PROLOGUE
GARRICK
Before
I knewfrom a young age that one day I would kill my father.
My own pain I could have withstood. But I’d never forgive him for what he did to my mother. At least, that’s what I’d always told myself.
A rare blue sky shone overhead. Snow was still piled against the edges of the courtyard, blocking most of the colonnade, but the center bricks were a sharp, unadulterated orange. Slick with melting ice. The perfect place for sparring.
The boy swung his sword, but the weight of it carried him too far to the left. He tried to compensate, throwing his weight to the right. But once his foot hit the patch of ice, he had no chance. He was lucky that it was his bottom that collided with the ground, rather than his face. About time. The hard ground was a more efficient teacher than I’d ever be.
One of the guards lining the colonnade rushed forward. He had the prince by the underarms and back on his feet before the moisture from the ice could soak into the bottom of the boy’s trousers. So much for a lesson learned.
I folded my arms over my chest as the guard fussed over the young prince’s nonexistent injuries.
“That sword is too heavy for you,” I said for what must have been the hundredth time.
Edmund glared at me. When I was unmoved, he turned the scowl on the guard. Immediate retreat.
“I slipped on the ice,” Edmund insisted, rubbing his elbow surreptitiously. It must have hit the ground as well. Too bad it would heal too quickly for him to take the error to heart.
“There is always ice in Velora.” It was one reason I insisted on sparring outside, no matter the weather.
“There won’t be when I break the curse,” said a smug female voice.
Just what this cold afternoon needed. Another member of the royal family.
Alize stalked out from between two columns, jumping over the bank of snow, wielding the wind to help her.
Another hour, maybe, and the sun would dip behind the mountains. It would be too cold for the precious Crown Prince to be outside, and I would be excused from the farcical training session. I thanked the gods again that I’d been born a bastard. No one gave a damn whether I was cold or not. I’d actually learned to wield a sword—and a half dozen other deadly weapons—without coddling.
An hour, I promised myself, and then Alair would be back in my arms. He’d be done in the stables for the night. A quick visit down to my mother, and then we’d be tucked up in Alair’s room above the stable by supper.
On days like this, it was almost possible to forget that I hated Balar Shan. But my siblings seemed determined to remind me. Edmund blasted fire at Alize. She diverted it with a strong wind.
I crossed the courtyard in three long strides, inserting myself between them. The flames winked out immediately. Neither ofthem would risk hitting me. I was the bastard brother. But I was stronger than both of them. For now.
“No magic,” I said.
“Why not? Fire melts ice,” Edmund pointed out.
I pointed Alize out of the courtyard. If the king found her down here, we would all be in trouble. If the king found his way down here at all, the thin veneer of civility would shatter. Balar Shan was the Court of Lies. When we all did our part, the lie was believable.
I motioned the guard who’d picked up Edmund’s weapon forward.
“Because magic is dying.” I should not have had to remind the future king of that fact. “You need to know how to fight without it.”
The guardsman held out two weapons. The greatsword that had sent him tumbling before, and a more modest shortsword used for close quarters. Edmund’s eyes flashed with defiance.
The next hour was going to be torture. Unless.
Young minds were the easiest. They were already given to quick changes, and they did not know themselves well enough to recognize that a thought was not their own. I slipped in between breaths. Edmund’s hand did not even waver. It passed over the bigger weapon and swiped up the shortsword.
Thank the gods.
“Get into position again,” I ordered, starting my advance even before he was in place. Assailants rarely waited for you to be ready before they attacked.
