Keep a cool head, Talysse.
Without a doubt, Soraya is a wraith bound to the Flint. Time to get out of here. I back up toward the corridor, where the other horror is probably waiting for me. No idea what has made its way here through the heap of rocks, but even a Shadowfeeder is a better option than becoming a specter and haunting this Elders-forsaken place.
The wraith follows, floating, her jaw hanging, her hair and ragged dress sweeping the floor.
“Give it baaaack—” she screeches.
I take a few more steps before crashing into something solid.
And pleasantly warm.
My reaction is impeccably fast. The violin lands on something, followed by a satisfying grunt of pain. The makeshift weapon instantly disintegrates into dust and splinters. I take a better look at what I hit and nearly run back to the wraith. Because right now, she’s the safer option.
What’s before me is far more deadly than a screeching pile of old bones.
Prince Aeidas rubs his bleeding forehead, his eyes flashing in the twilight with the disturbing fluorescence only night creatures possess. His silvery hair and face are powdered with dust.
“Is this a wraith?” he asks incredulously.
“No, it’s an old friend. Of course, it is a wraith!” I spit, trying to push past him. Without any success, it feels like trying to break through a wall of solid muscle.
“Then we should—” he starts, his gaze fixed on the spirit behind me.
“—burn her, I know,” I say, surrendering to the thrumming call of my magic. One flick of my wrist staggers the wraith.
While I desperately search for the next spell, the prince demonstrates the terrifying dark powers the Elders have bestowed upon Fae. He stretches his hand, his long fingers spread, and a fireball forms upon his palm. The air crackles with energy, and the fireball shoots forth, a blazing sphere of fury. The battle spells of old seem to still live in the royal Unseelie bloodline.
His aim is lethal. The wraith ignites instantly; the old bones and rags dry as tinder. She shrieks, her form melting away, the smoke of her burning hair choking us. With a sigh, she crumbles into a steaming pile of ashes on the floor.
I pat my pocket, making sure the relic is still there, and look around. “All right, I’ll be going now.”
His fingers close around my arm, his grip tight as steel.
“Where do you think you’re going, little thief?” he asks darkly.
The Prince
The well
Iloom menacingly over her. Intimidating people is something I excel at.
“My name is Talysse.” She tilts her chin up and looks me straight in the eye. Her confidence is striking, and I can’t help but smirk.
“Talysse of—”
“Talysse of No Name. Daughter of traitors. The name I’m not allowed to use is Nightglimmer.”
Recognition tugs at a distant memory—a ledger of names and verdicts signed without a second thought. The human’s eyes, aflame with anger, search the dark garden, and she tries to shake my grip off. What is she seeking? A weapon? A way out?
“Does that name stir anything in you, Governor?” The old title drips with disdain. “My parents bore it before you sent them to the gallows. Recall them now?”
Oh.
Pure hatred blazes in her eyes now, and I immediately release her, stepping back, letting the weight of her accusation hang between us.
“Names blur when signatures number in the hundreds,” I reply coolly, shrugging off the implied guilt. A future king should not apologize for his actions. “Should it mean something to me?”
How to explain to a peasant what one must do to remain in power? I did what I did. Hundreds of fates sealed. My family’s hands are drenched in blood, as are the hands of anyone in power. Yet I cannot help but try to remember. Tenebris. A family sent to the gallows. I rake my fingers through my hair and shake my head. I have no memory of these people, or their crime.
