Water squelched in Killian’s boots and soaked his trousers.
The water was warm against Killian’s thighs, as it was everywhere in Netyere. It was the king’s gift to his people, along with fertile lands and mild weather year round. By binding himself and his magic to the land, the king and Netyere became one, their connection unbreakable except by death. The king became the people’s armor and their provider. As long as his magic flowed freely and strong, his mind and body sound, Netyere would flourish under him, as it had under his forefathers before him.
With a final shove, Killian and Kade let go. They stood together as Pella floated towards the middle of the river, the gentle current guiding her downstream. The lanterns let loose by the watching villagers bobbed alongside her.
A flurry of arrows lit up the night sky, flying straight and true to their course. They hit with an echoing thud. The fire spread quickly, the flames licking their way up the hull until the boat was engulfed.
It was customary in Netyere for family to stand vigil overnight, to serve as guards for their lost loved ones as their spirits travel into the afterlife.
It was that custom in mind that had Killian turning and trudging back towards shore.
“Killi.” Kade caught his arm, his nails dug into Killian’s flesh. He sounded panicked. “You won’t stand the vigil?”
Killian shook his head. “She isn’t my family.”
Kade flinched, his grip loosening as Killian’s words landed like a physical blow.
Softening, Killian moved into Kade’s space, slowly, to givehim time to retreat if he wanted. Kade stood his ground.
Prying Kade’s hand off of him, Killian let it drop. The heat of Kade’s touch lingered. “I’m not leaving. Stand your vigil. I’ll find you tomorrow when you’re finished. I’m staying with Eria—”
“Come home,” Kade interrupted. His eyes were blazed, his mouth set stubbornly. He left no room for argument. “Wait for me athome.”
Killian sighed, but nodded his agreement. “Alright.”
Without another word, Killian retreated, pushing through the sea of horrified faces in the dark. Head on, there was no doubt they recognized him, saw on his face the truth of who he was. A ghost come back to haunt them.
“Killian del Torau,” an onlooker hissed, spitting at Killian’s feet as he passed her. “You should be dead.”
Ignoring her, Killian cast one last look at Kade over his shoulder. Their eyes met across the clearing. Kade looked torn, his body tense, his hands and jaw working, almost as if he were thinking of running after Killian.
Taking Eria’s hand, Killian moved to leave.
After a moment, Kade did the same, wading back into the water.
Killian would take the night and face Kade on a new day.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FARMHOUSE LOOMED in the darkness, the only light in all of the halls was a dying fire smoldering in the stone hearth. Burning just enough to illuminate the shadows lurking in the corners.
From the moment he’d stepped through the door, Killian had desperately wished for a strong drink. He combed the house for a drop ofanything, but he came up empty handed.
The house had been gutted, barely any of the furniture he remembered remained, only Tyr’s favorite green armchair and the long oak dining table hadn’t disappeared.
The table had been pushed up to the far wall across from the fireplace. The table top was bursting with scrolls and documents and vials and droppers in dark amber bottles, bundles of drying herbs were strung on the walls, and an iron cauldron sat in the fire. It vaguely reminded Killian of the palace infirmary’s storage rooms.
It was the only area of the house that seemed used, the rest of the spaces were kept militantly clean. Bare and void of all life.
Dropping into Tyr’s armchair with a sigh, Killian pulled the tie from his hair. He dragged his fingers through the braid and let the long, dark strands fall loose.
Killian couldn’t sit still. He tapped his fingers on the armrest, once, twice, three times. Once, twice, three times. Over and over and over again.
Not wanting to linger when he’d come for Pella, Killian had cut straight through the living room and then the kitchen to the bedroom at the end of the dark hallway extending off the body of the main house. Now, as he sat waiting for Kade, he had nothing but time to remember.
Killian shouldn’t have agreed to this. He didn’t want to be there. He’d rather be back in the dungeons than in that armchair. Too many of the ghosts haunting him had been born in that house. The memories played out in his peripheral by actors long dead, but not gone.
The air was stagnant and stale, the haze brought Killian back in time. He could almost hear the sound of Kade crying in the distance; soft, sniffling sobs.
