him back to reality – a reality Emry refused to accept. She stared at him for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes. “No.”
He blinked. “No?”
Emry strode forward to him – her gaze locked on his. She reached out and grabbed his face in her hands. “This is merely until the next, Dec.” A single tear slid down his cheek. Emry brushed it away with her thumb and offered him a small smile. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
“I love you, Emry,” he whispered.
“I know you do.” She smirked.
Her smirk was Declan’s undoing. She was perfect. Utterly perfect, and he would never have her. Never hold her. Never kiss her. Not in real life – only in his dreams. His heart ached just from looking at her.
But then Emry began to fade away in front of him. Before he could clutch onto her – to tether her to him – she was gone.
Declan sank to his knees and roared.
He woke to darkness. It was still night with dawn hours away. Declan laid in bed, glaring up into the shadows above his bed.
The pit-pit-pat of rain hitting his window outside drew Declan’s attention. A spring storm. Declan had missed the last spring. He’d honestly missed a lot of things.
Declan had two new nieces – one from Erreth, the other from Erin. Meanwhile, Estrid was pregnant again. His father had joined himself with The Mistress, who had been declared as the leader of the Rioters by her own Committee. Declan hadn't even heard of The Mistress until he came home. He supported her, though.
She was an idealist �
� willing to do what it took to make Enlennd strong again. At least, if the stories and rumors about her were to be believed. If anything, she didn’t support the way the country was currently being run by the Jewels, and Declan agreed with that.
The Mistress had some big scheme in the works. Something to do with the upcoming Trials for Princess Emerald. Her sister, Citrine, had already had her Trials – something else Declan had missed. All Declan knew, was that The Mistress was looking for young men to be Anexia’s Challenger in Emerald’s Trials. He only knew this because his father had discussed the matter with his mother a few days back.
Had things been different, Levric might have suggested Declan throw his name in the running. If Declan hadn’t been Stolen. If he wasn’t still struggling to find out where he fit in his old life. But things were the way that they were. Levric was just happy to have him back – he wouldn’t push him into anything.
The truth was, if Declan did volunteer, Levric would most likely back his decision. With how close Levric was to The Mistress, if Declan wanted the position, he was sure it’d be his. The question, though, was did he want it?
He didn’t know where he belonged anymore. When he walked down the streets of his village, people he’d known for most of his life stared. He knew they didn’t know he’d been Stolen, but they had noticed he was different.
Ever since he and his father had finished the clay round outside of the forge, Declan spent a couple hours a day on it. Even when he had no one to practice with, he still went out and spun his staff around – working on keeping his movements fluid.
Lately, he’d been gaining an audience – mostly of people his own age. Bran Wynpreg and his sister tended to be two of them. Declan had finally invited Bran out onto the round with him last week. Bran was terrible and refused to use the correct sized staff, but at least Declan now had someone to spar with. Well, when he was in his village anyway.
Now that things had settled a little for him, Declan had summoned Fiona several times at the little creek near his parents’ home. They did everything from the Turanga to swords to hand-to-hand combat. They never touched their abilities, though. Neither of them wanted to recreate the duels they’d endured back in the camp. Declan looked forward to their time together. He would have preferred Rand, but according to Fiona, Rand was busy with his revenge schemes in Spectra – the capital of Quirl.
Fiona had kept Declan informed on her and Rand’s lives. About a month ago, she and Rand eloped. Fiona had started collecting Blues for her mercenary band, and Rand had apparently had some big victory in his revenge plot. Declan was happy for them. Well, happy that they had found their own brand of happiness. They deserved it.
A part of Declan wished he was with his qippo and now wife, but every time he thought about living in Quirl again, he felt ill.
Living in Quirl wouldn’t solve his issues – his inability to be normal anymore, his struggle in figuring out what to do with his life, his weird twang of disappointment he got every time he came into contact with someone…
That last one was his least favorite of his troubles. Literally every single time he ran into anyone, he had this sense of expecting someone else and then immediately regretting the person wasn’t whomever his subconscious wanted them to be. It’d been happening to him every so often for over a year, but it’d been so inconsistent he’d just ignored it. Especially at the camp. He’d just figured it was him being homesick. Yet, ever since he’d returned home, he felt it everywhere he went. Around every corner. In every room he entered. It made it incredibly difficult to talk to anyone when he was irritated from his disappointment.
But he was still trying. He had to. The whole reason why he’d escaped The Stolen was so that he and his friends could have their lives back. Rand and Fiona were living theirs. Declan needed to get on with his. Whatever that might entail…
Otherwise the Back Rubes won. Their goal to shroud him forever in misery would have worked. Even though they were all dead, Declan would never give them the satisfaction.
His thoughts drifted back to Princess Emerald’s Trials. He couldn’t explain it, but he kept feeling drawn to them. To becoming a Challenger. It was like being tugged by an invisible string. Yet, was it really something he wanted to do? Because he knew that if he did this, if he became Anexia’s Challenger, he would also become Emerald’s Knight. It was as Rand had told him – Declan was likely the fastest man in history. How could he lose?
Declan groaned and scrubbed his scalp with his hands. Alright, he’d do it. For The Mistress. For Anexia. And for himself. Maybe succeeding in this would help to prove himself to The Mistress.
Maybe he could build a life for himself in her service. It was at least something. Something more than wallowing in self-pity and grief for a girl he’d barely known.
It was time for him to move on. To start showing some interest in the young women of his village who flirted with him.
Emry was gone. No matter how many times he dreamt of her, she was gone.
The sooner Declan accepted that the better – the sooner he could let go of her. Maybe then he’d finally stop loving a figment of his own imagination.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
About five months later
“Are you ready?”
Declan raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”
Emry winced. How exactly does one prepare to sack her late father’s advisors?
By practicing faces in the mirror. He grinned down at her.
Outwardly, she was not amused. Inwardly, though, Declan could feel she was struggling not to laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she drawled.
“Can the two of you stop chatting in your heads and focus?” Citrine hissed at their backs.
“On edge this morning, Cit?” Declan tossed over his shoulder.
“No,” she snapped at the same time Piran at her side said, “Yes.”
Cit glared at him with a look that could have made a lesser man shrink in on himself, but Piran only smiled. Emry chuckled. “Thanks, Piran, for keeping her honest.”
“Always, my queen.”
“Stop trying to butter her up,” Cit retorted. “She’s not going to let you bring seven horses to live in the palace stables.”
“Seven?” Emry twisted to stare at Piran.
He shrugged. “They’re my collection.”
“Collect something else,” Emry shot back.
“That’s what I told him!” Cit exclaimed. To Piran, she said, “You don’t have a hint of Bronze in your eyes. What use do you have with seven horses? I’ve never even seen you ride one.”
“They’re collectables,” he replied. “You don’t play with collectables, you keep them pristine and gleaming.”
Cit rolled her eyes, and Declan laughed. They were almost to the council chambers Onyx had used to meet with his advisors. The same advisors who should be waiting in there already for their new queen and king. Well, what was left of the advisors. Two had disappeared at the attack on the palace, and another had been a casualty of one of the fireballs, leaving only five remaining. They rounded the last corner, and the black double-doors into the rooms appeared.
Declan squeezed Emry’s hand. She was suddenly nervous. Her emotion leaked into him. Nothing to fear, he assured her. Just a bunch of power hungry nobles.
Who I’ll be forced to kill if they don’t bow out graciously, she said dryly.
He shrugged. It’s been a little too quiet these past couple days.
Emry threw him a sidelong glance, her eyes wide. You’re joking? These are people.
Who sat by and let innocent commoners be turned into slaves, he reminded her, somewhat bitterly. The world might be better off without them.
She frowned but faced the doors again. You may be right. Still, I’m hoping they’ll accept their removal with grace.
If not, be brave, he said gently.
Emry smiled slightly. Sometimes it pays to be brave.
Citrine cleared her throat from behind them, and Dec
lan realized they’d stopped just outside the doors. He had no idea how long they’d been standing there.
They seriously needed to work on their internal conversations. With another squeeze of Emry’s hand, he pulled open the door with his other. Emry walked through, and Piran took his place at the door for Declan to enter.
Inside, there were four smaller rooms with a large square table in each – two on either side – and in the center was a collection of sofas and stuffed chairs around a braided rug of rose gold and ivory. Declan and Emry led the way towards the center. Their gazes locked on a lone figure slouching on the settee with his back to them. Emry became uneasy, and Declan found himself feeling the same.
“Where are the others?” She demanded of the man.
He didn’t move.
As they neared the sofa an all too familiar scent hit him. He tightened his grip on Emry’s hand. Unwashed flesh and death. The room reeked of it.
Emry, he said slowly.
She let out a startled cry and ran to the other side of the couch, tearing away from him. She stopped in front of it, her eyes bulging and stumbled back a step. Nausea from her roiled through him as he tapped his speed to join her. When he stilled beside her, Declan swore.
He threw a warning glance at Piran, but the man had already halted, placing himself in front of Cit. “Who is it?” Piran asked.
“The king,” Declan answered.
Onyx’s face was ashen – his mouth gaping open, his eyes wide and staring at nothing. But his middle – he’d been left here to bleed out. To rot. He’d been stabbed multiple times, and his gut had been sliced open – his intestines splayed out in his own hands. Hands caked in his own dried blood. Up close the stench was overwhelming. It stung Declan’s eyes.
But Emry – Declan’s gaze darted to her. Emry was free falling. Emotion after emotion.
Anger, fear, disgust, hatred, sorrow – one after the other. She couldn’t look away. She was trembling and darkness began to seep out of her, but she couldn’t look away. Declan jumped in front of her, blocking her view. She stared at his chest – at where her father had been in her line of sight.
