“We can’t just leave him here,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.
I sigh, leaving him was exactly what I had planned to do. “We can’t take him with us. It’s dangerous enough out there as it is. He can’t sit, let alone walk, let alone defend himself.”
“We could send him back to safety on the back of Blaze,” Briony suggests.
“We don’t even know if we can trust him,” I point out.
She scowls at me.
“Look,” I say, “we’re not going any further right now. We’ve sealed this place up. Our protection spells should last a good few hours. Time enough for us to get some rest, catch up on some sleep.” I lower my voice. “We can talk to him some more, work out who he really is and make our decision.”
Briony chews her lip, then nods her head. “I’m going to check on Blaze,” she says, walking away. Dray glances towards me, I nod and he follows her.
“Who do you think he is?” Thorne asks,
“I don’t know,” I whisper. The only men or women who have strayed out here into the demon realm in the last few decades have either been fleeing or banished. Either way, they have been enemies of the Empress, enemies of the realm. Which means, in theory, they are our enemies too. He may look like a sweet old man to Briony, but I very much doubt we can trust him.
I use my shadow magic to illuminate the room and step back towards the man, Thorne right beside me. The man opens his eyes and blinks up at us, his amber irises catching the light and glinting ever so slightly.
“I think you know exactly who you are but I think for whatever reason you don’t want to tell us,” I say to him.
The old man wets his dry lips with his pale tongue and says nothing.
“How have you survived so long?”
Again he says nothing.
“Do you recognize him?” Thorne asks me.
I grew up at the court. I’ve known all the important lords and ladies that have come and gone, that have risen in favor one moment and fallen in the next. I’ve known all the Empress’s most trusted advisers and closest allies.
I stare down into the old man’s face, trying to see past the wrinkles, the deterioration, the wisps of white hair. I try to picture him as a younger, healthier, more plump man but I still don’t recognize the face.
“No,” I say, “I don’t.”
The man peers up at me. “You’re the Empress’s son – one of them.” His gaze falls to the sword hanging from my belt. “Thunderstrike – her sword. She gave it to you?”
Despite my best efforts, I shuffle uncomfortably on my feet.
“Or you took it.” He manages a chuckle that dissolves into another coughing fit. When he can speak again, he asks me, “What is your name?” This time I’m the one who doesn’t speak. “You have your mother’s eyes but not her coloring. Who was your father? Faraday? Sloebrook? No … Lincoln, that’s the one. Are you the older son or the younger?”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Once, I knew an awful lot.” He frowns. “So much of it has floated away. So much of it is forgotten.”
“You don’t remember your name?” Thorne asks him and the old man shakes his head. I’m not sure I believe it though. He remembers the names of all my mother’s studs, but not his own. It seems unlikely. “Do you remember who you were?” Thorne tries. “What you did?”
“Did?”
“Were you at court?” I ask him.
“No, never.”
“Then how do you know all those names?” I snap. “How do you recognize my father in my looks?”
“Because I knew those men when they were younger. There was a time when I knew all the young people in the entire realm.” His lips curve slightly, the skin across them cracking as he does.
I stare at him in confusion until I understand.
