“Yes,” he said, making no comment on her change of subject. “Living in Syrus, so far from El’Ara’s heart, aged me horribly, yet my body refused to die. As soon as I set foot across the Khero-Vinias border, though, I felt healthier than I had in centuries. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I’d learned enough from Desmond’s report to understand that themora—my birthright—was healing me. Then the Veil tore and my aging began to reverse—just the slightest bit—and pieces of memories slowly snapped into place. My magic grew stronger. I believe I’ll regain the rest of my youth once I become Morkaius.”
Cora couldn’t keep the glare from her eyes.
“Ah, of course. You still don’t believe I deserve to be Morkaius. To you I’m still an evil Elvyn overlord who murdered his mother and seeks vengeance on his sister. So let’s face these misbeliefs head-on and start with where it all began. Let’s talk about my darling mother.”
45
As much as Cora wanted to avoid listening to Darius drone on about his mother issues, she couldn’t deny her curiosity. She’d heard Ailan’s side of what had happened, as well as Garot’s tale. But how did Darius see those same events? The fact that he used a dragon as his kingdom’s sigil, despite never succeeding in bonding with one, suggested his perspective may be far different.
Perhaps the perspective of her enemy could give her an advantage.
Cora released a bored sigh so as not to appear too eager. “Fine, justify your actions. Let’s hear it.”
He smirked, and his expression held something like admiration. “I’m confident you’ll feel differently once you’ve heard my side.”
“Do tell.”
He swirled his glass, drained its dregs, then lifted the empty cup. Yet another test of her patience as he waited for the serving woman to return. Cora still hadn’t sipped her ale and had no intention of doing so. Her arms remained folded over her chest, her jaw tight.
Finally, the serving woman filled his glass and Darius took a sip, a satisfied look on his face. “The Dragon’s Arms is the highest value public house in Syrus under the principles of leisure, liberation, and inebriation. Should the pub stand for other values, such as quietude, relaxation, and propriety, The Dragon’s Arms would be a low-value establishment. Whereas the Golden Shore Inn, a few streets down, exemplifies those values to the highest standard.”
Cora frowned, unsure of what this had to do with his mother.
He continued. “When stripped of principle, neither establishment is better or worse than the other, just different. You can see that, right? Take your personal preferences away and simply see each of those public houses for what they are. Under its own set of principles, each establishment is considered high value. Given the opportunity to demonstrate those principles to clientele who seek the same, each business is allowed to thrive. That is what the Kingdom of Syrus stands for. No one is limited by birth, bloodline, or social class. Instead, everyone is judged by merit and how they serve certain values.”
“Syrus is a meritocracy?”
He nodded. “That was all I ever wanted for El’Ara. And the first person who ever put that idea in my head was my mother, Satsara. From as early as I can remember, she’d whisper stories about my father, who was no longer a prince but the King of Syrus by then. She told me I was a prince of two worlds, and an heir to two kinds of magic. She marveled over my abilities as a worldwalker and filled my mind with visions of the future. One day I would be Morkara, and the most unique one El’Ara had ever had—one with the blood of human royalty and the power of a witch, as well as all the powers that came with directing themora. I could bring advancement to the fae realm, find ways to utilize my witch magic to blend with themora.
“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.”
