1. Sybilla
Chapter 1
Sybilla
M y city lay in ruins. Through the dining hall window, nothing more than a ramshackle mess of fire-torn buildings and ash-coated streets greeted me. I wanted to scream, cry or throw something across the silver-gilt room.
What good would my sulking do for the people of my city?
Unlike the other four Corridors of Henosis, which had many provinces and cities, mine had only a single sprawling metropolis—Luz. Without it, the Central Corridor was nothing but vast countryside and wetlands. While I was grateful that the farming industry had not been impacted by the attack, it still pained me that our landmarks, our history, now lay in rubble.
When fucking Firose Van Gran marched into my city with Death-wielding defectors from the Sahlms in tow, the heart of my kingdom had been torn out and shredded in a single night.
The Phynnic people had once built a city like this one. It had fallen centuries ago in much the same way. The relics and remnants of Phynx, which had never been rebuilt, were a day’s travel from Luz and a reminder of what could have been.
How much pain could one woman cause?
Instead of lingering on that thought, I sipped my bluebell vine tea and then took three deep breaths while rattling off the things I was lucky for...
No civilians had been harmed. We’d evacuated the city quickly.
Cities could be rebuilt. My Source-wielding new advisors, Fen and Asterie, would see to it.
My people were resilient. I would be resilient with them—even with the constant aches in my body and my general exhaustion.
I’d won powerful allies before— King Sheffield, the Nadiars. More could be won.
Silence rung heavily in the dining hall. I took in the final moments of uninterrupted quiet, looking around the blue-curtained space with its ornate silver sconces and chandeliers. It was hard to imagine this palace had been under attack not even seventy-two hours ago.
Now where was King Darvanda?
I’d come up here to meet with the man that I was oath bound to ally with. Last night the other three willing rulers of the Corridors had met with me, insisting on speaking to me alone before they would allow King Darvanda’s participation.
An alliance with Darvanda was an alliance with Source magic.
I had to remind myself of that; otherwise, the thought of aligning myself with such an insufferable warlock would have completely revolted me.
Who would partner with a man who’d burned down — decimated—the city of Phynx all those centuries ago? I understood the other rulers’ concerns. But Darvanda had something I wanted—a depth of magic ready to be tapped into. And the King of the Sahlms might be a dick, but if he’d wanted me dead, there was no doubt I would’ve been.
His soldiers had saved my city. I owed him a debt.
An arrogant, putrid feeling hit me as a familiar loathsome energy approached the dining hall door.
My fucking cousin Haward. Did I need to deal with him today on top of all else?
I turned toward the door, awaiting him. The hinges on the white birch creaked, and my horrid kin, from my father’s side, stepped into the room. His disparaging thoughts about me were thick in the air.
I smiled nonetheless.
“Dear cousin, come to wish me safe travels?” I asked, unwilling to rise to his petty ire.
Sources. Not today.
Haward’s younger brother trailed behind him. Barden had always been a gentle boy, but under Haward’s mentorship, his grip on moral decency was loosening, too. As soon as the boyish chub had left Barden’s cheeks, he’d been swept up into Haward’s hatred for me, albeit in a more half-assed manner. His thoughts were never quite as cutting as his elder brother’s.
Keeping my placating smile, I crossed the room to where Haward stood.
He fought a grimace as he thought, “A whore’s daughter deserves no crown.”
Grinding my teeth, I tried to focus on the way his dress robe collar was flipped up, out of place.
Haward scoffed. “I just received word about your appointment of advisors. I am a Wymark—and yet you trust Luz to two Source-wielders? Clearly, you are unfit to rule this Corridor, dear cousin.”
His spittle hit my cheek, and I fought the urge to step away. It took every ounce of control not to bite back with venom.
“Useless woman,” he thought. My nails bit into my palms.
Haward’s unearned sense of self-worth swelled within him. I wanted to tell him exactly where to shove his condescending thoughts; instead, I shut down my senses and forced him out of my head. It was difficult to do when my anxieties were heightened, and it took much of my waning strength.
Barden loitered behind Haward with his hands in his pockets, ruddy, pale skin collecting sweat at his temples. They were a mirror of each other, with rounded noses and light features that were not unlike my own.
“Do you feel the same, Barden?” I asked.
Barden flushed and fiddled with his pocket watch. “Yes, Queen Sybilla. It seems unwise to leave the Corridor in the hands of acquaintances. Unwiser still to go willingly into the Wastelands with the Brennac King. He cannot be trusted.”
His thoughts were peculiarly quiet today. Brainwashed into thinking whatever Haward thought, I was sure. Already too fatigued to try to push in and uncover his emotions, I sighed.
“Hm,” I mused, nodding. “You’re right. It does seem unwise. And yet...” I reached out and straightened Haward’s dress robe collar. “I still trust this Corridor more in the hands of two capable acquaintances than with two entitled lords who do not know their asses from that of a hog.”
As I smiled up at Haward, his freckled face grew red. He ran one hand through his dull-blond, too-thin hair with a scowl. “You will regret this.”
“I can assure you—I will not.”
I’d made the right choice. Asterie, my starlit friend, and Fenris, her Fire-wielding Source Match, would keep my Corridor safe. They would rebuild it to its former glory. I trusted them to handle all that, and these two blubbering idiots.
As I turned toward the door, I was yanked to an abrupt stop. Haward had reached out and grabbed both of my wrists, causing me to stumble forward with a gasp. I should have seen it coming. The pressure of his hands around my already-aching wrists made tears swell. I would not let them fall in front of these two.
“Haward,” Barden mumbled in warning and glanced toward the open dining hall door.
Right. Wymark men liked doors closed when they bullied others.
I glared into the eyes of a pitiful man who longed for nothing more than the silver crown of thorns and acorns adorning my head. He craved the adoration of my people. If he wore my crown, he would have no adoration. Under his rule, when the crops refused to grow and prices rose, he would sit up on my throne and demand to be fed from a silver fucking spoon.
Men like Haward Wymark were the reason our realm had fallen so far from the peaceful, prosperous place it once had been centuries ago.
My temper flared hotter as his hold grew tighter. My odds were slim of escaping his grip, and he towered over me by a foot, but I growled in protest anyway.
“Is it customary in Henosis to put hands on your Queen when she doesn’t want them there?” A rough, deep voice carried from the doorway where a tall, shadowy figure leaned.
Just what I needed—another man to insert his opinion.
King Krait Darvanda of Sahlmsara spoke every word as though it were an order—an impressively intimidating feat. The intrusion did not loosen Haward’s grip.
For the second time since Darvanda had ridden in with his flaming Warhorses, I was somewhat grateful to see the Sahlmsaran King. If he could help me avoid further interaction with my dreadful cousins, then I’d happily face the greater evil of him.
Darvanda may have saved my city, but it would be foolish to think he didn’t have his own agenda. I had my own agenda, too— keep my Corridor out of the hands of men like Haward and bring magic back into my lands to reintroduce balance.
For too long, the people of Henosis had been taught to fear Source-wielders under the Order. Those laws were crumbling faster than the rulers of the realm could amend them.
My thoughts would’ve sounded like treason to my Phynnic ancestors, who’d cast out magic from these lands over four centuries ago. As Henosis entered a new era, I saw no other way forward.
I was no stranger to compromise. Conditions.
“She is my cousin,” Haward snapped back as the brooding King entered, his gait stiff and domineering. Darvanda’s iron-gray eyes scanned Haward, sizing him up.
The King shrugged before he said, “Does that make her any less your Queen?” His face was all hard lines; his sculpted biceps were flexed and sported rough scars where his tunic had slid up. He was a man who had been spat out from the Great Wars ready for retribution.
The whites of Haward’s eyes showed and he more carefully said, “With all respect, this is a family matter.”
My wrists stung from the bite of Haward’s fingers.
Darvanda let a low, dark hum leave his throat. He grated out, “With no respect at all, she is under the ward of the Sahlms now. And I don’t let others break what is promised to me.” His voice seeped out like a smoky threat, in a timbre that hung heavy in my ears.
Never mind being grateful to see him. I wanted to kick King Darvan-dick in the groin.
As a Queen in my own right, I was promised to no one—blood oath to be his ally or not. I imagined my fist smashing against the King’s commanding countenance.
He may be the King of the Sahlms now, but he’d also been the King of Brennax—the kingdom that had orchestrated the destruction of Phynx. It would serve me well to remember that this alliance would be a tenuous one; the history of my ancestors was an ominous reminder of the ruin he could bring upon us.
Barden seemed jumpy, but Haward dared to meet the King’s glare and answered, “So we’ve heard.”
As Darvanda neared, putting Haward in his shadow, the darkness flickered around my cousin, looking like tendrils of nothingness that sought something to devour.
Haward dropped my wrists. His mind warred between his fear of the Shadow-wielding King and his anger with me, but his cowardice won out, and he said nothing more.
Good choice. Although, it would’ve been fun to watch those Shadows descend on him.
I’d encountered the Sahlmsaran King’s Source power only once, and being gripped by his Shadows had left me terrified of ever feeling them again. To be encased in a depthless pit, devoid of all light and being—Haward would crumble under that weight.
What terrified me more was my inability to slip into Darvanda’s mind like I could with others. Fighting the urge to shake my hands out, I shot Darvanda a scowl that said, “I could have handled them.” He met my gaze with a quirk of his dark brow.
The King looked well rested for our journey—that made one of us. He was neatly dressed in a well-cut red tunic that suited his light-brown complexion. Dark stubble accentuated a strong chin, and his dark hair glistened as though tamed with pomade.
At least he was appealing to look at, so long as I didn’t have to interact with the prick.
“Tall, dark, handsome and my savior, ” I crooned with enough sarcasm that I caught Barden’s lips quirk up at the sides.
King Darvanda only grunted a response before stepping away from us and finding a seat at the round birch table. He sat with his back to where we stood, as though we had interrupted his quiet morning.
Haward snarled at me, “Just remember, Sybilla, you have two years until that throne is mine. And you’re not exactly in your prime seasons.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m well aware of the laws pertaining to my future reign. Thank you.”
Darvanda didn’t stir from the table or show any interest in our conversation.
“Then where are your heirs, Sybilla?” Haward’s snide smile made my temper bubble.
“The law requires no heirs of me.”
Haward carried on, “It states that by age thirty, you need—”
“She’s right,” Barden cut in. “The law only requires her to marry.”
I shot a look at my younger cousin, my shoulders deflating at the slightest notion of camaraderie.
“We’ll see what the Central lords think five years from now when there’s still no heir to your line. That assumes any poor sap will even want a ruined woman,” Haward said as he pointed a finger at me.
I wanted to cut it off and feed it to him.
“Maybe you should have tried harder to make one of those failed betrothals stick. What was it, two?”
I glared at him. “Three, actually. And I’ll have a husband and a dozen tiny Sybillas running around before you know it if only to keep you off my throne. Mark my words.”
I’d just need to find a King consort that wanted little to do with the crown on my head and had little ambition toward ruling my Corridor. That shouldn’t be so hard.
Haward leaned in and gruffly whispered, “The lords once voted to take your mother’s head. It’ll be no different when it’s your turn. Come, Barden.” He stormed out of the room.
Barden paused momentarily, looking at his pocket watch again. Before he walked away, he caught my eye and winced, as though maybe some remorse still lived within him.
Standing tall, and fighting the impulse to sigh or slacken in relief, I watched Barden follow after his brother.
“ Do you always let that nonentity speak to you that way?” A low grumble from the table reached me.
I jumped, having forgotten that the King of the Sahlms was in the room. Darvanda’s back was to me still, and he sat completely stiff.
“It’s easier to have him believe he’s won. It keeps him out of my hair for a while,” I answered, unable to mask the annoyance in my tone.
I rounded the table and sat across from him, keeping a skeptical eye on his hands as he drummed his fingers against the table. Glancing up, I found him tracking me with those eerie dark-gray irises.
He grumbled, “What laws did he speak of?”
“Nothing that pertains to you,” I snapped. “When do we leave?”
“Soon. And don’t change the subject. I am owed an explanation if my ally is soon to be legally unable to offer any aid. Is your crown secured?”
“Our laws require any female ruler of mortal birth to marry before her thirtieth birthday. I assure you, I have it handled.”
His eyes narrowed, and he said with subtle sarcasm, “Sounds like it.”
“Why are you even here?” I huffed. “What is in this for you?”
He scowled. “It seemed like a good political move to have at least one connection in this realm. The Sahlms have grown crowded, and some wish to return to the lands they once were free to live in.”
I couldn’t tell if that was a dig at my ancestors’ decision to cast out magic but chose not to rise to the bait if so.
With my hands on the armrests of the dining chair, I said, “I will ensure they shall be free to return — that is why I wanted to speak to you before we leave.”
“What is your little plan then?” He sounded as though he doubted me capable of any plan.
I straightened in my seat, fighting the desire to slump against it.
Deep breaths.
“The rulers of Henosis have agreed to hold monthly trials. It would allow Source-wielders reentry to Henosis on a case-by-case basis. Those who wish to return will need to appear before the council with proof of their identity. Mortals and immortals without Source power will follow the same process for record keeping.”
“ All of your rulers agreed to such a plan?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” While Emmerick hadn’t attended the meeting last night, I knew he would support this plan.
“The North King,” he guessed.
I trained my face to not react but nodded. “King Mattock has not yet agreed. But only because he needs time to rest after the attack on Luz. He will accept his crown and my support.”
“If open borders are not what is proposed, then to make this alliance worth my while, Queen Wymark, I’ll need more from you than ‘ Mattock will come around. ’ The North Corridor borders my lands, and we need the cooperation of our neighbor’s ruler.”
“What exactly do you suggest I do?”
It was now evident that this insufferable man saw right through the professional ties between me and my former Constable. He’d made snide remarks in the bailey during the battle. “A Queen warming her bed with those on her payroll. Leash your dog. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.”
“Get your affairs in order,” he said coldly. “Keep him close. Marry him if you must. Two birds with one stone, as they say.” Then he stood and walked out of the room without so much as a farewell.
Fucking prick.