Before the vampyric poison took full control of me, I could walk freely in sunlight and starlight. Indeed, I flew through these very beams before and all I experienced was a sting.
But now…
If I can’t return to the Iron Kingdom, then my new purpose is worth fucking nothing.
My lips draw back from my teeth as I hunch in the glow, faced with the choice to invite more pain or to retreat.
Then I catch sight of my arms.
I’m…unharmed.
My flesh hasn’t been stripped from my bones.
The light fucking hurts, but the pain is…
I press my hand to my chest.
This pain is deeper than my flesh and bones. It’s hitting my heart where the thread extended between Thyra and me and the wound remains.
I force myself back to my feet, reminding myself: pain is life.
With renewed determination, I take a step. Then another. I’m preparing to take five more when Maxim’s silhouette appears withinthe intensifying glow.
I brace for him to charge at me, but he moves slowly, bringing himself to a stop five paces away from me.
“King of Iron,” he calls. “I want to make a new deal with you.”
I squint at him, unable to focus clearly. “What deal?”
“I will give you the amulet and the knife’s hilt.”
Just like that?
“I’ll also find every piece of that tree that might exist in my kingdom, gather them together, and bury them where no other fae can find them. I won’t carry a piece on my person.”
If my eyes weren’t already narrow slits, I’d scowl at him with all the suspicion his offer warrants. “In exchange for what?”
He glances backward before he says, “You will let me take the light that shines in this tunnel.”
My suspicion builds.
Why does he want it? What value could it have?
I can’t ignore that he’s offering me what I need: the wooden weapons that are being used to blind Thyra to the actions of those who mean her harm. Fae like the assassin who came after her. Fae like my brother. A whole fucking network of fae working for a man named Stanimir.
It’s not as if I can take possession of whatever object is causing this light. I can’t get close to it without extreme pain.
Maxim must take my silence for disagreement because he mutters, “Fuck it.” Then, more loudly, he says, “You spoke of a man named Stanimir. I’ve seen him.”
I jolt forward, only to wince.
Throwing my arm across my eyes, I ask, “Where?”
“At the southern edge of my kingdom. He has a distinctive patch of dark skin, like a birthmark, on the left side of his neck. He leads a group of fae who call themselvestravelers. They all carry knives with handles made of the same ashen-brownwood. If he’s trying to hurt Thyra, then he’smyenemy, too.” Maxim pauses before he continues. “We have a common enemy, Antony. And it isn’t Stellen.”
It seems we do, but I don’t give any ground yet.
Maxim takes a step toward me. “If Stanimir has remained in my kingdom, I will have him hunted down and killed. By my warriors, if not by my own hand.”
