“The bow has instantly killed anyone who touches it,” Kairyn finishes.
“A shame,” I say.
Kairyn releases the Nightingale and thunders over to me. “Perhaps the almighty Prince of Thorns should like to give it a try.”
“Oh, no thank you. I work hard for this perfect complexion.”
“Enough.” My adopted sister steps between us. “You have more than enough to report to Mother. Kairyn, you must return to the keep. There is work to do with your brother.”
Kairyn glowers down at me, the long owl brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. Then he storms from the room, the two members of his conclave dutifully following.
The Nightingale lingers for a moment. “I have everything under control, Cas.”
“Of course you do, Birdy.” I flick my eyes to the door where Kairyn last stood. “You’re very good, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The little charade you’ve got going with the young prince. I saw how he moved to protect you against the bow. You have him eating out of your hand.”
She snorts and crosses her arms. “He’s not so bad.” Then her gaze softens. “There’s something … endearing about him.”
“Oh, what’s that? The murderous tendencies? The rageful outbursts? Thestomping?”
Birdy pushes past me and makes for the door. When she arrives, she shoots back one withering glare. “He understands how it feels to be the unloved child.”
20
Ezryn
It’s amazing how even among all the vibrant life, my father’s room still smells like death. The draping curtain of vines around the bed, the moss-covered stone walls, and vases of fresh green flowers do nothing to mask the heaviness in the air.
An acolyte from the monastery sits beside the bed, dipping a cloth into a basin of water and placing it on Father’s wrists, the only exposed skin she can see.
“His plate and cup were empty when I arrived for my duty this morning,” the acolyte says, without turning. “Though, he is now in a deep slumber.”
“When did he last leave these chambers?” I step into the room.
“A week now, sire. When he does awaken, his words have lost all rhyme and reason. Many healers have come. Physically, there is nothing ailing him. I fear his spirit is lost.”
I still, my chest tightening. It has been this way for some time, but I’ve never seen him in such a state before. True, he has wilted, but he has always been able to hold court.
The acolyte stands, wiping her hands on her apron. Her dark, wavy hair is pulled back by a stardrop, the same white flower Eldy was wearing. I recognize her from the throne room.
But that’s not the only place I’ve seen her before. “What is your name, acolyte?”
“Wrenley, sire.”
“Wrenley.” I snatch her arm, pulling her easily toward me. “I saw you in the Below. Why were you there?”
Her blue eyes flash, and she struggles out of my grip. “I—”
“At the Prince of Thorns’ party,” I growl. I’d accidentally grabbed her, mistaking her for Rosalina. “What business did you have there?”
She straightens, regaining her composure, and stares me straight down in a way that reminds me of Rosalina when she sets her mind to something.
“High Prince, I was indeed in the Below.” Her blue eyes water. “Unfortunately, there is sometimes a need for even a servant of the light to descend to such depths. Do you command me to bear my shame to you so publicly?”
Guilt roils through me as a single tear trails down her cheek. Many fae travel to the Below for what cannot be procured above, some reasons more sinister than others. But if she is to be directly tending to my father, I need answers. “Your loyalty is to your monastery?”
