Chapter 13
Morgana
My horse snorts, ducking its head away from a passing fly as we ride along the long road toward the Trovian border.
The sudden jerk of movement brings me back to myself.
For the last hour, the clop of horses’ hooves against the stony path has lulled me into a kind of trance, with my mind turning over a single idea.
Fairon was right. War is coming.
He was gracious enough to make it sound like it wasn’t inevitable, but I can’t help looking at the landscape around us with new eyes.
I imagine the lush forests and fields currently thick with crops destroyed by conflict.
The trees cut down to build machines of war, the harvest swallowed in a blaze lit by invaders.
The pretty villages and bustling towns we’ve passed burned or flooded or blown apart by magic, the fae who live in them cut down by my own country’s army.
We’re going to meet the Hand, hoping they have some news on the seal’s location. But even if we can get one of Ethira’s tokens before Caledon does and stop him becoming immortal, I’ll still have a fight ahead of me to take the throne back. And if the country doesn’t accept my rule?
Then we’re looking at a war which might not stay inside Trova’s borders this time.
“Your aunt is the usurper, my love,” Leon speaks inside my head, sensing the direction of my thoughts. “Any war that comes will be because of her crimes. It won’t be your fault.”
“Maybe not my fault,” I agree. “But it will be my responsibility.”
And isn’t that how it should be? My throne, my consequences—even if those consequences include war. It’s not what I want, but I’ve come to find that maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to face it. I have to be, don’t I? None of this will stop until I make it stop.
I’ve already lost so much. First my parents, then the Holms family.
But when they tried to take Leon from me, I finally realized that Caledon and Oclanna won’t be content until they rip every person I love away.
They just didn’t contend this time with the fact that Leon and I are bound in ways they can’t fathom. And I brought him back.
As my eyes fall on him, the pain of the blood ritual comes back to me, the sensation of the hole yawning inside me and the darkness rushing in. There’s something about that blackness that called to me, maybe still calls to me now, mingling with the rage I feel when I think about my enemies…
“Thank the gods we’re not camping again,” sighs Alastor, stretching in his saddle.
I blink, focusing on the conversation around me as the memory slips away.
“We’re not?” Corrin says, pleased. “Excellent.”
“What’s the matter, Wadestaff? Can’t handle roughing it a bit?” Damia says, glancing over her shoulder with a sly look.
“When given the option, I always think one should choose pleasure over practicality, Lady Rhymis,” he says, and Damia’s cheeks darken. I doubt I’m the only one aware of their constant flirtation, but even Alastor has the sense not to mention it.
“Quite right,” Alastor agrees instead. “And Duke Ribold has the nicest estate this side of Vastamae. So kind of him to host us.”
Stratton snorts. “What else was he going to do when the king asked him?” I smile at Stratton joining in on the conversation.
He’s been quieter since his injury in Elmere.
It’s almost completely healed now, but as we suspected, it’s left a deep, jagged scar running across his sculpted features.
I only hope he’s starting to accept the change.
We approach a town, and beyond it, a mansion looms into view. There are pretty gardens out front leading to an arched entrance of yellow stone. I count about thirty windows overlooked by a tapered roof of blue slate. It’s grand without being ostentatious. Homely while still impressive.
I find my heart lifting a little. I’m also grateful for the promise of comfort. On our last trip to Filusia, we either camped or stayed in the sorts of rundown inns where everyone was careful not to pay anyone any attention. It’s nice to be able to travel and rest without secrecy for a change.
“Your Highnesses,” Duke Ribold bows to both of us in quick succession when he meets us at the doors to his home. He has a large, gingery mustache shot through with gray. Unlike Velrir, it suits him.
“This is a wonderful honor,” the duke beams. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“It is you we owe thanks to,” Leon shrugs. “And perhaps my brother for strong-arming you into opening your home to us.”
“Not at all,” the duke shakes his head. “I was so saddened I couldn’t make it to his coronation, so I was delighted to receive his letter. It’s an exciting new age for Filusia, I’m sure.”
“He doesn’t seem too upset about the change in leadership,” I observe across the mooring. “Or is he just being diplomatic?”
“I believe he actually means it. The duke and my grandfather never got on,” Leon says as the rest of the group introduce themselves. “Respen thought he was too soft.”
As the duke shows us around his estate and we meet his wife, I can kind of see why. He’s not pretentious or intimidating like some of the fae nobles I’ve met. Instead, he has a friendly warmth I can’t see being valued by someone like Respen.
“But I’ve kept you from rest for too long,” Duke Ribold says. “There’ll be food in the dining room at seven, but before and after that, please take the time to relax in your quarters.”
“I see why Fairon picked this place,” Tira says, admiring the sprawling hallways of Ribold’s home. “There can’t be that many places outside the palace big enough to give us all our own rooms.”
Tira’s right. We’re quite a crowd. I watch my friend’s face carefully, trying to hear any note of regret when she mentions Fairon’s name.
“Will you miss it? The palace?” I ask.
Tira laughs. “You think I’ve gotten so used to luxury the Crossed Keys won’t cut it anymore?”
I shrug. “It’s not all bad, living like a princess.”
“I think you’re a little biased,” she says wryly, then narrows her eyes. “What are you really getting at anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Will you look out for Lafia for me on this trip? I worry we all forget how young she is sometimes, and this must be overwhelming for her.”
“Sure,” Tira says. “We new members of the Hand have to stick together. Any news of Harman?”
“Damia’s been in contact with him.” Apparently, Barb was annoyed she wasn’t allowed to eat the geostri-sent bat that kept turning up at Damia’s window with messages, despite the fact it was twice her size.
“He says Deedus and Esther will meet us at the border. It’s a good sign.
It means they probably have news, something Harman turned up in his research about Leon’s parents.
Something they didn’t want to put in a message. ”
Thanks to our warm welcome and the news from the Hand, I settle into a restful sleep that night. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Leon.
“Get me out. Release me.”
The words come to me from across the mooring in the early hours. The shout is loud enough that it jerks me from sleep. There’s anger in it, but an edge of panic that I recognize from the first night Leon found himself trapped in his dreams.
“Leon, Leon wake up. Come back to me.”
I call to him like I did then. Watching his body twist and turn in the bed beside me, I gently place a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe his movements. But I know touch alone won’t wake him—he’s too deep in the dream world for that.
There’s a click and the sound of wood brushing against carpet. It’s quiet and slow, as if someone’s trying to move without being heard. My gut clenches. Even over Leon’s thrashing, I know our bedroom door has just been opened.
And now someone’s coming into the room.
I scramble to throw up my mental defenses, the steel wall inside my mind that will protect me from sensic magic.
I’m seconds too slow.
Fear—excruciating, consuming—slams into me. It claws at my mind, trying to swallow every sane thought, driving me to panic. Leon’s still tossing beside me, trapped in his own mind prison. I’m outnumbered. I’m going to die.
Focus while you still can, I shout to myself, even as the last of my reason drains away.
Before the fear completely paralyzes me, I concentrate on my magic. It’s there, waiting, but the terror rushing through me prevents me from taking aim with it. My hands shake as I wildly throw the power outward.
A burning beam of sunlight shoots from my palms, arcing across the room and hitting the door. It burns a hole straight through it. There’s a scream of pain, and for just a moment, the chamber is illuminated, letting me glimpse the three strangers in our room.
They’re fae, and one of them is injured. He’s on his knees, gripping his side.
The fear flooding through my mind falters, the terror retreating. I take my chance to pull my mental defenses fully into place. My sun beam must’ve clipped the fae responsible for the sensic attack. With my mind now clear, I scream across the mooring, sending Leon a wave of desperation.
“Leon! Come back to me. I need you.”
With a shout, the Nightmare Prince wakes from his dreams.
It takes three seconds for Leon to take in the scene around him.
Then his sword is in his hand and he’s leaping across the bed to tackle the nearest attacker.
I send out a sun beam at the other uninjured fae, keeping her at bay as I scramble for my own sword.
She dodges the blast, which hits the wall behind her.
As my hands close around the sword I’d left propped on a chair beside the bed, a strange vibration fills the air.
Leon slides his blade out of the fae he’s fighting, letting them drop to the floor, and turns to the one facing me.
Her eyes are narrowed in concentration as the humming reaches a crescendo.
“Get down!” Leon shouts as the three large windows behind me shatter into a thousand pieces.