Because that was where the power lay. It was in her blood, and it was how Avonleyans originally restored their powers. They drank blood from the Fae. The problem was Avonleyans became greedy fools. They abused the gift from the gods, forcing Fae to be their sources of power rather than the give-and-take that it was meant to be. It had upset a balance, and Arius, the god of endings and death, had cursed them for it. If an Avonleyan took too much, became addicted and abused the Fae, they became enslaved to the bloodlust themselves. Their power was taken from them, and they became a Night Child. The mortals referred to them as vampyres.
Instead, an Avonleyan could take a Source, forming an unbreakable bond between them and a Fae. Only death could sever the bond, and it restored what was always meant to be.The Fae gave their own power to restore the Avonleyan’s, and in return, they were offered protection.
Razik forced himself to pull his hand from Wren’s, breaking their connection. His reserves weren’t even half full, but he’d taken nearly everything she had already. He was one of the most powerful Avonleyans in the realm, and while Wren wasn’t weak by any means, there were far more powerful Fae out there. Normally, an Avonleyan and a Fae would be a match of some kind in terms of power, but seeing as there weren’t many Fae left in Avonleya, they’d had little choice.
But he’d taken enough to be able to Travel. His dragon was once more stirring in his soul, waking back up from its forced slumber. He would never stay in the castle when he was so vulnerable. It wasn’t even a question.
So he stepped through the air to the one place that felt like home. The one place that was his and his alone. A place only two other people knew about. The only place he ever felt safe.
Wren had passed out the moment he’d lifted her off her feet, exhausted from giving him everything she had. He lowered her to the bed, a mess of blankets and pillows atop a plush mattress on the floor. Pulling his tunic over his head, he toed off his boots before removing his pants as well. He burned it all, and then burned the ashes, not wanting to remember a single moment of today’s events.
When he was done, he pulled on a pair of loose linen pants and crawled onto the bed beside Wren. She slept, and he propped a hand behind his head. He may not want to remember today, but he did want to know what they’d fought against. There had to be a book with the information somewhere. He’d find it.
Tomorrow.
He’d find it tomorrow.
Chapter 2
Cethin
Finger steepled along his temple, he stared at the arrow sitting on the low table before him.
It’d been two days since the attack with the translucent beings. Two days of recovering and trying to figure out what they were. Two days of attending Farewells for the fallen who had given their lives protecting their kingdom and their sovereign.
They’d held the final Farewell when the moon was at its highest tonight, burning Valric’s body. The Fae released the ashes of the deceased back to whichever one of the four elements they could wield. Avonleyans scattered the ashes beneath the stars so the body could rest eternally in the night while the soul went to the After.
All the deaths haunted him. People who were his responsibility, now dead because he couldn’t figure out what was harming his kingdom. But Valric…
He’d known the male for over a century. Cethin had sat at a table with him, drinking and feasting, more times than he could count. It was rare for a Cadre member to meet death so early, and while they were immortal in terms of aging and lifespan, it was a reminder that death still claimed whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
Were those creatures responsible for the Fae deaths that had been plaguing the kingdom for generations now? It certainly seemed probable, but if they were, this went deeper. Why the sudden shift in targets? Everything he knew thus far pointed to all this being a plan years in the making. And when he’d shown up? All attention had been on him. He was clearly the target. Had that always been the case? Did those creatures somehow think the Fae were a stepping stone to him? That was preposterous. There were hundreds of better ways to get to him than through the Fae.
Which led him back to the belief that this was all calculated.
A knock sounded on the main door to the floor, but Cethin didn’t bother to move.
“Your Majesty?” Then, when he didn’t respond, Tybalt said in a gentler tone, “Cethin?”
He still didn’t answer, and after another minute, he heard the Commander’s footsteps as he left, letting him be. Only then did Cethin stand, grabbing the bottle of wine that sat next to the arrow. He emptied it into his chalice before moving to a balcony. There were several of them on his floor, allowing him to see in any direction, but this one faced the Nightmist Mountains. His mind was back on the outskirts of Shira Forest. He could see Valric slumping to the ground. See warriors bleeding from wounds given by golden swords. Magic and weapons powerless against a threat they hadn’t even known existed.
Even his own darkness had been useless. Something he’d never experienced before. His darkness had always been unpredictable. Uncontrollable. Chaotic. He’d worked his entire life to master that dark power, and yet it was a struggle. Just when he’d think he had finally gained the upper hand, his magic would prove otherwise. It was why others were leery when it appeared and were grateful for it amidst threats.
Until two days ago.
When he’d been useless and one of the only things that had succeeded in killing the beings was dragon fire from Tybalt and Razik.
Of course it had been Razik Greybane that could end the creatures while he’d stood helplessly by. He hadn’t seen the male since that night. Cethin assumed he was holed up in his study at Tybalt’s Estate.
Tybalt had remodeled an entire floor for Razik, and while Cethin had been to the Greybane Manor more times than he could count, he’d only been in that particular space once. Razik had glowered the entire time, eyes narrowed and never leaving Cethin as if he’d expected him to steal something, but the study was nothing but bookshelves filled to the brim. There were a few small sitting areas near hearths with overstuffed leather furniture, and a desk that had been organized and tidy. It was accessible by a main set of doors that were always locked, but also via a winding staircase in Razik’s bedchamber. That was where he was certain the male was. Probably researching in one of his precious books while slowly refilling his power from Wren. He’d been completely drained after that battle. It would take a few days at minimum to fully replenish his reserves. He’d take from Wren, wait for her power to refill, then do it all over again.
Except dragon fire wasn’t the only thing that had killed the creatures.
The thought had him wandering back inside and picking up the arrow as he drank his wine. He twirled the shaft between his fingers. It was as inky black as his magic with small glyphs on the shaft. And the arrowhead? That was a material he’d never come across.
He’d also never seen the female who’d shot the damn thing and nearly struck him either. Sure, she’d saved him in the process, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d killed the creature if he’d also died in the process. Then again, a simple arrow likelywouldn’t kill him. Even shirastone and ashwood arrows didn’t kill Avonleyans like they did the Fae.
He’d scarcely caught a glimpse of her. Her hair, dark as the night sky. Her warm brown skin. Those amber eyes that had swirled with smoke as she glared at him before disappearing among ashes. The only plausible conclusion was that she was an Ash Rider.
