“My lord.” Brock puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off.
“Help her, please.” I’ve never begged, but I’ll do it for her. “It’s Eraldon’s blood. She can’t seem to escape his thrall. But wehaveto break it.”
“I understand, but I need to gather supplies and find the cause of her slumber. For now, she’s alive and resting. I can work with that.” Caltinius starts pulling instruments from the closest shelf. “Sophina, any thoughts?”
She twirls one of her glowing antennae around her finger and stares at Emma. “I’m thinking. If it’s blood magic, the transformative sort, I’m not sure if alchemy can change it. But I need to think some more.”
“Go fetch Tritus from the library while you continue your deep thoughts. He might have some knowledge on what this is. A curse or some magical property in her blood that we could—I don’t know—remove?” He continues pulling instruments from his shelves.
“Don’t harm her.” I stand and stroke her tangled red hair from her face, so still and cold.
“Of course not. She’s safe with us.” Sophina strides out, heading toward the library.
“I’ll stay with her.” Lucidia sits, her horns grayer than I remember, and takes Emma’s hand in her own.
I should be able to rest, to take a full breath now that Emma’s safe. But this deathly sleep unnerves me. We made it to the Shard in short order, my magic pushing us along faster and faster, giving the horses a break as I took over their will. But no matter how many times I’ve tried to reach Emma, the bond has been shut and dark, like an abandoned tunnel full of cobwebs.
Brock hovers, his eyes full of trouble as he waits for my ear.
“Go, go. She’s in good hands here. I need space.” Caltinius waves us away as he opens one of his vials and starts measuring ingredients.
For a sliver of a moment, I don’t know if I can leave her. These months apart nearly broke me, and I can’t bear the thought of losing her again.
“My lord,” Brock says quietly yet urgently.
I lean down and kiss her cool cheek. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
With that, I force myself to turn away and to walk with Brock. “Tell me.”
“While you were gone I managed to uncover a plot to take your throne.”
“Didn’t we just do this?” I rub my temples. “Varan is dead. No one shares a bloodline to challenge my rule.”
“I agree, but there are deeper rumblings, unrest, fear. There’s a small contingent of lesser fae and changelings who seek to overturn the succession of high fae to the throne.”
“What?” I walk into my private chambers, the rooms newly refinished. It seems like ages ago when I accidentally torched them.
“They want the old ways to die.”
“I don’t disagree.” I pour myself a large whiskey and another for Brock. “But without someone on the throne, the realm will fall. The magic set up all the realms that way. I can’t change it.”
“They’ve been organizing.”
“What do you mean?” I drain half my glass in one go.
He takes a bigger gulp than I’ve ever seen him drink before.
I sit at my table, my exhaustion trying to creep in. I won’t let it. “That bad?”
“Bad. The nobles are terrified. That’s why there are so many at the Shard. Rumors of rebellion, rumors of your mate being a—” His gaze cuts to me.
“A seeker. Go on.” I need to know the extent of the damage.
“It’s all come to a head.”
“It’s the curse.” I finish my whiskey and pour another.
“What curse?”
