Epilogue
Andras
Musty air clogged Andras’s lungs, dust drifting off ancient stone walls. It puffed with each hurried step down the winding stairwell, that damned woman whimpering all the while.
“Quiet, or they’ll find us,” he snarled, earning a wince from Zadriel.
Andras narrowed his eyes, glaring at the Fae until he swallowed and looked away. The pregnant woman—he’d already forgotten her name—going into labor before they’d escaped the castle was an unexpected inconvenience. He couldn’t allow it to topple his plans.
“How much farther?” he asked quietly, knowing Zadriel heard him.
The Fae huffed a breath through his nose, his hand on the Halfling’s elbow. “We’re nearly there.”
“Praise the Go—ah!” The woman clutched her belly, a pained moan echoing through the hidden stairwell, something splattering on the floor.
Fluid, Andras realized a moment too late, dribbles spilling down his shoes and staining the hem of his trousers.
His upper lip curled, focus sliding to Zadriel. A demand in his eyes.
It was hard to see the Fae’s expression in the low light—his black hood obscured his face in shadows—but the sigh he made at Andras’s silent request was unmissable.
The Halfling’s breathing turned erratic. “The baby’s coming!” she cried, her shrill voice rattling the cobwebs and careening back up the stairs.
It was foolish coming here with Zadriel instead of sending someone more expendable, but Andras preferred to be present when the stakes were this high.
Threading his fingers, he played with his ring—an ancient trinket symbolizing a family legacy he intended to secure—and focused on the screaming Halfling.
If the King’s Guards overheard, they’d be damned.
What a pity.
Thin ivory wisps flecked with gold pulsed along the Halfling’s ashen skin, in tune with her heart—she was an Aegist. Indentured to the King’s Guard until things took a lucrative turn.
A shame she couldn’t make a shield that blocked her ear-splitting cries, for her sake and the sake of Andras’s sanity.
“Lay her down while I think.” He didn’t bother looking up at the Fae, knowing he’d obey. He always did.
A loyal dog.
Andras heard Brennan had tied him up like one for decades, breaking him down until he would never think to displease the Dother family line. A story passed through generations—they hadn’t needed to be so stern with him in recent memory.
Zadriel helped lower the pregnant woman onto the cold, dirty steps—it wasn’t ideal, but they had to make do. “A-am I to have the baby here?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. Hazel eyes darting between her two saviors. “What if he finds us?”
Gold glittered in Zadriel’s dark stare, a question in their depths, but Andras ignored it. He straightened his navy tunic, detesting the rough material—travel clothes were so distasteful—and considered his options.
Leaving without the infant wasn’t one of them.
“What are we going to—” The Halfling threw her head back, a sharp moan on her lips, red blooming on her pale, clammy cheeks.
She was too loud.
Damn her.
Blood trickled down her legs, deep red blooming on her light blue dress while droplets joined the puddle on the floor, crimson tendrils spreading like roots.
An idea formed in Andras’s mind while he watched. “Zadriel, cover her mouth.”
The Fae stiffened, his breath stilling for a heartbeat, but he lowered himself onto his knees and did as he was told, pressing his palm to her lips. She clutched his wrist, her muffled wails growing panicked, but at least they no longer rattled in Andras’s ears.
A cough brewed in his lungs, but he held it back, clenching his jaw until the feeling subsided.
Wondering if the guards were searching for them now.
Soon they’d be back in the fresh spring air, away from these frigid, dust-coated stairwells.
No warmth resided in Castle Berwick’s hidden passages—judging by the cobwebs, few people bothered to visit them as well.
Cillian, however, had journaled about them at length.
Another lesson from the grave Andras put to good use.
Crouching by the Aegist’s side, Andras considered her while he splayed his fingers over the cracked leather journal he kept tethered to his belt. Soon, a flask would join it, hanging on the opposite side. Where it was always meant to be.
It would take time, but he was patient, and he knew better than Cillian—depending solely on Mora was a mistake. Plans needed counterplans, and this was his perfect alternative. Another path to the throne.
Dragging his hand higher, he traced the golden hilt of his dagger, fingers trailing over the filigree. The daisies carved into the handle were a symbol of power he’d coveted since he was a child, obsessively studying Cillian’s faded notes.
“I made you a promise when your letters found me,” Andras said, gentling his expression when the woman looked up at him.
Her breath came in quick pants, the whites of her eyes so wide they nearly swallowed her hazel irises.
“I’ll make sure your child is safe. But I can’t do that if the King’s Guards hear you. ”
She nodded, but another wave of pain slammed through her body and she tensed, squeezing her eyes shut and attempting to swallow her shriek.
An impossible task. Even with Zadriel’s palm pressed against her mouth, the sharp sting of her agony cut through the air—the guards had no knowledge of the hidden passage, but they would surely find it with her wails as a guide.
Andras shushed her while he gently brushed damp strands of hair away from her forehead. “It can’t be helped,” he murmured, drawing his blade from its sheath. “I’ll make sure none of this was in vain.”
Her chest rose and fell swiftly, brows furrowing. Andras didn’t give it a second thought—she had no time to react when he raised his arm and swiftly plunged the dagger into her throat.
It nicked Zadriel’s wrist on the way down, the scent of burnt flesh blending with the must, assaulting Andras’s nostrils. He grimaced, deciding he couldn’t spend one more moment filling his lungs with such taint.
The Fae hissed, but his hand stayed where Andras bade it. Good. He could tell by Zadriel’s posture, those broad shoulders slumping, a slight dip to his head, he was unhappy with this turn of events. His feelings on the matter—on any matter—held no significance.
When Andras pulled the blade free, blood spilled down the Aegist’s throat, driven by the final erratic beats of her heart. She stared up at him, glassy eyes wide, but she wouldn’t last long. Andras had seen it before—a severed artery meant a quick death. She should thank him for his mercy.
Zadriel should thank him too, for saving them both from those ear-splitting screams—they’d likely be out of Moldenna before the ringing in their ears ceased. When Andras settled and made an heir, he wouldn’t be present for the birth. He had no interest in such dramatics.
Tossing the blade into Zadriel’s lap, Andras rose. “Cut out the babe and be done with it. I’ll meet you outside.”
He didn’t turn to watch—Zadriel would listen. He always did.
Blood and dust smeared on his black trousers as he wiped his hands. A pity, but inevitable—perhaps he’d find a use for Aegist blood later and be glad he’d kept a trace. Regardless, she’d given him a gift. It was enough, even if the cost had been a lungful of stale air and soiled breeches.
It wasn’t every day one stole an heir to the throne.
“I was beginning to wonder if they’d taken you to the dungeon,” Andras called from his spot in the thicket by the castle’s west end.
He’d found an oak to rest against while he waited, the thick trunk a reminder of the tree Zadriel preferred in Eden.
Green buds peppered its branches, life awakening as spring took hold.
He took a long swig of water, savoring the cool liquid while Zadriel neared. There was a longing in those dark eyes, his focus fixed on the waterskin. Andras smirked and took another sip before capping the bottle and shoving it back into his leather pouch.
A tiny infant kicked its legs in Zadriel’s arms, their piercing cry loud enough it put their mother to shame.
Andras pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s testing my patience.”
“She,” Zadriel corrected, holding her closer to his chest. “At least, in appearance. She may grow to say otherwise.” He’d wrapped her up in the lower parts of his cloak, the garment pulled up from his legs to drape around his arms. Hood still carefully in place, hiding those pointed ears.
Blood gleamed on the garment, bits of gore smeared on Zadriel’s hands, though, he wasn’t as filthy as Andras had imagined—the Fae must have done his best to clean up before he came outside.
Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Andras sighed. “I don’t care for her gender, it’s the wailing that’s threatening to drive me to madness. Not to mention how easily they’ll find us if we can’t quiet her; even if she’s illegitimate, the guards will search for the king’s daughter.”
“You killed her mother,” Zadriel said, a dip to his rumbling voice. The threat of a growl in his tone. The Fae took a long breath before adding, “She needs to eat.”
“We’ll find a nursemaid in the city. Perhaps a Halfling who’d be grateful to come with us.”
“Perhaps.” Zadriel adjusted his hold, rocking the child while he pushed her blonde curls away from her face. They surrounded her head like a halo, thick ringlets stained with blood and gods knew what else falling over her forehead. “She looks like a little cherub.”
“That she does.”
The little one quieted, her tiny hands clinging to Zadriel’s bloodstained finger. Drool spilling down her chin when she cooed at him. Hopefully a sign of things to come—Andras had no interest in traveling across the island with a wailing infant if he could help it.
Pushing away from the oak, he made his way through the thicket to where they’d hidden their horses, the Fae at his heels.
It was quiet for a moment, aside from the occasional snap of a branch under his boot or the melodious call of the robins among the trees.
A cool breeze washed over Andras’s tanned face—he relished each breath, the must clearing from his lungs.
“What will you name her?” Zadriel asked, his rough voice cutting through the quiet.
Andras had half a mind to tell him not to concern himself with such things—Zadriel was there to follow orders, not ask questions.
But... it was a valid question. If Andras used her in his pursuit of the Crown, she needed a worthy name.
One that allowed her to blend in until the moment Andras required her to stand out.
“She needs a name fit for a queen,” Andras finally said, rounding the last stretch of trees standing between him and Lyriah. She nickered at the sight of him. “Hi, sweet girl.” He smiled and ran his hand along her neck. “Did you miss me?”
His horse nosed his pouch, knowing he kept treats inside, and he’d never deny her. Andras chuckled and pulled a handful of raw oats free, the mare’s lips tickling his palm as she devoured his offering.
Zadriel waited at his back, rocking the baby in his arms and shushing her when she fussed.
“What would you name a potential future queen?” Andras asked, curious what names a centuries-old Fae might know.
Zadriel thought for a moment. “Aedlin?”
“Truly?” Andras shook his head. “While the Althenis line is mostly forgotten, that may stir memories in some.” Mora most especially, once they’d found her.
The suggestion did give him an idea, however.
Andras considered it while he ran his hand along Lyriah’s shoulder, ignoring the way she nudged his pouch again, begging for a second serving.
A name that could sound plain in one breath and royal in another. One that would suit a stable hand as perfectly as it suited a queen.
Turning away from his horse, Andras strode toward Zadriel, his fingers threaded behind his back.
He stopped in front of the Fae, leaning closer to stare down at the child’s red face.
Tears glistened in her eyes, streaks of blood staining her skin, the babe delicately wrapped in glimpses of gold-glinted ivory that pulsed with every beat of her little heart.
Whether it was enough to grant her power, time would tell. All Andras knew for now was her name.
“Hello, Alina.”