The Shadow Court holds their assembly in a cylindrical meeting tower, on the sixth of seven fortress floors, overseen only by the ever-present torch that marks sleep cycles for our people. There is only one entrance, at the very bottom—then a long, winding, spiraling staircase, unless one elects to use wings or telekinesis to ascend. So I carry Kori in my arms. Kori, the greatest blessing to ever enter my lonely life. Kori, the greatest threat to my continued royal standing.
She leans into me, trusting me to hold her fast against my chest as we rise higher and higher. Her breaths stay steady, little puffs of warmth against the exposed skin of my neck.
It’s hard to believe she was ever completely hidden from me, locked away in that accursed suit of armor. It’s hard to believe I was ever able to stand the distance, now that I know the heat of her skin against my skin, the gorgeous green-flecked brown of her eyes on mine, the untamed cascade of her brown hair flowing past her shoulders, nearly tangling with my wings as they rise and fall.
All I want is to hold her. To let the world pass us by and find someone else, anyone else, to fight its battles.
But I place her gently on her feet, fold my wings against my back, and face the arbiters of my fate.
All around this tower’s rim, a dozen little boxes jut out from the wall, each lit by twin azure braziers. Each contains one of twelve court members. Some elect to hover above their boxes, aloft on wings or telekinetic power; others lean forward on their elbows, so far that they look like they might simply tumble over and fall into the smoky dark; others stand as tall as they can, spines pulled taut, shoulders rolled back, regal. Varied in gender, varied in the composition of their horns and wings and claws, but all of considerable age as compared to my youth—these are the dozen nightfolk who will judge me worthy of a continued crown or declare me sorely lacking.
A little squeeze of my hand. I think it’s supposed to be a tight grip, but Kori will never have physical strength that competes with mine. “Trust yourself, Adria,” she whispers. A little louder than a whisper, really, so she can be heard despite her head not even reaching my shoulder. “Just be who you are.”
Placing Kori gently on her feet, I pointedly clear my throat. I close my eyes for the briefest instant, finding my center. Then I stare straight ahead at the closest court member—a six-horned woman, twice my late mother’s age, wrinkled face already curled in a rictus of disgust—and say, “I am under no illusions about what I’ve done.”
“And what is that?” says one of what could be a dozen voices. It all echoes around the chamber, a ricochet of damning judgment.
“In the wake of my parents’ murder,” I say, forcing myself to speak slowly, to enunciate each syllable, to select every word with care befitting a queen, “we were thrust into civil war. Then, more than that, we were beset by desert monsters, deadly serpents, that put all our lives at further risk. Never has there been a greater need in the Shadowlands for competent leadership, dedicated above all to the well-being of our people.”
I pause, expecting an interruption, but the court sits in thrall, simplylistening. Somehow the silence is worse than an immediate decree. I choke back a fresh wave of terror and continue.
“But I allowed myself to be swayed by matters of the heart.” I look to Kori, then, hoping to the Beyond that she can still sense the depths of my affection, even as I bring forth the ugly weight of what I chose to do in response. “I said I was holding the sun princess for ransom, to end the civil war, to bring peace back to our people. But it quickly became more than that, as I’m sure is more than evident by now. I became distracted, overwhelmed. Vulnerable.”
My eyes shift down to the floor despite myself. “In my longing, I nearly allowed the destruction of the nightfolk altogether. I failed to see my own brother, beneath my own nose, plotting war with our own armory.” I let loose a long, razor-sharp sigh. “I failed,” I say. “I failed as your queen. And if the court so wills it, I will accept my role as a mere figurehead, to be directed by your generational wisdom, for the sake of the Shadowlands and everyone in it.”
I can feel my pulse behind my eyes and in my wrists and in the deepest pit of my stomach. I think I may collapse. I think I may explode. Kori squeezes my hand between both of hers, her skin blazing hot against me. I can’t stop shivering.
A nightfolk fist crashes down on stone. “It is a blessing to us all,” someone booms a hundred times over, “that you approach this with contrition, with humility. It will make the transfer of power far easier than if—”
“WAIT.”
An uneven clatter of feet sounds behind me. I turn, confused, to see none other than General Isek, standing tall and uncowed. On his left side, a leg of nightfolk flesh; on his right, an early mechanical prototype, clearly constructed from spare parts. Thankfully, since Azarii’s rebellion elected to ally with me against Thaane, Isek never had to fend off a secondary assault back in the Shadowlands. But he suffered this wound before I ever discovered Thaane’s betrayal, during the sun serpent attack.
In the past, a nightfolk soldier who was wounded so severely wouldinevitably have died on that selfsame battlefield. But General Isek’s men carried his battered, bleeding body to the infirmary, despite the severity of his wounds. Risking their own lives. Risking, perhaps, the entire outcome of the battle against the sun serpents.
Such a thing would never have happened under my parents’ rule. Despite my catastrophic failures, despite my best attempts to behave as the fiercest creature of us all, I’ve ushered in a new age. One where more than monsters can survive war. One where, when the blood dries, there can still be softness. There can still be humanity. Isek the elder needn’t be buried alongside his son.
“General.” I choke on my own voice. “What are you …?”
He steps forward, unsteady on his new leg, but not the least bit slowed or shamed by it. “I am here to address the court,” he says, “on behalf of a woman I am still proud to call my queen.”
I don’t deserve this. I couldneverdeserve this. I close my eyes, squeeze them as tightly as I can, spots dancing across my empty vision, but I see Isek the younger’s severed head anyway—bouncing, unmoored, along the stones.
“My son …” Isek starts, before his voice staggers on a sob. He recovers his composure more than I do. A strangled, sickly sound slips out from between my teeth. “My son was the first to fall in the name of overcharge. In the name of relentless, reckless pursuit of power. I was never told the details. I never saw the body. But I saw the way my son’s ghost haunted my queen. I know … Iknow, in the marrow of my bones, that his death could have been prevented. But with every passing sleep cycle, I have watched our queen toil to atone for that death. To build a world where no one’s son is buried in an unmarked grave, never to come home.”
“No,” I burst out, not even thinking, every cell of me throbbing. “No, I failed. Ifailed, General. For all my good intentions, for all my guilt and grief, I allowed myself to be overcome by matters of the heart. I neglected the war. I neglected the never-ending quest to honor the loss of your son.”
“And in the final hour?” Another voice, a woman’s. I look to my left, and Lail hovers, slowly descending, her long white hair waving andgleaming half blue in the braziers’ bestial light. Then I look to my right, and I see her brother, Neo, his overcharged telekinesis bringing both himself and his sister to a gentle landing on either side of me.
“You flew across the desert expanse,” Neo says, “no hesitation in sight. Not just to snatch up your lover and fly home, mind you. But to defend the innocent, wherever they might be, however they might live.”
Language has abandoned me. I open my mouth, but words fail to form altogether.
Neo lifts his chin high, a wordless entreaty to the gathered court. I imagine he would throw his arms wide if he had any. “By now, you all know full well the depths of the gifts the Diakópsei bestowed upon me. No one, not even our queen, could hold me against my will. Yet I sat in this fortress’s prison. I waited for the queen to come to me. I did all I could to alleviate her agony, because it was never only for herself.”
“Even her reckless affection for the dayfolk heiress was born not of a power grab, not of any ransom demand, but out of stubborn, inescapable empathy,” says Lail. “They felt each other’s pain. At times, it may have prompted foolish decisions. But in the end, it was that stubborn love they held for each other that caused them to fight to save our planet, to protect our disparate people. Together.”
My mouth tastes, absurdly, like salt.
