“We’re too far from Castletree,” Dayton mumbles. “It’s too weak.”
I feel for my own magic. It’s distant, like an echo of what once was. But the thorns imprisoning us … They feel vibrant, close. I can still use them, I know it.
Taking a steadying breath, I hone in on my control of the thorns, making sure I can grasp the ones around me. It takes me a bit longer to connect with the briars snaring my princes, but once I take control, perhaps I can get us home.
“So careless.” Sira walks around Caspian, though it would be more accurate to say glides, as if she does not need to step at all. “What were you thinking, releasing thatthing?”
Caspian sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “The High Princes took out the Dreadknights and goblins. I was desperate.”
“Risking your sister’s forces instead of your own.” Siratsks. “I cannot decide if you are idiotic or brilliant.”
“Oh, Mother.” Caspian stands. The fluidity to his movements has returned. “You know, I always have a plan.”
Mother?The Queen of the Below … She’s Caspian’s mother. She raised him.He truly is born of darkness.
“And you can help with your sister’s plan. Take their tokens,” Sira says.
“As you wish, Mother,” Caspian says lowly. He walks over to the princes one by one, ripping off their necklaces. The snowflake from Kel, the wooden rectangle from Ezryn, the golden leaf from Farron, chains snapping.
“W-wait,” Dayton begs as Caspian stands in front of him. “It’s just one of the shells. Don’t rip the whole thing. They’re important—”
“For stars’ sake,” Caspian grumbles, tapping his foot impatiently, but releases Dayton’s hands from the thorns long enough for the Summer Prince to carefully untie his necklace and remove only the shell that is the token of the Queen.
“And her? What does she bear?” Sira asks, taking a step toward me. “Such a troubling little flower.”
“Nothing important, I’m sure,” Caspian says quickly and stands in front of me. His eyes burrow into my own. “Did your precious princes give you any jewelry to match theirs?”
I tear from his gaze, but my stomach roils at the thought of losing my necklace. The necklace with the moonstone rose that belonged to my mother, and the golden leaf I was gifted from the Autumn Realm.
“Take it,” Sira demands.
He does, ripping it in a swift movement. Then he holds it up before his mother. “A little leaf to match her Autumn mate.”
Sira shakes her head, as if the notion of mates and gifts is beneath her. Caspian didn’t hand over my rose. What did he do with it?
“Very well then. I suppose today is not lost after all. Though I do not believe you received orders to assassinate the High Prince of Spring,” Sira says, walking over to her son. He’s taller than her, but somehow, she’s able to look down on him.
“Thought I saw an opportunity,” Caspian says.
Lie after lie. He’s taking responsibility for everything his sister did.
“Still,” Sira taps a pointed fingernail on the side of her cheek, “there are easier ways to kill the High Prince of Spring.”
All the princes roar at once, but Ezryn’s voice cuts over them all. “Then kill me and be done with it,” he growls. “Make the High Princes bear witness to my death and your power if that is your will. But let themlive. And know that with my death, you will face the full wrath of Spring and my brother’s vengeance.”
My world narrows to a frantic, singular purpose as Sira looks him up and down. “Don’t you dare touch him!” I snarl.
She ignores me, instead gliding over to Ezryn and placing a finger under his helm, lifting it up so he stares at her face. “How very gallant.”
Keldarion’s voice is more roar than words. “Harming him will bring all the forces of the Enchanted Vale down on the Below, Sira.”
Her red lips curve into a sinister smile, and she turns away from Ezryn to face Keldarion. “What forces, High Prince of Winter? Your people who have not had the strength of a leader in an age? Autumn? Those trembling folks were hardly capable of winning one battle, let alone an entire war. Or do you speak of Summer? Nothing more than a child’s dollhouse. No. I do not think I will worry too much.”
Shadows spill from Sira’s fingertips, dripping to form two sinister serpents.
“Spring will never bow to you,” Ezryn yells, thrashing against his binds.
Keldarion howls, the tiniest glint of frost gleaming on the edges of the thorns. But his magic won’t reach here. The shadow serpents lunge from the ground, jaws unhinging to reveal inky black incisors.
