Shadow & Flame

by Mindee Arnett

  Corwin froze, debating whether he could retreat unnoticed, but before he could, Eryx Fane spoke. “Strange choice of casual reading material, your highness. All this talk about godslaying.” Sitting up, the prince leveled a cool gaze at Corwin over his shoulder. “One might wonder if you’re up to something.”

  Undaunted, Corwin folded his arms across his chest. “It passes the time.”

  Eryx stood from the table, putting himself on eye level with Corwin. Looking at the man, Corwin was struck by his resemblance to Eravis. They were closest in age of the Godking’s children, and it showed in more ways than one.

  “Did you know I used to admire you?” Eryx said, examining his fingernails now. They were longish, immaculately clean and manicured. He wore an emerald ring on his right index finger, the jewel identical to the one embedded on the hilt of the dagger belted at his side. “All those tales about the Errant Prince. How you just disappeared so mysteriously for three years, only to return home and become a contender for the throne.” He smiled. “I’m sure you can understand the reason for my envy.”

  Corwin could. Seventh-born of Magnar’s sons, Eryx would never be king of anything. There was no uror here. “If you feel that way, why not head off on an adventure yourself? There’s nothing keeping you here that I can see. Unlike me.”

  “You’re right. There is nothing. Other than my sister’s welfare.”

  The malice in his tone was a tangible thing, a slap across Corwin’s face. He should’ve seen this coming, and he wondered what shape Eryx’s threat would take. That dagger might be ornamental, but the blade was still sharp enough to cut.

  The Sevan prince glanced down at the table, idly flipping the pages. “I found her in the west garden this morning, crying among the rosebushes. She didn’t want to tell me at first, but eventually . . . she did.” Eryx closed the book, the restraint of his actions more effective than if he had slammed it. “Her confession made me realize that maybe I’d been mistaken to admire you all along. A true man, a true prince, faces his duty. He doesn’t run from it.”

  Heat rose up Corwin’s neck. “What does a seventh-born son like you know about duties?”

  Eryx’s expression remained cool, unaffected by Corwin’s taunt. “I know that my sister hasn’t told you that tonight is the last day of grace my father has given her to do her duty. The last day he’s giving you to do right by her. To choose to be a man instead of a mindless beast.”

  Mindless beast. That was indeed how Gavril’s power worked—turning him into something less than a person. Corwin scowled, his anger breaking through the tight leash he’d been trying to keep on it. “As if you have a right to talk about what it’s like. How many times has Gavril compelled you against your will, your highness?”

  “Never, not once,” Eryx said, his voice and expression suddenly hard. “Magic doesn’t work on my family.”

  Corwin laughed, the sound a humorless bark. “You don’t really expect me to believe that.”

  “It’s true. Why do you think my sister fears it so? She can’t be made willing. She can only be forced, or not, by you—or, more specifically, by the strength of the power Gavril will wield over you.”

  As the meaning of Eryx’s words struck him, Corwin felt a wave of nausea rise in his stomach. Was it true? All along he’d believed Eravis would be made to be as compliant in the act as he would be. But if Corwin had to force her physically . . .

  Sucking in a breath, he fixed a hard stare at Eryx, hoping to discover he was lying. “How is that possible?”

  Eryx motioned to the book on the table. “Hasn’t your reading told you? We Fanes are protected from any magic that would do us harm by the blood of the gods that flows in our veins. Fanen didn’t just kill a god, you see. He killed his own father.” At Corwin’s look of surprise, Eryx nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Fanen was Sevan’s son—half human, half god. And that is why Gavril can’t touch us.”

  Corwin didn’t want to believe it, but the likelihood was too strong to ignore. Why would an ambitious man like Gavril not just use his sway to have the Godking marry him to Eravis instead of Corwin? It was clear he desired the princess, and by doing so he would not only gain her but the title as well, prince instead of a mere lord. Why, with a little of his magic, Gavril could position himself to be the next Godking. It must be true then. Godsblood. It was Corwin’s turn to be envious—if only he had such protection as well.

  He gritted his teeth, the sick feeling in his stomach turning to anger at his helplessness. “So is that it? Are you here to threaten me on behalf of your sister?” He eyed the dagger in such easy reach. “I don’t see how that will make it any different for Eravis to have someone else force me instead of Gavril.” That was, aside from stopping Gavril from having a front-row seat, as it were.

  Eryx shook his head, his expression solemn. “I would never do that to her. It would only add to her shame. And she’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

  Corwin frowned, taken off guard—not by his words, but by the emotion he sensed behind them, the tenderness when he spoke about Eravis. No matter his motivations, there was no denying Eryx’s love for her.

  Eryx drew a deep breath, then went on, resigned. “When we were children, my father gave her a kitten. She had never loved something so much. She would play with it, pet it, let it sleep in her lap or beside her head on her pillow at night. For six months, Blossom was her whole world. Then one day, our father demanded she give it back to him. When she refused, hysterical at the thought, he had her whipped. Ten strikes on the back of her legs. Once done, he took Blossom in his very own hands and snapped its neck in front of her.” Eryx mimed the gesture. Then he cocked his head at Corwin. “Do you know what my father told her afterward?”

  “No,” Corwin said, nausea burning stronger than ever in his stomach.

  “That there was nothing she would ever have that wasn’t his to take as he wished,” Eryx replied, letting his hands fall to his sides. “It’s a lesson she’s been learning all her life. So no, I would never threaten you. I would simply ask that you consider doing what she wants. Come to her by choice. Let her have this one thing that only you can give, and that my father cannot take. That will make a difference to her. I know my sister, Corwin, well enough to see that she has developed true feelings for you. If you come to her of your own free will, she will give herself freely in return, and she will love you for it.”

  Corwin felt his anger slipping away, shame rising up in its place as, for once, he started to truly see things from Eravis’s point of view, to understand just how powerless she really was in her own life, all because she’d been born a princess instead of a prince. And yet, even still she was trying to make the most of her situation, to bend it into a shape she could live with. That took a certain kind of strength indeed.

  “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it,” Corwin said at last.

  Eryx sighed, dissatisfied with such a response, but wise enough not to press the matter. He bowed his head toward Corwin. “I will leave you to your thoughts then.” He turned to go, then paused. “Oh, one more thing. This arrived for my father yesterday. I thought you might want to know.” He withdrew a folded newspaper from his back pocket and set it on the table opened to the front page.

  At once, Corwin’s eyes scanned the headline, printed in bold letters across the top:

  FARHOLD HAS FALLEN.

  His lips parted on a gasp, his shock so great he barely noticed Eryx departing. The newspaper was one Corwin knew well, the Royal Gazette, a reliable source of information about Rime and Norgard in particular. As much as he wanted to, he had no reason to believe this news wasn’t true.

  With his heart thudding loudly in his ears, Corwin read the rest. Farhold had been sacked in a single night by a contingent of Rimish soldiers and League magists. They’d taken the city unawares, the article said, successfully rousting the wilder government in place and bringing Farhold under the control of Rime and High King Edwin once again.

  Corwin r
ead faster, desperate for news of Kate. Surely she had escaped. She was so clever and brave and strong. She’d survived worse before.

  As for the infamous Wilder Queen, Kate Brighton, she wasn’t in Farhold at the time of the battle. Our sources have since learned that she was apprehended in Norgard during a failed assassination attempt of the king, which took place not long before the assault on Farhold began. Like her traitor father before her, Kate is scheduled to be executed within the week.

  Corwin stopped reading, his heart in his throat as he searched for the date of the paper. It was already nearly two weeks old. Of course it was. Norgard was miles away, an impossible distance of space and time.

  Was it true? Was she gone? He didn’t want to believe it, and yet he remembered with vivid clarity how much his brother hated wilders, a feeling that bordered on madness. But even if he didn’t hate them so much, Kate’s crimes against the throne were well known and numerous. Like her traitor father before her . . . The memory of Hale Brighton kneeling before the executioner appeared in Corwin’s mind, his imagination easily twisting the image into one of Kate.

  Rising from his chair, Corwin stumbled toward the door, the tears already blurring his vision. He gasped for air, struggling to breathe through his grief. Desperately, he searched for some private place where he could be alone, but there weren’t any. The moment he left the library, his guards followed, their footsteps loud and intrusive behind him. In a daze, he made his way to the nearest garden, finding some small refuge by a fountain tucked in a far corner. Ignoring the guards as they settled into their watch, he knelt on the edge of the pool and buried his face in his arms. Then as the tears came in earnest, he silently poured his heart out to Noralah, begging the goddess to make the news untrue. But the goddess remained silent, far less real than the words he’d read on that newspaper page, far harder to believe in.

  Corwin remained there for hours, his knees and back aching, his throat raw and his heart a stone inside his chest. He would’ve stayed there all night, but as always the need for his nenath dose came upon him. He resisted as long as he could, his despair giving way to his hatred of Gavril and Rendborne, and all the others who had come between him and Kate. But in the end, the thirst forced him to his feet and back to his quarters.

  He drank the nenath first, then helped himself to wine, downing an entire glass in nearly a gulp. It didn’t help. He doubted anything would, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for another.

  Feeling the heat of the wine in his cheeks almost at once, he headed onto the balcony for some fresh air only to find Eravis there, staring out at the night-dark sky already speckled with stars. With her hair undone, as always, she was a lovely sight, the shapely curves of her body outlined by the thin silken robe she wore.

  At the sight of her, Corwin almost turned around again, but changed his mind. She wasn’t his enemy, even now. He came up next to her, resting his hands on the balcony’s edge as he leaned against it. Eravis stayed in place beside him, her gaze fixed on the expanse of sky. The pale moonlight lit up her features, quiet and sad. Resigned to her fate.

  Corwin waited for her to speak, to tell him that this was her last chance to escape Gavril’s machinations, but she remained silent. He felt a swell of tenderness for her, and respect for her strength in choosing not to tell him, as if she meant to spare him. He supposed he could’ve loved her, under other circumstances. If not for Kate.

  But Kate is gone.

  The pain struck him anew, and he drew a raspy breath.

  Eravis turned to him, concern creasing her brow. “Are you all right?”

  He shook his head.

  “What is it?” She took a step toward him, laying her palm against his forearm.

  “I . . . I can’t tell you. I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

  Eravis bit her lip, clearly wanting to know more, but she held back, again showing him a strength he had no trouble admiring. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m happy to listen. Or if there is anything else I can do.”

  He nodded, covering her hand where it lay on her arm. “Thank you.”

  Would it really be so bad? a voice whispered in his head. To love this woman? To give her what she wants? The question sent a wave of dizziness over him. Or perhaps that was just the wine.

  Even so, Corwin found himself examining his heart, searching through the pain for an answer. No, it came to him. It wouldn’t be so bad. What was more, it was going to happen regardless. He was as powerless to stop Gavril’s magic as he was incapable of holding back the tide or keeping the sun from setting.

  With a soft exhale, Eravis took a step toward him, encouraged by his touch. Corwin stiffened for a moment, then forced himself to relax. She looked up at him, gaze hopeful, lips parted. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. On instinct, Corwin raised his hands to her waist, his fingers grazing the silken strands of her hair. Eravis slid her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Corwin accepted, deepening the kiss. She tasted like she smelled—sweet and sensual, arousing an ache in him, both physical and something more—the need for connection with another. To love and be loved. He’d been alone for so long, the isolation adding to his grief.

  He moaned, his thoughts shutting down in the onslaught of sensations. She pulled back from the kiss at the sound, a coy smile cresting her lips as she took his hand and drew him away from the ledge toward the bed just inside. Letting the robe slip off her shoulder, revealing her nakedness beneath, she lay back on the bed and pulled him down for another kiss. He went, easing toward her like something that might break if he pressed too hard, that might burn him if he got too close.

  Boldly, Eravis ran her hands down his chest, toward his belt, which she unfastened with trembling fingers. Once done, she leaned up to reclaim his mouth again. He leaned into the kiss, eyes sliding closed as she pushed up against his body with hers.

  Closing his eyes was a mistake. If he hadn’t, he might’ve been able to go on pretending. But the moment he did, the memories rushed in. Memories of this very act, this closeness . . . with someone else.

  With Kate.

  Her face appeared in his mind’s eye, and for a moment, his desire intensified, becoming an inferno inside him.

  “Corwin,” Eravis whispered against his ear. “My Corwin.”

  At the sound of her voice—the wrong voice—the flame inside him went out. He pulled back from her, wiping his mouth with his hand.

  “What is it?” Eravis peered up at him, startled, lips red and swollen.

  Shaking his head, Corwin climbed off the bed and retreated a few steps from her. “I can’t do this.”

  With a blush flooding her cheeks, she scrambled upward and pulled her robe back over her shoulders once more. “Why?” The word sounded more plea than question.

  There were a hundred different reasons he could give her.

  But only one that truly mattered right now, in this moment.

  “Because I love someone else.” He couldn’t bring himself to use the past tense. In his heart, Kate still lived. She would live there forever.

  Still on the bed, Eravis drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Corwin braced for her anger or her tears, but she surprised him by asking gently, “Who is she?”

  He swallowed, afraid he would start crying if he dared speak her name. Yet he needed to talk about her. “Kate. Her name is Kate.” Several tears escaped his eyes, sliding down his cheeks.

  At the sight of them, concern creased Eravis’s brow. “What happened?”

  Again, Corwin tried to resist, but the need to speak was too great. He told her about the newspaper. And then he told her about Kate. Who she’d been to him, of their childhood and tumultuous teen years, and of the way they’d eventually reunited. Eravis listened, never once interrupting, but only encouraging him with questions whenever he hesitated, doubting the wisdom in confessing these truths to her.

  But finally, the well of memories ran dry, and Corwin at last felt the ache in his
chest ease, his grief spent for the moment. Guilt quickly took its place. “I’m sorry, Eravis. I truly am. I know this is our last night of grace from your father, but there’s nothing I can do. Not willingly.”

  Blanching, she looked away from him. Several moments passed before she found the will to respond. Then, with a sigh, she turned back to him. “I wish I could hate you for it, but how can I? You love her, and that’s not easily set aside.”

  Corwin nodded, noting the hint of jealousy in her voice. And yet that was far from the worst of it. Gavril was still coming for them.

  Eravis seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I just wish we had more time. Things could be different, better, if . . .” She trailed off into her own thoughts. Then she abruptly stood. “Maybe we can make more time.” She turned and hurried over to the dressing table.

  “What do you mean?” he said, trailing after her.

  “It’ll be difficult and risky,” she said, mumbling to herself as she pulled open a drawer and began rummaging through the contents. “If my father finds out . . . but it’s better than—” Finding what she wanted, she broke off and faced him once more. In her hand she held a ruby-encrusted golden brooch nearly as large as her palm and with a long sharp pin on the back of it.

  Corwin arched an eyebrow at her. “What are you thinking?”

  She closed her fingers over the brooch. “That we convince my father that the deed is done. All we need is some theater.”

  Although Corwin understood her plan at once, he couldn’t keep from gaping. “You would help me deceive your father?”

  “Yes,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. “But we must be absolutely convincing. He must believe that the act has happened. And so must Gavril.”

  It wouldn’t be easy, and remembering the story about her murdered kitten, Corwin had a feeling the risk would be far greater for Eravis than him, but if she was willing, so was he. More than willing.