“Tell me,” Oren whispered, the song in his tone too impossible to ignore.
“You won’t like it,” I warned him.
He shrugged. “It’s been a long time since I cared about someone’s opinion of me.”
I sighed and took a deep breath, repeating the tale Uropa had first told me, followed by the whispers that echoed in the palace. “Many say you saved Dowler with your flute, and when you weren’t rewarded for your actions, you turned the woods into a snare. Children were warned to stay away or they might be lured to their deaths by the Piper’s song, lured by the dusk.
“The tales go so far as to claim that the Piper steals souls and hearts, making people nothing more than puppets, eager to obey, even if it meant lifting a knife and slitting their own throats. But beyond mind control, when people went into the forest, they disappeared and no one has an explanation for that. Is it true though? Did all that happen long ago? You saved the city from plague and famine, and they cast you out?”
Oren snorted when I finished. “They’ve confused me with the King of Hearts.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the King of Hearts?”
“A friend from before. We grew up together.” Oren went quiet, lost in thought before he shook himself. “In the past, Dowler was my home.”
My heart pounded as my curiosity spiked. “What do you mean your home?”
“I was sent here to be the protector of Dowler, to guard its boundaries, protect it from wild creatures and raiders who would come to plunder the new settlement. This castle, which overlooks the city, was my home, but as the city grew, the citizens demanded a leader. A lord was chosen to rule, and because he was mortal, the people trusted him more. The city continued to grow, and the lord had a palace built, and then a temple. To spite me, I imagine. I built the tunnels and connected them to the palace to monitor him, but eventually, the people learned how to protect themselves and did not see a need for me anymore.”
This was not the story I expected. “What about the magic-thralls?”
“They were guardians, honored as elders, who walked among the people and taught them the way of the gods. But the guardians trusted too easily, and the people—jealous of their immortality and magic—took advantage. They learned to control magic, and instead of relying on the guardians, betrayed and enslaved them, using their own magic against them.”
A memory of what I’d seen in the vault made my chest go tight.
“Certain crystals weaken the physical bodies of the thralls, allowing the sorcerers to drain their magic and use it to sustain the city. It’s a slow, painful process, brought about by bleeding the thralls. Their blood runs blue and once they are drained, I imagine they are allowed to rest and regain their strength before the cycle begins again. It wouldn’t surprise me if sometimes the sorcerers drink their blood to strengthen their own magic. I cannot imagine the fouls things that take place in the vault, but it needs to end.”
My mind reeled with the truth, and the dark fable about the Piper, twisted to make the citizens fear the immortal who was once their savior. “What about you? How did you escape imprisonment?”
“I wasn’t there when they rounded up the guardians and locked them in the vault because the Lord of Dowler was smart and assumed I’d notice a mass exodus. Instead, he took the guardians, little by little, and by the time I realized he had betrayed us, it was too late. I fought to free them by raining down destruction on my land, my kingdom, but the Lord of Dowler was just as stubborn then as he is now, full of a lust for power and greed for wealth.
“Worst of all, he and his sorcerers were prepared for my anger, and they would not relent because they had magic of their own. Some of the citizens were on my side, and they came to my castle to help, but without magic, they could do nothing. Eventually, I sent them away through the tunnels that led to escape. I gave Dowler everything, I brought the city into existence, and I knew the day would come when they did not need me anymore. But I did not expect them to take the guardians and abuse them. That is unforgiveable.”
Oh. The threads of the story fit perfectly. Those who had disappeared in the woods, the rot in the palace, the stubbornness of my uncle. But I had one more question and desperately needed an answer. “When the guardians are free, what will happen?”
“I will send them home, for the world does not deserve their gifts. Magic was given and abused, and so it must be stripped from this world, for those with power will always abuse and seek to use magic for evil deeds. Tales claim I have no heart and my focus is revenge, and it is true. I hold great power, and I will not stop. I will not relent until they are free. You should know this about me. If what is mine is taken, I will take it back and wreak havoc on those who seek to harm me and my people.”
Jealous. Relentless. Just like he’d been for me against the witch. I considered my aunt, my young cousins, and my fearsome uncle. The entire city would suffer the consequences of the past, but Oren was right. The magic-thralls had to be set free, and perhaps Dowler could rebuild. So far, I’d been playing along, playing his game, but as I stared up at my broad-shouldered husband, determination making his face hard, I decided once and for all to help him.
“Oren.” I squeezed his arm. “I’m on your side.”
His amber eyes bored into mine. “I hope you mean that.”
And a chill went down my spine, cooling the warmth that had been spreading between us.
26Tanith
“Tanith, come to bed.”
The low timbre in Oren’s voice sent shivers of liquid desire dancing in my loins. I stood in the doorway of my adjoining room and glanced over my shoulder at him. He sat on the bed, shirtless, a book in his hand, red hair flowing about his shoulders. Candlelight flickered, hiding his toned body.
For the past week, a peace lingered between us, a sort of stalemate as though the games afoot had paused and we were in a truce before the final battle began. We ate on the balcony, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun while Oren sewed me new clothes or traced runes. We swapped stories about the past. He told me how the wounded creatures of the forest were drawn to him. He’d fixed broken wings and legs, sewn torn skin and sheltered them in the barn until all forest creatures became his friends. That’s why they came when his flute summoned them.
His stories were a peek into a gentler, softer side of him, a side that cared about something other than revenge and devastation. My heart skipped when I looked at him, so I kept my eyes focused on his work, the peppermint tea, Pip’s wagging tail, anything other than Oren’s perfect face and that new heat in his eyes that made my breath come short and fast.
When he asked me questions about my past, I told him about Solynn, the death of my parents, and how I came here to grieve, not knowing the darkness that crept through Dowler like rot. He listened intently, and the burdens of my past felt lighter and less wearisome after I’d shared with him.
Still, what had happened cast a cloud of allure over us. I desired him with a need that burned like an unquenchable fire. But his words about immortality rose like a barrier between us, making me second guess my craving. Was it his blood that made me burn? And if I had his blood, was I immortal too? Already a new strength surged through my body, and I wondered, when offered the prospect of eternal life, who would refuse? But the truth of it meant long years—endless, lonely years, some good, others bad. Look what eternal life had done to him. Would I be willing to risk it?
