“Yes, I imagine the Dominions still wage that my claim on the throne is false and my rule is weak,” Rune retorted. “Yet they continue to kneel as they have for thousands of years. They know they cannot contend with me.”
But his Harbingers shifted in their seats, their unease tainting the silence. They had not reported everything.
Rune’s gaze sharpened on Deimos.
His spy winced, tail flicking nervously. “Word has spread of your bride being alive at this time. There is rumor… that you forget yourself for a mere mortal.”
The air grew thick with Rune’s quiet wrath. “Is that all?”
He had never had to press them for answers before.
Red eyes dropping, Deimos swallowed. “The statues of the Primordials had been uncovered in the old throne room, sire. The roots that once shrouded them were cut away. My shades failed to see who.”
The air grew colder, as if the warmth in the chamber itself withdrew. The mention of the statues stirred an unease Rune hadn’t felt in an age. A reminder of what even gods feared.
“By the Abyss,” Calla muttered, pressing on her temples.
“What else have your Shades heard?” Hadeon asked Deimos.
His tail flicked. “The Dominions have begun to whisper of the first shadow.”
“Let them,” Rune snarled. “They waste breath on things long gone.”
The irony was not lost on him. His bride had been gone, yet he had clawed at every possible means to revive her.
Calla laced her fingers together. “And if they do more than whisper?”
The shadows thickened, dimming the candlelight.
“Then I will remind them why I rule now.”
Snuffing dissent would have once been a priority, but other matters took precedence.
Rune’s gaze returned to the shadow-map. The Calveron fleet bobbed in the bay like bloated ticks, warships marked with the golden Hydra coat of arms. “Perhaps it’s time I let the court taste blood. It will serve as a good distraction.”
“We are ready to wreak havoc with you, sire,” Hadeon said, gripping the haft of his Warhammer.
The map hissed to smoke at a flick of Rune’s fingers. “Good.”
In three days Alora would be his.
He would wait no longer.
CHAPTER 14
Alora
Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass window of her mother’s workshop, pouring a rainbow of light over the table of plants growing on the stand beneath.
Alora sat on her mother’s lap, her legs dangling over the edge of the chair as Salvia turned the pages of a picture book bound in soft green velvet. The illustrations shimmered faintly, as though coated with fairy dust.
She gazed in awe at the illustration of a majestic tree with silver bark and sapphire leaves. The petals shone like blue stars.
“Do you see, my sweet bud?”her mother whispered, tracing a finger over the page.“This is the tree of fate. It grows in the unlikeliest of places, where the gods roam and the stars weep.”
Alora leaned closer, eyes wide.“Can we see it in person?”
Her mother chuckled softly, brushing back a strand of Alora’s hair.“One day, perhaps. If you’re very brave.”
