Chapter 16 Landon
The Palace of Bones rises from the remains of an ancient beast. Its white towers curve toward the pale morning sky, while bridges fashioned from enormous ribs connect one spire to another.
The outer walls are carved with the skulls of creatures hunted by generations of fae kings.
Wyverns, giants, sea serpents, and beasts whose names have been forgotten stare down at those who pass beneath them.
Dorcha lands upon the highest terrace. She growls as I dismount, her dark wings lifting uneasily behind her. Even she can sense that something is wrong. The palace has always been cold, but at dawn the chill creeps beneath my armor and settles against my bones.
Be careful, she whispers.
I rest my hand against the side of her face and nod. “Stay close.”
No music drifts from the banquet halls. No courtiers linger beneath the archways. Only the pale witchlights remain, flickering inside cages made from finger bones. The silence follows me as I walk through corridors lined with the remains of conquered kings.
I’ve flown through the night on Dorcha, my heart heavy with questions that have no answers. The summons burns in my pocket and the king’s seal is still warm against my chest.
I should be dead. The king tried to kill me once already. Yet here I am, answering his call like a loyal dog.
The palace guards let me pass without question. They know what I am, Herald of the Wild Hunt. I was the king’s right hand, the warrior who burned cities in his name. They also know the king ordered my death with my entire legion.
The throne room doors open soundlessly and I step inside.
King Eirik sits upon his throne of twisted silver and ancient oak. My breath catches in my throat.
He’s changed.
This is not the same king who saved me from the pyre, who took a red-haired devil-child and gave him purpose.
There’s a hollowness to his beauty despite the glamor. Those eyes that once held warmth when they looked at me are distant.
“My Herald, you’ve returned to us,” he says. His voice is his own, but there is something else beneath it, something hollow and unfamiliar.
“My king.” I bow, keeping my eyes on him. I watch for any sign of the king I once knew. “You summoned me.”
Before Eirik can answer, a figure glides from the shadows beside his throne.
I’ve always hated her, from the moment she slithered into court years ago with her honeyed words and poisoned smiles. A human enchantress from the outer borders. The king became obsessed with her within weeks.
Morgaine was annoying in court but this is different. She reeks of malice now. Every instinct I’ve honed over centuries of battle screams at me to get away.
The witch wears a gown of deep crimson and her eyes are completely black. Shadows around her reach and writhe. They stretch toward me like grasping fingers.
“Landon,” she purrs my name and I feel it like insects crawling on my skin. “The loyal Herald.”
I don’t respond.
A shadow behind her splits in two, then reforms. I realize with dawning horror that the darkness in this room isn’t natural.
It’s hers.
The shadows are a part of her.
But the king doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring at nothing. I wonder how long he’s been like this. How long has she been poisoning him into this hollow shell?
“Your Majesty,” I say carefully, keeping my voice steady. “I came because you summoned me. I came to understand why you ordered my death.”
“Death?” Eirik blinks slowly like he’s waking from a dream. “I ordered your death?”
“You did.” My jaw clenches. “You sent us to slaughter at Aelfheim’s western borders. You abandoned an entire legion.”
The king stares at me. For a heartbeat, confusion flickers across his face, followed by something that looks almost like grief. His grip tightens on the arms of his throne. He parts his lips to speak, but the shadows behind him curl over his shoulders first. The emotion vanishes from his face.
“Tell us, Herald,” Morgaine says softly. “How does it feel to be mated to our enemy?”
I go still.
My hand drops to the hilt of my sword. “How do you know about that?”
“Oh yes,” she continues, gliding closer. “We know it. Didn’t we, my love?”
She places one hand upon the king’s shoulder. Eirik flinches beneath her touch.
I have watched the king face armies without blinking. I have seen him laugh while giants battered at the gates and stand alone before a wyvern driven mad by orkan mages.
Nothing frightened Eirik Bloodhound.
Yet now his breath catches, and fear flashes through his eyes before they empty once more. The distant look returns to his face.
“We’ve always known,” he echoes hollowly.
I take a step back.
No. Morgaine could charm a room with a smile. She could make the king adore her, flatter him, and turn his attention wherever she pleased. But she could never control him like this.
This is not Morgaine. Not anymore.
Something ancient is wearing the human witch’s skin.
“What have you done to him?” I demand, dropping all pretense of courtesy. “What are you?”
The thing wearing Morgaine’s skin laughs and I see palace guards moving into position, their eyes glazed. More puppets on invisible strings.
“I am the hunger beneath the first winter,” she says. “The mother of the hollow dark. The voice that whispered before your gods learned how to speak. I am the queen who was cast down, the prisoner who outlived her chains, and the rightful owner of everything your mate stole from me.”
Her black eyes fix upon mine. The shadows rise around her like a dark crown.
“And you, Herald of the Wild Hunt, you are in our way.”
The enchantress flicks her wrist. The shadows around her shoot across the throne room.
I draw my sword and cut through the first tendril before it can reach my throat. It bursts apart like smoke, only to reform behind me. I turn and slash again. A second shadow coils around a pillar, striking from my blind side. I duck beneath it and drive my blade toward the witch’s heart.
She retreats, surprise flickering across Morgaine’s stolen face.
I press the advantage. My sword slices through the sleeve of her gown and opens the skin beneath. Black blood beads along the wound. She hisses, the sound layered with voices that do not belong to any living creature.
“You bleed,” I say.
Her expression twists.
I attack again, forcing her backward toward the throne. She throws a wall of darkness between us, but I tear through it with a sweep of my blade. The shadows recoil from the runes engraved into the steel. For the first time since I entered the chamber, fear enters those bottomless eyes.
The king rises from his throne. He draws his sword, the Dragonslayer. I’ve seen him wield the blade with masterful grace a thousand times. I never thought it would be used against me one day.
His spring-green eyes clear for a heartbeat. For just a moment I see the real him, fighting against whatever has taken root in his mind.
The witch’s hand tightens on his shoulder. Dark veins spread beneath her fingers and disappear under the collar of his armor. Eirik’s face twists in pain. Then the light in his eyes fades, and the king is gone again, lost behind someone else’s will.
“Seize him,” the king commands in that hollow voice.
The sentinels come in a storm of silver and steel. My sword cuts through a guard’s armor. Instead of blood, shadow pours from the wound like smoke.
What in the gods’ names—
A blade slashes toward my ribs. I drive my elbow into my attacker’s face.
The impact should shatter bone, but he doesn’t even flinch.
His glazed eyes stare through me as he attacks again relentlessly.
These guards are coordinated with no hesitation or self-preservation.
They’re fighting like extensions of a single will.
“Is this what you wanted?” I snarl at the king, dodging a spear thrust that would have taken my eye. “Is this the kingdom you built? Your people turned into puppets?”
Eirik stands motionless beside his throne, sword still raised. The enchantress laughs as her shadow-tendrils slither across the floor. Where they touch the marble, the stone darkens.
“The king wanted power, we gave him power. The king wanted victory over the elves, we showed him the path,” the enchantress says, her black eyes gleaming with hunger. “Now the king wants you subdued, Herald. So we shall have you.”
Her shadow splits into a dozen unfurling tendrils. One whips around my ankle and yanks my leg out from beneath me. Pain stabs through my body as the darkness burrows through my boot. I slash downward, but my blade passes through the shadow without cutting it.
“Eirik would never bargain with something like you,” I say through gritted teeth. “What do you want with him?”
More tendrils surge forward, crawling across the floor and walls. One snaps toward my face while another coils around my waist. I tear free before it can tighten.
Shit. I can feel more guards gathering.
I leap backward, putting the throne between us, my mind racing.
Rhianelle was right. This was always a trap.
The witch tilts her head. “Oh, sweet Herald. We are helping each other. Eirik’s war is useful to me. War requires blood, and blood is the oldest form of sacrifice. Every soldier who dies in his name feeds the power I need. I can now reclaim what was stolen from me centuries ago.”
She raises her hand, and the shadows in the room deepen, swallowing the light from the enchanted chandeliers. The temperature drops so rapidly that my breath mists in the air.
“The little elfling took something from me,” she continues. “Something she had no right to touch. Through this convenient little mate bond between you, I will take it back.”
Rhianelle.
Cold understanding floods through me. This was never about me at all. Whatever this thing is, it wants my mate. I’ve led it right to her doorstep.
“You’ll never touch her,” I growl, raising my sword even as more guards close in. “I’ll die before I let you use me against her.”
“Oh, Landon,” the witch croons. “That’s exactly what we’re counting on.”