Kalen looked at me, surprised. “You never cease to surprise me, love. Albyria and its trade partners? What brought that to your mind?”
“I’ve always thought about it,” I said with a shrug. “All my life, the villagers of Teine were effectively slaves to the fae. We produced everything for them, helped keep things running. Oberon didn’t want to rely on trade with any other kingdoms.” I sighed. “I couldn’t help but conjure up ways things could be different. Better. So I’ve spent a lot of hours thinking about Albyria’s economy and its trade. For example, we’ve always done well with apples here.”
“Hmm. You have a mind for politics.”
I frowned. “Not politics. Just…the happiness of everyone.”
“And the happiness of everyone is tied in to how well their rulers lead. It all matters. The laws. The freedoms. The punishments we order criminals to endure. If we rule with anger and fear, like Oberon did, the people suffer. And if we rule with kindness and generosity, prosperity has its time to shine.”
I smiled up at him. “You’re the one with the mind for politics. I’ve never heard anyone speak so poetically about what it means to be a king.”
“I would happily never sit on a throne again,” he said quietly.
“Really? I know you feel the burden of it sometimes, but—”
Shouts punched through the calm moment. Kalen palmed the hilt of his sword as we approached the gates, where the guards were facingin, toward the city, rather than out.
“What’s happening?” Kalen barked.
One of the guards turned and said, “The Crones got out of the tower. They’re putting on quite the show.”
Kalen and I exchanged a glance before moving quickly toward the disturbance. When we reached the castle square, we found all three of the living Crones dancing on bare, dirtied feet and waving crimson banners over their heads. Their eyes were brighter than the last time we’d seen them, and they were singing an oddly familiar song.
The darkness cries for the light
And comes undone beneath the sky
An old wind blows
With ancient woes
But light will never die
When they stopped, one of them kept screeching, “Ancient woes, ancient woes, ancient woes!”
Fenella appeared beside us with both daggers in her hands. “Glad to see you’re healed, Tessa. You arrived just in time for the madness.”
“How long has this been going on?” Kalen asked.
“About an hour. The heirs went to visit the Crones just before it happened, but they swear up and down they didn’t do anything.” She jerked her head toward where a cluster of horn-tipped fae with human ears watched the dance routine. Horror was etched into the lines of their faces. Those would be more of Oberon’s offspring, then. I recognized a few of them, like Mykon, but most I’d never met. Ruari had always been the one to deal with me.
“I didn’t think they were physically capable of leaving. Something in Oberon’s magic trapped them there.”
“Oberon’s dead,” Fenella said. “The magic would have died with him.”
“But Ruari said they were still trapped there after Oberon’s death,” I countered. “He was certain of it.”
“Bet you Oberon fixed it that way somehow, just in case he met an unexpected end. He must have bound them to Ruari’s life, too.”
“Is that even possible?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Oberon was a tricky bastard. I’m sure he could have figured something out.”
The wailing song restarted, effectively ceasing all hope of conversation. I watched as the Crones spun in wide circles. Their cheeks were gaunt, and their hair was ragged, but they were full of so much life. One of them caught sight of me and stopped.
Her eyes widened, and she shuffled closer. With a long, quivering finger, she pointed at me. “The Daughter of Stars.”
I flinched. “No, you’re mistaken.”
