For a second, I think Ezryn’s going to scream back at him. But he stays still. “Thalionor is steward. While he recovers and I appoint a new steward, I will retake command of Spring. See yourself back to Queen’s Reach or I will have you escorted there.” His voice lowers to a gruff whisper. “Do not test me, brother.”
Kairyn doesn’t move. His heavy breathing reverberates from beneath the helm. “I have quelled the goblin raids. I have rid the Queen’s Reach Monastery of corruption. I have brought peace to Spring!”
Ezryn takes a step. “I will be the judge of that.”
“How dare you doubt me?” Kairyn roars. “I bring order to Spring! You have brought only death!”
I intake a sharp breath, my own heart pounding. Images flash in my mind: standing alongside my brother Damocles in the Hall of Vernalion. Beside him was High Princess Niamh, and beside her, High Prince Erivor of Winter.
Ezryn, newly coronated, sitting upon the throne. And Kairyn, seething beside him.
“Careful, Ez,” I mutter under my breath.
Rosalina presses herself harder against the translucent wall, her brown eyes huge. “Why is he saying that to him? ‘You only bring death?’”
Kairyn thunders down the steps of the throne and circles Ezryn, his black cape snapping like a raven’s wings. “You come back to Spring, thinking you belong here. Thinking all should bow down and kiss the favored son’s boots as they always have. But things have changed, big brother. I have changed.”
“Don’t do this, Kairyn,” Ezryn says lowly.
Eldy plucks at the hairs on his chin. “No, no, no. The last time they were like this…”
Marigold squeezes her eyes shut. “Kairyn evoked the Rite.”
The words flood the memory back into me.
Spring has always been secretive about their ceremonies, but the High Rulers were invited to attend Ezryn’s coronation. My brother was High Prince at the time.
Damocles, as he always did, chose me to be his honor guard.
I knew Ezryn pretty well at that point, but the fae sitting on the throne was barely recognizable. He was clad in brilliant silver armor, anointed in both a crown and cape of wildflowers.
And though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed it from him.
A darkness. It was like shadows I couldn’t see, a wind I couldn’t hear. An invisible calamity fighting within his steel.
I told myself it was grief—something I knew blessed little of at that point.
Because right before Ezryn’s coronation, there had been a different ceremony.
A funeral for his mother, the former High Princess Isidora.
“What is the Rite?” Rosalina whispers, looking back at us.
I take a heavy breath. “An ancient practice in Spring where anyone can challenge the High Ruler to the throne. It is a battle of physical and magical combat where the winner takes both Spring’s Blessing and the crown … and commonly the life and honor of the loser.”
Rosalina gasps, and Astrid grabs her hand.
Eldy shakes his head sadly. “This would not be the first time Kairyn has attempted it.”
The throne room echoes with Ezryn’s voice: “Stand down.”
“You sent me to the monastery to rot,” Kairyn says, “because I know the truth. I know what you did to her!”
“Stand down.” Ezryn still does not move.
Dammit, how is he so still? If I was in his position, I would have pummeled that jerk ages ago. But Ezryn’s like an impenetrable fortress, just standing there as Kairyn circles him, helm twitching.
“What happened last time?” Rosalina breathes.
