The second snarls. “Our glorious dead rot in the ground and you expect us to feast with this… thing?”
“Vashar. Vasheeth,” Kaelus says, acknowledging the twins with a nod of his chin. “The war is over. The battle is won. If our houses are to survive, we must make allies of the humans. A long journey starts with a single step.” Kaelus offers me a smile. “Amara is that step for House Mordorin.” He returns his attention to the assembly. “For all our houses!”
Another Fae steps forward, young and handsome with a shock of copper hair and bronze, bottomless eyes. There is a charming playfulness to his wide grin, an easiness to his bearing that I’ve not seen in the Fae I’ve met. He does not address King Kaelus, his eyes immediately settling on Daedalus instead.
“And you, prince,” the bold Fae calls. “What do you have to say about your human bride?”
The question draws a half smile from Daed’s lips. “Lord Reon. It has been many moons since I have seen you at banquet. Isn’t this all too boring for you?”
The knowing smirk on Reon’s lips hints to me he and Daed know each other beyond the formalities of their titles.
“I thought the Warrior’s Eye would be my excitement for the phase, but I am glad I left Eyr’Drogul this evening. The banquets are suddenly far more interesting than I remember,” Reon replies. “So tell me, Rook. What makes this human so special that we should bow before her?”
My heart thumps hard in my chest.
Daed still does not look at me, as if he is making an effort to ignore me. I am not expecting any emotional outpouring on my behalf. In fact, given his sullen mood, I wouldn’t be surprised if he threw me to the wolves.
I hear the deep breaths rumble in his chest and notice his upper lip twitch, revealing his sharp canines. His grip tightens around my hand, but this thumb unexpectedly smooths over my skin.
“Lords and ladies,” Daed calls to the assembly, and all fall silent. “This is not a mere human before you. She may not have the blood of the Fae running through her veins, but she does not need it. What she does possess is more than enough; honor, dignity, bravery, more than some of you have.” The room stirs with discontent, and even Kaelus and Lanneth shift in their thrones. “So, good Lord Reon, when you ask me why you should all bow before her, you mistake my intent. I do not expect you to bow before my wife.I expect you to crawl.”
Gasps and outcries erupt through the assembly, a chaotic swell of disbelief. But amidst the uproar, I catch a glimpse of Lord Reon. He simply grins, a glint of amusement in his eyes, as if the chaos itself is nothing more than an entertaining spectacle.
Daed does not speak to silence the raucous. Instead, he reaches skyward, his fingers curled as smoke seeps from his skin, weaving like a serpent between his fingers. From this slithering murk, his blade takes shape. The hilt emerges first, gleaming silver. Then the guard, encrusted with jewels,encircling a moonstone that seems to hold a tiny storm within, its facets shifting and gleaming in the moonlight.
As the blade fully forms, its edges are impossibly sharp, and the silver so pure and flawless that it reflects everything around it; the assembly of cowering Fae, the anxious king and queen, even the terrified princess. But most of all, it reflects Daed. This sword is not just a weapon—it is an extension of the darkness that summoned it, the darkness within its wielder. Vicious. Furious. Bloodthirsty.
The warrior I had been waiting for. The one who would save us all.
The Fae fall silent, submitting to the power of the blade, and I hear them whisper its name with reverence.
Death Singer.
Daed twirls the mighty blade in his hand before driving it hard into the dais, blinding sparks flying when the blade strikes stone and the sharp clanging noise stings my ears. His eyes narrow on Reon.
“Does that answer your question? Lord of Eyr’Drogul?”
Reon smiles and bows. “Yes, it does, my prince. A little theatrical, but I get the point.”
Daed replies with a smirk. “Excellent,” and as if it had never existed, the sword vanishes in a wisp of black smoke. “Now. Who is hungry?” The only replies are a few sheepish murmurs. Daed nods. “Then let us feast.” He turns to me at last. “Shall we, wife?”
I’m so in awe of the power and command he wields, I stutter like a fool, and when he smiles softly at me, I feel myself falling, even though I am standing perfectly still.
Daed grips my hand, then goes to leave the dais, but Kaelus roughly grips his shoulder before we descend.
“Be careful son,” he whispers near his ear. “Poke these animals with a stick too often and they will bite back.”
“They are thrall houses,” Daed mutters curtly. “They serve us.”
Kaelus’ upper lip curls bitterly and he goes to speak, but stops with his mouth half open when he remembers I am here. He swallows whatever it was he was going to say. “Just be careful,” he says again.
Daed pays the king no heed as he leads me down the steps of the dais. We stand beside the banquet table and I realize there are no chairs.
“Where do we sit?” I ask.
He chuckles arrogantly and I frown.How am I supposed to know why Fae banquets have no chairs?
“We stand,” he explains. “We move up and down so we can try everything and mingle with each other.”
