Draven’s head tilts toward me, recognition in his eyes, along with something hungry.
Anything?His dangerously soft hiss fills my head like an empty cup. The wall I’ve opened allows his dark smoke to pour inside, but I don’t stop it. I let him see I mean it.
His eyes flutter for a heartbeat, then harden as he turns to the kings.
“Rune is not livestock for you to slaughter. She is a druid of the highest Arcana, the only one besides me chosen for such holy power in over half a millennium.” Draven’s fangs grow increasingly prevalent. “You saw her holding a crown becauseweare fated. She is clearly meant to be my queen.”
His words ring like the tolling of the bells, my destiny sealed inside them.
13Fated
Can something made still have a fate? It cannot be said with certainty whether changelings can have mates, as they were created not by divine hands, but by our own.
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
I stand frozen as Draven draws that over-brimming arrogance onto his shoulders like slipping on a new jacket. I envy his careless ease. I swear on the gods themselves King Silas smirks at his son’s audacity before turning to King Altair.
The two leaders stare each other down and energy crackles through the room as the kings of light and dark square off.
“You’re going to break your word to me?” King Altair demands, light burning around his halo as he places it back where it belongs, the blinding aura a deadly crown encircling the golden one in his hair. Silas clenches his jaw as he takes in his son with a calculating look.
Draven links my hand in his. My palm is sweaty, and I wonder how he can bear to touch me, but his grip only tightens.
Finally, my father rushes to whisper in Altair’s ear.
“Please, my king. She is my daughter, and I promise it will never come to pass. She’s only wanted a simple life, never glory, never power.” My father’s gaze flashes back and forth between me and his king, tears lining his eyes, a desperation there I haven’t seen since my brother was Selected.
My heart clenches in my chest when I realize he believes the words he’s swearing to Altair.
But they’re not true.
That simple, sweet girl isn’t me, not anymore. He doesn’t know what I’ve become.
Altair puts up a hand to stop his rushed words, but then the princess moves forward, graceful as a gazelle, her words quiet, as if in the presence of mourners.
“Father—let them deal with the girl. Spare Draven. He could still be an ally.”
Altair silences her with a look and then tells Silas, “This is not over.”
Light slams from the ceiling, warping the very air. It flashes out, and all the seraphs are gone, leaving streaks of white painted across my vision.
He’s gone. My father’s gone.
I blink several times, shoulders slumping, and then find King Silas bearing down on Draven, all his calm thrown out the window. Instantly I go tense, moving forward, but my Oath stops me from doing anything as he grasps Draven by the front of his regal suit.
“Don’t you ever surprise me with shit like that again,” he snarls. “I’d have thought you of all people would’ve known better than to pull a weapon in front of Altair.”
He releases Draven and turns to me. It takes everything to hold my ground. “I don’t know what you are, or what you will be, but know that if I think you’re a threat to this kingdom, I willnot hesitate to end you myself. Now as far as your future, you’ve successfully burned the bridge to Nevaeh, and seraphs do not forget even the smallest of slights.” His voice is a hiss. “Draven may be willing to risk his life and our future to vouch for you, but I am not. You’re lazy, insolent, and so far, talentless.”
His words sink like stones, but I lift my chin, spite the very makeup of my being. Silas turns his attention back to Draven, shaking his head, wearing an angry smile. “I need to go sell this mess you’ve made to the rest of Court. I sure hope you know what the fuck you’re doing, boy. You’re stuck with her now.”
He leaves us, the untenable tension in the room lifting with his departure. A few guards linger and Draven trembles at my side, his fists clenched, jaw equally so, eyes burning crimson. He clamps them shut and when he opens them again, they shift drastically to indigo. I don’t complain or move my hand away as he squeezes it so tightly my knuckles burn. His other hand draws the World and Death and then we’re back in that transportive darkness, the wind howling like wolves around us.
The next moment we’re in his room. Outside the massive arched window, night has fallen, the sky moonless, the volcano gone cold. I’ve never seen it so dark here. The stars are spectacular. Thank the gods, since they’ll be the ones I’m looking at for the next four years at the Forge, and then an eternity more at Draven’s side.
What does this mean for finding my family? Is there any chance of seeing my father again? I claw my hand through my hair, more lost than ever.
Draven shirks off his overcoat, casting it over an armchair before slinking into its cushions, staring into the fire. Another chair sits across from his, a small table with a chessboard halfway through play between them. I throw myself into the velvet of the empty seat.
