“Kel’s right. We need answers. We should question him,” Farron says.
Dayton rolls his eyes. “Fine. Then tell me, Pointy, what are you doing here? Who sent you? Why do you want to kill the Sworn Protector of the Realms?”
“He didn’t come to kill me.” I look at Rosalina. “He came to kill George.”
She stumbles, but Caspian grabs her arm, steadying her. She puts a hand atop his, then strides right up to the ensnared assassin.
“I am Princess Rosalina, lady of Castletree. You will answer me,” she says lowly, voice filled with command. “Who are you?”
The assassin meets her gaze, his red eyes shining. He lets loose a brittle laugh.
“Answer me!” Rosalina roars.
His lips curl, and he snarls, “The will of the Elderblood is eternal. The stars will fall before you ever know peace.”
Before we can react, he clenches his teeth hard. The sickening crack of a tooth echoes, and his body convulses. Black, rotten mulch spews from his mouth, from his nose.
“Get back!” Ezryn grabs Rosalina, tugging her away.
Amid pained gurgles, the man cries out: “Vemrís thu’ren calas.”
“What’s happening?” Dayton cries.
“Whatever it is, we have to stop it. But how?” Farron says, rushing closer to the assassin.
With an unnatural lurch, the assassin’s body twists in his shadow chains. His chest spews open, putrid foliage and sludge exploding out. He falls limp, his eyes look into the nothingness, and Caspian’s shadows slink away. The stench of decay fills the room.
Farron bends down, examining the muck. “This is familiar,” he muses. “It’s like what covers the goblins.”
This man—thiscreature—nearly defeated the princes and princess of Castletree. My title of Sworn Protector of the Realms feels like a mockery.
Silence echoes through the room, yet beneath it, I hear the assassin’s words:The stars will fall.
23
Rosalina
The workshop air feels as cold as outside. Several windowswere broken during the fight, and there’s a hole in one of the walls from a rogue briar.I don’t remember doing that.
I’d felt out of control, wild with fear when I saw that strange fae with his icy white skin, curled horns, and dual knives. If it weren’t for Caspian—and the magic he inherited from his mother to manipulate shadow—we might all be dead now.
One assassin took on the five most powerful men in the Enchanted Vale and the heir of the queen and nearly defeated us. How is it possible?
I shiver, and my father tucks me closer to his body. He’s got his arm over me, and I relax, knowing he’s safe. His workshop, however, is a mess. Broken wood, shattered glass, and bits of the stone flooring litter the ground. I’ve already removed all my briars though. If Wrenley decides to show up again, I don’t want to give her easy access inside the keep.
Kel, Ez, Day, Fare, and Cas are all gathered around Papa’s worktable, which is now being used as a makeshift autopsy bench. The man—the fae? the creature?—lies upon it, his strangerobes soaked in that putrid goo. It’s like his insides exploded into a swamp.
The princes are whispering to themselves, but I can only concentrate on one question: “Why would someone want to kill my father?”
They all turn to me.
“Nobody even knows who he is!” I continue. “Or that he was connected to Queen Aurelia. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it wasn’t about George,” Kel murmurs, then his eyes flick to one of the remaining benches that survived the fight. “Maybe he was seeking what George had.”
I follow his gaze. Atop the bench, gathered in cloth, are the remnants of the rose. Papa’s been working tirelessly on it. It’s starting to take shape.
“Who knows we found this?” Papa asks.
