I can’t seem to breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
Eraldon drops to his knee before his father and takes his hand. “It’s me, father.”
Sigrid peers at him, looking hard before blinking, a single tear falling onto his cheek. “My son has come home.” He gives a wizened but true smile, his eyes the brightest I’ve seen them. “My son. We must feast.”
Eraldon nods. “We must.”
I’m frozen. The room is so silent, not even the air daring to stir in the presence of this moment.
Eraldon strokes his father’s hand. “We shall feast mightily. In fact, the delights have already begun.”
“They have?” Sigrid blinks through the fog, thick and cloying, rolling across his mind. “As long as you’re here. I’ve missed you so.” He smiles, another tear slipping onto his paper-thin cheek. “As long as you’re here, all will be well.”
“Indeed.” Eraldon leans forward.
The old king still holds his gaze but opens his mouth. He doesn’t speak.
I don’t understand.
Until I do. Until I smell the tang of blood, the magic so thick in it I almost gag.
Sigrid’s throat is open, the blood pouring down his purple robes and soaking through to his skeletal body.
Eraldon stands and wipes his blade on his father’s shoulder, then kicks the old king back into the throne.
My stomach churns, and I fear I may be sick. I can’t be. Not when my mate finally has his triumph. I blink back my tears. It’s that thorn, the one between my ribs. That’s all. It will be gone soon; it has to be.
I can’t turn away from the dying king, even as Sigrid’s gaze flicks over to me, and for one clear moment, he sees me. Heseesme, and for a brief second, his fear is made manifest. Something in his look chills me deeply, as if a supremely important spark of destiny is dying with him.
Eraldon cocks his head. “Interesting.”
Sigrid’s dying breath is a terrible wheeze, a rattle that seems to shake the entire keep.
Eraldon turns to me, his eyes alight and his fangs long. “It is done. I am king, and you, my incomparable diamond, will be queen.” He pulls me to him and kisses me as the seekers swarm the throne room, each of them hissing for fresh blood.
I answer his kiss, giving in to him, desperate for him to take away my pain and wipe the memory of Sigrid’s dying look from my mind.
17
Solano
The wind roars in my ears as I push my horse too hard. My warriors are at my back, and the witch is right behind me, her shaggy unicorn somehow keeping pace.
Selene is muttering, her voice carrying eerily on the wind, and every so often I get the feeling my horse is being nudged to go even faster. I don’t mind it, not when I’m racing toward Emma.
The Nightkeep has fallen. Just the thought of it seems impossible. Sigrid has led the night realm for so long, longer than any other king. I’d heard plenty of rumors about him being bespelled or poisoned, but this is beyond any imagining. The king’s warriors, the legions of soldiers—none of them could stand against the seekers. Against Eraldon.
“Over quickly.” Selene’s voice somehow cuts through the wind. “Done. Lex did it. Did it all. She knew. Pieces falling, falling, falling. Like dust through hideous shafts of sunlight. This curse. That curse. Never should’ve come back.”
I try to pick through her words for meaning. There is very little to parse.
We pass through a few villages, their doors locked up tight. Somehow, they know. The entire realm knows when true darkness is at work. I can almost feel the layer of fear covering everything like soot.
The Nightkeep rises in the distance. It’s quiet there. No booming sounds of warring spells or blinding flashes of light. Nothing. No life. Only an ever-deepening gloom that thickens the air with malice.
“Soon, my lord, you will be tested.” Selene speeds to my side, her eyes on the Nightkeep’s turrets. “The king is dead. He dances with Lex in the Golden Lands.”
Over. A king gone. It doesn’t escape my thoughts that I’m a king, the same as Sigrid. Could my reign end so suddenly? Of course it can. All the more reason to find Emma and strengthen my realm. I need my queen; I know that so deeply that it vibrates in my marrow.
