I pace. What is the day king doing here? Why would he breach the border and walk right into certain death? I rub my temples. Why didn’t Eraldon tell me of this plan? Pacing, pacing.
And then I feel it. That nagging ache, the one I want to stop. It’s stronger now, pushing at my ribs like a bird trying to burst from its cage.
“Stop.” I shake my head.
It doesn’t stop. It hasn’t stopped from the moment I first felt it. When was that? I rub my temples and pace again. A string of images tries to play in my mind, but they’re halting and wrong. Solano. He’s in them. A lion. The sun. The Shard of Day. Thatfeeling. What is it? More importantly, why can’t I kill it?
A hunger pang strikes me, so strong it’s almost dizzying. When did I last feed? That’s why I’m shaky and seeing visions of a past that never happened. I have to find Eraldon. His blood is the only thing that calms the torrent of thoughts. I realize that now. I need him more than I care to admit.
I stalk through the unfamiliar halls, passing piles of bodies and terrified servants as I go. Ignoring them, I head straight for the throne room.
Eraldon isn’t here.
His family is.
Three of his sisters posed like grisly dolls, their bodies on the stairs beneath the throne, on their knees as if worshipping their king. Their father, King Sigrid, his eyes gouged out and his face a mottled blue and purple, hangs behind the throne. Suspended from the high ceiling with a long length of chain, he twists slowly, as if disturbed by a breeze.
I want to retch. I shouldn’t. I should be happy my enemies are dead and there’s no one to challenge Eraldon’s claim to the throne. But my gaze falls to his sisters. Some not even fully grown, still childlike fae with silky hair and pretty dresses. Beautiful gowns all bloody now. Ripped and covering their corpses like a shroud instead of a frock.
Turning, I grab the nearest seeker. “Where is Eraldon—KingEraldon,” I correct myself. “Where is he?”
The seeker shakes in my grasp. “He’s searching for the day king.”
Then that’s what I shall do. I turn my back on the macabre display, my wings already stretching as I take off at a run. Everything becomes a comfortable blur as I tear from the throne room, the odd citrine stone the only thing catching my eye. The only bit of light in the velvety darkness Eraldon has created. Perhaps it will fade when the day realm falls.
I take off as soon as I exit the outer doors, my wings catching on the wind and lifting me above the gardens and the rising stench of death. The town below is dark, no movement among the shops and homes except seekers. They crawl over corpses, looking for fresh blood or hoping to find a snack amongst the ruin.
With a strong push, I flap my wings harder and look up to the sky. Away from the desolation below me and toward the one light that will never fail this realm. The moon glows above, guiding me, comforting me. Even when swathed in shadow, it’s still there, still a bright orb that promises to return soon.
I take a deep breath of the cool air, wrapping myself in my homeland as I soar closer to the clouds and shoot through the night. My direction always tends one way. Toward Moonhollow. My hearth is cold, my mother dead—but still my heart seeks her.
A hunger pang reminds me I should be seeking Eraldon, so I turn my eyes to the ground. He must be close. I can feel something. Perhaps our mate bond is finally springing to life. With the death of his father, everything is coming true, getting stronger. It will be a relief when he claims me, when the bond is forged and unbreakable, when I can stop worrying.
The sensation grows, like he’s a beacon flashing in bursts. I ride the wind, slowly descending in a lazy circle. The forest below blocks my view, but I can feel that connection. Electric and demanding.
Spotting a small break in the tree cover, I aim for it, narrowly avoiding yet another crash landing, and drop to the leaf-covered ground with a soft thunk.
The trees here are feathery, their leaves blowing in a gentle wind as bits of them break off and swirl around me in tufts of green. Spiderwebs along the branches gleam with spots of dew, and in the undergrowth, I can sense rabbits and other animals sleeping in their burrows. But all of that pales in comparison to the pull of my bond.
Eraldon’s grip on me is like an invisible rope, one wrapped tightly in his fist. I can’t ignore the pull of it, and for the first time, I don’t want to.
I strike off through the trees, following that steady tug. My stomach growls, my body aching to be fed. Breaking into a run, I vault over a stream dotted with blumerin flowers along the bank, then move even faster. My mate calls. He calls, and I must heed it. Iwantto heed it.
Bursting into a grove thick with the feathery trees, I give a small cry of relief when I see him, his back to me, his gaze focused on the sky above.
But then a cloud slips past the moon, and he’s lit up with a silvery glow. Golden hair, a white tunic, a royal bearing. He’s injured, the scent of his blood on the wind.
My fangs lengthen as he turns to me, his golden eyes widening.
“Emma, it’s you.”
A trick. A horrible trick played on me by my enemy. With a strangled cry, I rush to him.
The fool embraces me. “Thank the Ancest—”
I bury my fangs deep into him and bite down hard, clamping so viciously I feel his neck crack as I swallow his blood.
19
