CHAPTER ONE
“MY MOTHER IS dying,” said Killian, leaning heavily against the ivory arch that separated the king’s sleeping chambers from the rest of his quarters. The long room swathed in the low light of the fire.
Crossing his arms loosely over his chest, Killian waited for his king to respond.
Fyar, still in his dress robes, long impractical layers of pure white fabric embroidered in patterns of gold thread, stayed frustratingly silent. He gave no indication he’d heard Killian at all. Back turned, Fyar continued to flip through the reports that he’d had delivered to his private quarters, endless piles of scrolls and loose documents leftover from the day.
Killian blinked, his mouth twisting downwards the longer the silence stretched out. He glared at the intricate plaits of braids that Fyar had piled neatly on the crown of his head, the rest of his long white hair trailing in waves down his back, falling to his waist.
When he couldn’t bear it anymore, Killian asked, “Did you hear me? My mother is dying.”
Fyar unraveled another scroll. “Good riddance. Or should I say congratulations? You’ve been waiting for this day for a longtime.”
Killian sniffed, but didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. It was true. He’d longed to hear this news for decades, but he’d always imagined it would come posthumously. This turn of events was unexpected, not to mention unwanted. “My brother writes that her condition worsens by the day. He doesn’t expect that she’ll last till the next moon and she…asked to see me before she passes.”
Thatcaught Fyar’s attention. Folding the scroll, Fyar threw it unceremoniously onto his desk and finally turned to face Killian, his face lit up with new interest.
Fyar had an eerie air to him, devoid of all color with high cheekbones and long, slanting pupil-less white eyes. He was ethereal and otherworldly and severe. Terrifying and off-putting to those who didn’t know him.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Killian remembered a time when Fyar’s coloring nearly matched his own. Raven black hair and the eyes to match, but where Killian had tanned skin from working and training long hours in the sun, Fyar had a milky complexion, inherited from his mother.
They could have been mistaken for brothers once. Now, they were opposites. Killian stood behind the king like a shadow. The darkness to the light.
Killian had been there, witnessed it, the day that the pigment drained from Fyar’s hair and skin and eyes. The day Fyar had bleed and bound himself to the very earth beneath the kingdom’s feet and was crowned king to all elves who called Netyere their home. And Killian had been there, every bloody step it had taken Fyar to crawl his way onto the throne.
“And you wish to see her one last time?”
“No.” Killian paused. “Yes.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“Family always is.”
Killian huffed a weak laugh. “You would know.”
“Yes. Well. Few families are as complicated as mine.Yourscertainly doesn’t come close. What reasons do you have not to go?”
Killian straightened in surprise. “You think I should?”
“That’s not what I said.” Fyar folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I’m simply posing a question. What would you lose if you do go? What could you gain? Your brother still resides with your mother, yes? You said you were close, once.”
Swallowing harshly, Killian turned away from the weight of Fyar’s eyes. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, unable to put into words the storm of emotionsthatbrought up.
See his brother again? See Kade?
It was a horrible idea.
The very thought of it made Killian’s stomach churn. And yet, at the same time, it was all he wanted. It was all he’d ever wanted. For the past hundred years, it had haunted him. Kade was only a few days ride away, and the knowledge that he was alive and well had been Killian’s salvation in his darkest days.
Kade was exactly the reason Killianshouldn’tgo.
Killian shook his head. “I can’t.”
Fyar merely shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. Then, moved closer and turned around, once again showing his back to Killian. “Attend me.” Fyar stretched out his arms, waiting, no doubt in his mind that Killian would obey.
“You have servants for this,” said Killian, already beginningto pull at the complex lacing of Fyar’s dress robes. Loosening the ties around the king’s waist that were pulled taut.
“I also have you,” Fyar teased, glancing over his shoulder, eyes catching on the two thick black lines that wound around Killian’s neck, half hidden beneath the high collar of his uniform. “Are you not one of my servants, Captain?”
