Eraldon keeps walking, surveying the destruction. All this preparation, all my work with the blade and my wings—I don’t have to strike a single blow. The keep was barely protected, the fae inside nothing more than lambs to slaughter.
Ahead is a castle garden, the midnight roses and blooming jasmine so out of place with the death rattles that seem to create a moan throughout the streets.
“Where are the rest of the soldiers?” I peer at the town, a row of houses to our right blazing high into the gloom. “Surely the king’s army—”
“The king hasn’t been himself in quite some time.” Eraldon’s teeth glint white in the dark. “It seems someone wrought a spell on him, one that addled his mind little by little until he thought it best to send his soldiers south. Lord Caroldon told him it would be best, after all.”
“He sent his warriors to the sea?”
He nods. “You see, he got it in his mind that the king of the winter realm would attack from there.”
I shake my head. That makes no sense. None. The winter and summer realms are so far beyond this part of Arin that an assault is unlikely at best, but from the frozen southern sea? Impossible.
“Foolish king.” His smile is so cold. “Good thing his replacement is at hand.”
“Lex cast the spell for you?”
“She did, though Caroldon delivered it for me.” He leads me past the fragrant blossoms and to the dark stone keep, the paths littered with bodies, bits of blood and muck splattered across the dark green foliage.
Would a good prince curse his own father? The thought comes to me unbidden, and I push it away. Eraldon is doing what is best for all the realms.
“I remember the moment I left here for the very last time.” He strides into the front of the castle, more bodies heaped inside, more seekers feasting on open throats. Like ants swarming a carcass, they cover the dead and climb the walls in search of more.
I swallow hard, trying to calm the bile that rises up my throat. These are my soldiers. I should be pleased, nothing else.
“My father bade me to go and never return.” He leads me down a wide hallway filled with ancient armor and high fae weapons used in the last battles of the realms. “He saw what I’d become.”
As we enter the throne room, I peer at a glowing citrine gem, the magic inside it barely contained as it spins atop a marble column high overhead. Just looking at it hurts my eyes, and its light brightens the entire hall. “When you became a seeker?”
“No. When I became stronger than him.” His cutting tone pulls my attention back to him. He glances at the glowing stone. “The ember stone. Have you heard of it?”
Of course. Every other bedtime story in the night realm tells about the gem, the one true source of light in all this realm. A treasure stolen from the day realm by the first king of night, though it burned the skin from his hands when he placed it atop the marble pillar. I always thought it a legend.
“King Vraldinyr took it. No one has been able to touch it since. Touch it and live, I mean.” He keeps his gaze away from it.
“I didn’t know it was real.”
He pulls me along, deeper into the throne room. A wide stone cavern lined with night realm banners, and at the very front, the throne. Ebon wood, smooth and glossy, with a knotted peak at the back. Seekers surround it, some of them hanging from the high ceiling above it. And that’s when I see the small, frail fae sitting there, his body draped over the side as if he fainted.
“Is that the ki—”
Eraldon stops and toes a body. Then he kneels suddenly, bringing me with him. “Alinara.” He turns the girl’s face toward him. Her eyes are open, a look of terror locked in them, though her spirit has gone to the Glowing Lands. “My sister.”
“You have a sister?” I didn’t know. She’s pale, her long dark hair in a beautiful plait over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“I have four sisters.” He stands again and resumes his path to the throne. “I suppose this means three of them haven’t been located yet.” He gnashes his teeth and grabs the nearest seeker by the throat. “Bring my sisters here. Now. I want their bodies in a pile so I can burn the entire stinking lot of them in one go. Do you understand?”
The seeker, a lesser fae with rotted teeth, nods heartily. “Yes, my king.”
Eraldon drops him, and he and several other seekers scurry away like spiders fleeing a nest.
The thorn in me—no longer under my skin, now embedded deeply in my heart—begins to cut and bleed. His sisters. The little one was so young, barely reached maturity. She was no threat. Not to Eraldon.
“King Eraldon.” That unfamiliar voice calls from up ahead, and then I see him. His beady eyes and sallow features.
I know him.But how? The chill I felt at his name is nothing compared to the way my skin crawls when I see him.
“Caroldon.” Eraldon continues, unperturbed. “Are the nobles safe?”
