Chapter Twenty
When we return to the castle, we find that the Guardians have indeed returned. But the outcome is neither victory nor retreat.
For several hours, we can’t get a solid answer from anyone.
Everyone seems to be milling about frantically, and Julian and Thornne and the other senior Guardians are all locked together in one of the war rooms. All we can gather from anyone is that something unexpected happened, and some kind of challenge was issued, and no one knows quite what to do.
After nightfall, with no updates, I finally decide to go to my room. Daemon follows me, but when we reach the door, he says, “I’ll wait outside and keep watch.”
His words are cool and unemotional. It’s better this way, I tell myself as I shut the door.
I seem to have a new ally, but it’s best to keep firm boundaries.
As he’d said, my magic changes things. Substantially.
Julian had been looking for something and he finally has his answer.
I’d been so sure this whole time that he was wrong, that it was inconceivable for me to possess magic.
So sure, that I’d never stopped to actually think about what would happen if I was wrong.
And now that the truth has revealed itself, I can’t imagine the outcome is anything good.
After taking a sponge bath in my sink and changing into clean clothes, I fall into a fitful sleep on my bed, a very needy and affectionate Trix curled up around my neck.
It’s sometime after midnight, judging by the moon in the sky, when there’s a pounding on my door, which is flung open only moments later.
Three Guardians are standing outside my room, which makes me infinitely glad that I’m wearing pants and a tunic as opposed to a nightgown.
“Commander Thornne needs to see you,” one of them says, a woman with short blonde hair.
“Commander Thornne?” My mouth goes dry with fear. “Is Professor Julian back yet?”
“Just come along.”
I shoot a panicked look past them to Daemon, whose expression is neutral, guarded. But as we begin to stride down the hall, he follows.
One of the Guardians turns and growls over his shoulder, “Did we request your presence, Shadow Walker?”
“I have vital information for the Commander,” Daemon says, his tone dispassionate but also unyielding. “It cannot wait.”
“The Commander will decide what can and cannot wait,” the Guardian responds.
“Well then, I’m happy to wait for his response outside the war room,” Daemon says, not looking the slightest bit perturbed as all three Guardians turn and glare at him.
No one says another word as we cross the length of the castle, down one floor, and to the war room, which is quite close to the Commander’s office.
My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest I feel like it matches the booted footsteps of the Guardians against the stone floor.
What can the Commander want with me now?
Is Professor Julian still at the border?
Is this some attempt to take advantage of his absence and send me off to prison again?
And this time… given what I now know about my magic, and the fire that killed my family, I can’t help but wonder if I deserve it.
Daemon walks at my back, his presence felt, but unreadable.
While it’s clear he’s withdrawn since we came back from the cabin, he hasn’t abandoned me entirely.
I can’t get a read on him. Is he my ally or my enemy?
It seems to change from one moment to the next.
But regardless, I can’t help but feel a little better that he’s facing the Commander with me.
It slightly lessens the terror swirling in my heart.
We reach the war room, or at least, what I assume is the war room based on the crisscrossed swords hanging across the threshold.
Inside, there’s a huge roaring fire on the opposite side of the substantial room, smoke curling up to the vaulted wood-beamed ceiling overhead.
An enormous table sits in the middle of the room.
The right wall is covered in maps of Aureon, and the left wall is covered in runes that are carved directly into the stone.
Some are painted red, others white, others black.
I have no idea what they mean, but I can feel a pulse of power coming off them.
The Commander sits at one end of the table, flanked by the other senior Guardians, a half-dozen of them.
They all look dirty and road weary. It’s clear they’ve been in this room since they arrived from the border.
Thornne’s gaze locks on mine the moment I step into the room, burning with a manic intensity.
My stomach twists into a leaden knot, my throat tightening with panic.
This is more than just some plan to send me off to fae prison.
Something is very, very wrong here. But what in the name of the goddess does it have to do with me?
The Guardians escorting me walk me to the far end of the table, where they pull out a rough-hewn wooden chair and shove me down into it.
Everyone at the far end of the table looks at me, like a pack of hungry wolves who’ve scented blood.
My body stiffens, other than my heart, which is still pulsing wildly in my chest. Daemon trails behind us, and when Commander Thornne’s gaze reaches him, his eyes widen in surprise.
“What are you doing here, Aeternas,” he barks, calling him by his house name.
“Several… incidents occurred while the Guardians were deployed to the borders,” Daemon says, cool and calm as if the Commander of the fae armies wasn’t staring him down. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to discuss them with you, but the war room has been locked since you returned.”
“What kind of incidents?” Thornne growls.
“First, there was another attempt on Embyr’s life.” Daemon doesn’t look at me, his eyes locked on the Commander. “Very dark magic, more sophisticated than anything I’ve ever seen. It nearly took my own life trying to reverse the spell.”
This draws several looks of surprise from around the table, and one of the Guardians standing behind me even lets out a small murmur of surprise.
I can tell it’s more than surprise at the murder attempt; that much is not so shocking.
They take Daemon’s assessment of the dark magic very seriously.
It’s clear these men and women respect him, even if they don’t like him.
“Then, while we were recovering in the healing ward,” Daemon continues, “an attempt was made on both our lives. Someone tried to burn the place to the ground.”
This doesn’t draw as much of a reaction, it’s clear they’ve already heard this news. No doubt dozens of fae had seen the charred stone in that wing of the castle by now.
“Is that all?” Thornne asks.
“No,” Daemon says. “But I must insist that Professor Julian is present for this last part.”
Thornne’s eyes bulge in his head, a roar seeming to build in his chest, but before he can let it out, someone strides into the room.
“It appears I have impeccable timing, if that’s the case,” Julian says, stopping next to the table, his cloak swirling around him.
I can’t help the small gasp of relief that escapes my throat. But a moment later, Professor Julian levels his gaze on mine, and my heart flips again. It’s something in his gaze… the way he looks at me like he’s about to ask what I want to eat for my last meal. That look absolutely horrifies me.
“So?” Thornne asks, leaning forward in his chair. “What did you find out, Julian?”
They exchange glances. Everyone at the table is staring at the Professor as if he holds the key to something of utmost importance. My chest tightens so much it feels like I’m going to choke.
“I’m afraid something… rather unusual has happened, Embyr,” Julian begins, a frown on his face. “Something that hasn’t occurred in…perhaps a thousand years.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daemon step forward into my line of vision. His jaw is tighter than a bow string, the veins along his neck popping out.
“We did not win the skirmishes at our borders,” Julian continues.
“The battles were called off, because our enemies invoked an ancient rite of challenge. This rite, which was used by our ancestors, allows for anyone of royal blood to call for a tournament amongst all the royal houses. The tournament consists of weeks of grueling battles and challenges, both physical and magical. At the end of this tournament, whichever house proves victorious lays claim to the throne.”
I blink, shaking my head. “I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?”
Julian’s expression is grim. “The challenger was not a fae royal house, but a human one. And they named you, Embyr, as their champion. As the challenger to represent their house in the tournament.”