“Satsara was the first person to use the term Morkaius.My little Morkaius, she’d call me. It was supposed to be a secret name, one I’d never speak aloud, but it filled me with so much pride. I wanted to be High King of Magic. I wanted to fulfill the vision she had for me, be the grand king she said my father was. She supported me. Continued to whisper stories about my father, telling me how much she missed him despite having woven the ward that had banished him from El’Ara for good. ‘At least I have you,’ she’d say. Her pride and joy. Her little High King of Magic.”
His expression turned to a grimace and he took a long swallow of wine. “Then my sister was born. She told stories about my father less and less and turned more of her attention to her consort and pureblood child. By then, I was old enough to understand the prejudices the Elvyn held against me. Etrix, the tribunal, and everyone but my mother eyed me with disgust, even as they bowed. Soon my mother’s eyes began to dull when she looked at me too.”
“Did you give her any reason to doubt you?” She remembered what Ailan had said about the pranks he’d pulled, the way he’d snuck humans into El’Ara for pleasure and amusement, often to their demise.
He huffed a cold laugh. “Mother was easily swayed by those around her. Once the tribunal no longer had to pretend to pin their hopes for the future on me, they shifted their glowing approval to Ailan. The perfect pureblood they’d wanted all along. They urged her to name Ailan heir, or at least wait until she came of age before making her final decision. I was patient. I waited, confident that when Ailan reached maturity, Mother and the tribunal would see that she could offer only a fraction of the value that I could. Mother’s words still rang in my head, after all. I knew how much I could do for El’Ara. Knew I could be a Morkara unlike any other.
“Yet it didn’t turn out the way I expected. Ailan was named heir and I was set aside. I was crushed, enraged, heartbroken. Then the unthinkable happened. Mother tried to banish me from El’Ara. Do you want to know how it happened?”
She said nothing, for he’d surely tell her anyway. It didn’t escape her that he’d avoided mentioning anything about the prank he’d pulled on Berolla and the injury that had almost killed Ailan. A convenient omission.
After another long sip, his eyes grew distant. His voice fell, and she had to lean forward to hear what he said next over the noise of the pub. “She hugged me. Mother took me to the grove she’d once kept as a sanctuary to meet my father in. She showed me the trees, recounted her fond memories. Then she faced me, told me she loved me, how proud of me she was, and hugged me. It was the first time in a long while that I felt loved by her, and it softened the hurt I’d felt after she’d chosen Ailan as her heir. I hugged her back, reveling in the warmth, in the hope that maybe Mother would change her mind. Then I heard it.”
His expression darkened.
Cora was still leaning forward, unable to hide her curiosity. “Heard what?”
“The sound of magic weaving around me.”
She arched her brow. Wait, did that mean…
“I’m clairaudient,” he said, confirming her earlier suspicions. “My magic is fueled by sound, just like my father’s was fueled by scent. That’s how I worldwalk. I can travel to any place I can visualize, either from memory or physical sight. I activate my magic by forging a sound connection and control the distance by imagining the sound of my destination as near or far. Just like Father, the first time I worldwalked was by accident. I traveled to him the same way he accidentally stumbled upon El’Ara.”
His demeanor eased a little at that, a sad smile forming on his lips.
“Did you travel on Samhain too?” Too late she realized she’d given something away, admitting that she knew about his history.
He didn’t seem surprised, however, and just continued to grin at his memory. “No, it wasn’t the thinning of the veils between worlds that brought me to him, but a memory of waves. Before Mother banished Tristaine, she let him take me to Syrus. I didn’t consciously remember being there, but one day, when I was still just a boy, I unexpectedly recalled the sound of waves, ones so different from the lakes and oceans in El’Ara. Suddenly, I could visualize where I’d been when I’d heard those waves. I was so startled, so overwhelmed, that my magic took over. The next thing I knew, I was standing before an old man in a palace on a sunny hillside, the sound of waves crashing far below.”
Cora was relieved at his explanation, for it further confirmed that their magic worked the same way. She too had worldwalked unexpectedly the first time, her magic taking over before she knew what had happened. His magic may be more powerful than hers, but at least she understood its strengths and limitations.
He shook his head, the mirth fading from his face. “I always thought my similarities to my father were what endeared me to my mother, but just like him, I lost her admiration. As soon as I heard the telltale sound of Mother’s magic wrapping around me in that grove, I knew what was happening. She was trying to banish me from El’Ara. Not just that, but she was attempting it in the exact same place she’d banished my father in, and in the exact same way. With a hug.”
A bitter ache struck her, and for a single breath, his pain was hers. She could almost feel the shock of betrayal he must have felt when his mother hugged him, made him feel loved…and then wove magic to expel him from his home.
Yet she knew the other side. She knew what he’d done. The dangers he’d posed to not only Ailan, but El’Ara as a whole. Cora may not know Satsara, but both Darius’ and Ailan’s descriptions made it seem like she loved him deeply. Perhaps too much. It must have killed her inside to banish her son, no matter how dangerous he was.
But of course Darius didn’t see it that way. To him, he was the sole victim.
He continued. “I worldwalked to Syrus before she could finish her ward, but by then, my father had died. There was no home for me there, and I soon learned that the human realm was just as flawed as El’Ara. It was yet another domain ruled by blood, not merit. Yet another place where I was considered impure. The new King of Syrus—one of my half brothers—called me a bastard. A monster. An abomination. Had either realm judged me for my merit, they would have seen thatIwas the most capable. I could bring the most value as a ruler. I could do more, be more, create more.”
“Under the assumption that their values were wrong and yours were right,” Cora said flatly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pretend you can’t relate. Have you ever questioned the values of your kingdom? Its principles? Its expectations?”
She couldn’t deny that. Time and again she’d faced outdated notions. Prejudice. Scorn. Much of a queen’s value lay in her husband and—even more importantly—her ability to bear heirs. Even as the monarch of her kingdom, Cora bore the skepticism of certain nobles who’d rather see a man on the throne.
The mere thought boiled her blood.
Yet just because Darius claimed to be better didn’t mean he was. His kingdom seemed idyllic, but there were always shadows lurking behind the brightest corners. Even now, she sensed an undercurrent of unrest weaving through the boisterous atmosphere of the public house. As narrow as a splinter, yet strong enough to feel as if it were buried in her side. She hadn’t been conscious of it until now, as she’d been more focused on Darius’ tale. With every breath, it was growing. Deepening. Creating fissures in the too-perfect cheer filling the room.
The fissure widened. Cracked.
Cora angled her head toward the source of the anomaly.
“Don’t you dare report me!” A panicked male voice contrasted the joyful strains of conversation. Cora couldn’t see the speaker through the crowd, but she sensed him strongly now. He lowered his voice, but she could still make out his muttered words. “I can’t take another demerit this month. You know this.”
A deeper tension constricted the energy of the room—a dark and scornful glee at the man’s plight. It was coming from those closest to the man and spread farther and farther, from patron to patron, even cutting off some of the conversations—
