I don’t give her a chance to speak. I feel the ghost of Uncle Irahn’s last breath on my face. “Youmurderer!”
She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. I hate how much her mannerisms resemble Caspian’s. “This again? Think bigger than the idea of murder, Rosalina. What gift can a life give you? Victory in battle? Yes, but thinkbigger. Could one life create many others? Could one life mean a brand-new world? You say murderer. I say artist. Architect.Visionary.”
“Enough of your prattle, demoness!” Ezryn bellows. “Kairyn!”
Kairyn tilts his helm up. “B-brother?”
“You don’t get to choose who lives and dies,” I snarl.
A serpentine smile crawls up Sira’s face. “Funny thing about that is…I do.”
“Release my mother!” The primal scream bursts from my chest.
“You should be grateful she’s still alive. Though I don’t think I could sleep without her screams anymore. They’re my lullaby.”
“You are all trespassing in my realm. You have waged war, and we will retaliate in kind to protect our lands and our people,” Keldarion says, voice filled with command. “Speak now! What have you done to our mountain?”
Aquila steps forward, digging the hilt of her spear against the blackened stone. Her tail twitches with annoyance. “Are you threatening us?”
Dayton crosses his arms. “Look at you—your army of underfae, down to two. That is the power we possess. Really want to go again?”
“You have no conception of the truth hidden within the stone.” A pained expression passes through Faustrius. “There arehundredsof us left. We have survived worse. We will rebuild and regrow.”
“More like reinfect,” Farron says. His whole body jitters, a spring wound too tight.
Ezryn takes a step toward them, calling forth the Hammer of Hope from his token. His voice is a guttural roar. “What are you doing to my brother?”
Quellos gives a high-pitched, wheezy laugh. “Why, his usefulness has all but run out!”
Sira drifts an elegant hand along Kairyn’s helm, the movement almost sensual. “Poor, sweet fallen prince. He’s been so morose since his little birdy flew away. Won’t obey orders. Won’t even kill in a battle! What use do I have for a metal dog who walks around mid-fight with his tail between his legs? Especially after he lost his token and control of Spring.” She ducks down, grasping his helm with both hands. “This is your last chance. Tell me where Wrenley is.”
“I don’t know,” Kairyn breathes. “But if I did, I’d never tell you, you ugly bitch.”
My nose burns as I suck in an involuntary breath. Gosh, maybe Caspian is right. Kairyn does have metal balls.
Sira’s lips curl into a snarl. She jerks up, fingernails scraping along Kairyn’s helm. “Fine. Well, I won’t stand for you to be a waste of walking scrap metal. We’ll give you a new life. Pray you don’t squander this one.”
“What are you talking about?” Ezryn yells.
“It won’t be a waste,” Faustrius says, but not to us. To Kairyn. He drops to his knees and puts a hand on the young prince’s shoulder. “You will be the hope for a new generation.”
“Faustrius, stop this madness!” Kel bellows. “Whatever you’re planning, I beg you to see reason?—”
“This is reason, prince, pauper, king.” Faustrius rises and turns to face Keldarion. “You call us ‘underfae,’ But in the surface tongue, we are the Elderblood, once known as the Eldraíth Ruvénir. Do you know what it directly translates to?”
“That language is ancient. No one speaks it anymore,” Farron says.
“A pity, for it means ‘the chosen fallen.’ We came to this world when it was first born, before your seasonal realms ever existed.”
Despite the heat, a chill runs up my spine. “You’re from the Above.”
Faustrius puts a hand on Aquila’s shoulder. “We are from the root and rock and soil. But yes, there are remnants of these bones and blood that once harkened from the Above.”
Sira gazes at Faustrius, her voice low and faraway. “I showed them there was more than the illusion of paradise. They could be resurrected in the world as we saw it.”
I understand now, what Aquila meant about how these underfae weren’t born. They were built.
These underfae…they weren’t always like this.
