Edward only stared, brow crumpled and eyes gleaming with fear.
Silas turned back to the throne, gesturing at the young woman. “Who is she?”
Behind him, a sharp intake of breath—several breaths—told Silas he would not like the answer. But the woman smiled.
“I am the Saviour of Eisalaan, Your Grace.”
She rose to her feet.
“I am the Mother’s favoured daughter. You know exactly who I am; I am the Last Sorceress.”
Silas blanched; exhaustion and tension had truly dulled his mind if he could make no sense of the words. This woman was—
Impossible.
But it wasn’t, was it? Just last night, he’d had a 600-year-old Merrow King sitting in his parlour. Kai Cumhaill should not have been alive, should not have survived his centuries of imprisonment, but he had. And so, it appeared, had his long-lost love.
The legendary, Goddess-blessed Princess Avette Beira.
Avette smiled at his silence, but for all her beauty, there was no warmth in the curve of her lips. She took a gliding step forward, descending the dais partway.
Silas willed himself not to stagger back at her approach.
“I—how?”
“Magic, of course.” Her smile brightened. “Well, magic and a helpful dash of cowardice.”
Unbidden, Silas found his head turning, his eyes seeking Edward’s. The Sorceress laughed, a sound as bright and hollow as the pealing of a bell.
“Interesting. I see you know your Commander rather well. He is, indeed, the coward of whom I speak.”
Edward made a low, garbled sound of pleading. Avette cocked her head, alight with elegant curiosity.
“What was that, Commander? Do you wish to regale your friend with the story of your betrayal?”
Silas could not bring himself to turn around again, but from the hardening of Avette’s soft smile, he could only guess that Edward refused.
“Cowardice indeed,” she said quietly. Then, her eyes finding Silas’s, she brightened once more. “But fear not, Your Grace, for I am here to lead and enlighten.”
She turned in a fluid motion, aged lace twirling around her stark, bare feet as she ascended the dais and took the throne once more. A blunt bite of steel to the spine sent Silas stumbling closer to the throne, and then again, shoving him forward until he stood at the last step, head craned up to face the Sorceress.
“I suppose it began, as so many of your stories must,” she mused, “with me. My magic; my spell. And as I now know, my country and bloodline thrived. Some centuries later, your beloved Selma was crowned. A powerful queen, I understand, and wise. Loved by many;toomany perhaps.”
She laughed that pretty, empty laugh, and Silas clenched his teeth so hard his jaw creaked in his own ears.
“Lovers drawn in and cast aside, until finally, one of them snapped. I do understand, Commander,” she called softly over Silas’s shoulder. Then she turned back to Silas with a sympathetic smile. “Love makes us question who we are, does it not? But love is like magic in that way; we cannot let it overtake us. I have learned that, in more ways than one, and I think we can agree I have paiddearlyfor it. But our friend here, he let both loveandmagic overtake him, time and time again. He faced the loss of his queen, hisgreat love,not once, but thrice. The first time, he called upon my power, my pendant, to bind your queen’s failing heart to my spell.
“The second time, he sought to break the spell—to force her heart into his hands. The third time, he could no longer control the magic that had been greater than him all along. He drowned in it. The Winter began to unravel, as did the thread of life your queen had clung to for so long beyond her time. And so, finally, after decades with my lost treasure in his possession, the Commander saw fit to release me from my own spell. Not out of compassion for my plight, you understand, but to beg a favour of me. To wield the power he could not contain, to save his queen and kingdom.”
She drew in a long breath and sighed.
“Alas, I was too late to save my dear cousin. A tragedy. A great loss, I am certain.” She gave a gentle wave of her hand, brushing the “great loss”away. “But the kingdom, on the other hand—I have always been the saviour of this kingdom, have I not? Eisalaan is my legacy. And my birthright.”
Silence hung off the edge of her final words, broken only by the quiet clicking of courtiers’ teeth, their shivering breaths, and faint whimpers.
“Birthright,” Silas echoed. He realised too late that he was shaking his head, caught himself only by the glint of steel in Avette’s dark eyes.
“Such a shock may take time to process, for us all. But together, we shall find a way to come to terms with it.” She sighed and shook her head. “All of this change has overwhelmed you, I’m sure. However, I trust you’ll remember, Your Grace, to bow to your queen the next time we meet.”
