Chapter Forty-Nine
There is a god called Cronus. The creator of time. No one knows where he comes from or what there was before he created time. He has his own realm, and no one can enter it. But they say he has no form, no shape, no face.
Which makes me wonder if he has a soul.
Perhaps none of us do.
Tabitha Wysteria
Adriana had been alerted by the few servants that still lingered within the wyverian castle that a group of travellers waited beyond its gates.
King Ozul had departed at first light to inspect the vast army encamped just beyond the castle’s rugged terrain.
They would march soon; waiting for Mal, or Kai, or Kage to return had become both futile and dangerously time-consuming.
From the stone steps of the entrance, Adriana observed the approaching company of Fae. At their head walked princess Rio Hawthorne, composed despite the weariness etched into the air around her. There was urgency in the way the group moved, a quiet desperation barely held in check.
Adriana descended slowly, studying the princess with measured caution, uncertain of what storm had driven her here.
‘My land is under attack,’ Rio said without preamble, the words serving as both greeting and warning. ‘I have come seeking help.’
Adriana inclined her head, grave understanding settling across her features.
‘King Ozul is away this morning, seeing to his army. He will return shortly.’ She stepped aside, gesturing towards the shadowed halls beyond.
‘Come. Let us speak inside. The castle stands rather empty at present,’ Adriana explained, her dark gaze sweeping over the number of Fae gathered behind the princess.
It was no modest escort. ‘There will be ample space for you all.’
‘We are grateful,’ Rio replied, the fatigue in her voice threaded with quiet resolve. ‘The road has been long.’ She inclined her head towards a blue-haired man at her side, and without further instruction he began ushering their company through the gates and into the vast stone halls.
‘Before we follow,’ Rio added, her hand lifting ever so slightly to halt Adriana, ‘there is something we have brought. We do not know precisely how it occurred, but we believe witches were involved.’
Another Fae—a woman whose blue hair mirrored the man’s so closely they might have been reflections of one another—hurried to one of the carriers at the rear. With careful hands she removed the canopy of woven leaves.
Adriana approached.
And stilled.
Kage Blackburn lay within as though surrendered to gentle sleep. His features were untroubled, smoothed of the sorrow that had so often shadowed them in life. There was a strange serenity about him, a peace he had never quite possessed in life.
‘We must carry him inside,’ Adriana said softly, her voice composed though something within her had tightened. She waited for Rio’s subtle nod before the Fae lifted the carrier once more.
Adriana’s stare did not waver as they bore him across the threshold. Her thoughts spiralled in silence, dark and heavy, already turning towards the burden of what must be said and to whom.
‘In here,’ she instructed, guiding them into the cavernous main hall where blue wyverian light filtered through high arches.
When they set the carrier down upon the stone floor, Adriana remained standing above it, her eyes fixed upon Kage’s still form, as though waiting for his chest to rise.
Everyone withdrew, leaving only Rio Hawthorne and the girl who lingered a step behind her, a silent, watchful, shadow stitched to the princess’s heels.
Adriana forced herself from the grip of shock and turned towards the Fae. ‘You must be exhausted. Please, sit. I shall have the servants bring you something to eat.’ She hesitated, grimacing faintly. ‘Fresh food. I will send them to the nearest village at once.’
At her gesture, Rio moved towards the vast stone table and seated herself with unerring precision. It was difficult not to stare. Blind though she was, she crossed the chamber with a grace that seemed almost preternatural, as though she read the air itself and followed currents unseen.
‘One learns to turn a weakness into strength,’ Rio said lightly, a knowing smile curving her lips. She had clearly plucked the thought straight from Adriana’s mind. How, Adriana could not begin to fathom. ‘This is Elowen, one of my attendants. And the man about to enter is Rowan.’
‘My idiot brother,’ Elowen added dryly.
The great doors had been left ajar, and within moments the blue-haired Fae from earlier stepped inside.
They were all so young, the three of them.
If Adriana’s memory served her correctly, Rio Hawthorne was the fourth daughter of King Florian—no more than nineteen summers—and yet she bore herself with the quiet authority of one already crowned.
The twins, for they were surely twins, seemed of similar age.
The hearth along the far wall crackled, blue flames licking upwards and throwing restless shadows across the dark stone. The light flickered over antlers and pale faces alike. Adriana felt a chill trace its way down her spine despite the fire’s warmth.
It was not long before a servant came scurrying in, breathless and wide-eyed.
Adriana issued her instructions at once; they were to ride hard to the nearest village and return with fresh provisions.
Many of the castle’s staff had fled after Mal and Ash’s warnings, fearing what might come.
Yet a few had remained behind to tend to the castle and to Adriana, Keir, and Cronan.
Now that King Ozul had returned, Adriana was certain the rest would trickle back, drawn by the promise of protection and command.
‘The king will wish to know what happened to his son,’ Adriana said quietly.
A pitcher of dark wine had been left upon the table; she poured each of them a glass, the liquid glinting like garnet in the blue firelight.
‘I am certain he will,’ Rio replied, accepting the glass with careful fingers. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot give him the answers he will seek. We were attacked by witches. We found his body afterwards.’
There was no tremor in her voice. Only fact. Only truth.
‘Why come all this way?’ Adriana asked, studying her closely.
‘I do not trust messages,’ Rio answered. ‘I was already travelling when the city of Floridia fell. My sister is in Velunthar with my mother. I thought it wiser to divide us rather than keep all our heads beneath the same roof.’ She paused. ‘Just in case.’
The unspoken words lingered in the air like smoke.
‘Quite wise,’ Adriana said, lifting her glass though she did not drink.
Adriana excused herself swiftly, the weight in her chest too heavy to bear in stillness.
She went in search of Cronan so he might summon the king.
Once she had seen him depart, vast and silent as ever, she returned to the hall where the three Fae remained seated.
The rest of their party had been shown to chambers to rest, their journey written in the dust of their clothes and the fatigue in their limbs.
‘Did you know him well?’ Rio asked quietly as Adriana paused once more beside the carrier.
Adriana nodded, then remembered Rio could not see the gesture. ‘Yes,’ she said instead. ‘I watched him grow. I watched them all grow. And now two of them are dead.’
The words felt like splinters in her throat.
She would not cry.
But it was becoming harder and harder not to sink to her knees and let grief tear her open.
Then came the sound.
A cry, so raw and so broken, that it was almost inhuman.
Adriana stiffened. King Ozul.
She shot the Fae a tight look before turning sharply towards the doors, but before she could reach them, two hounds wrought from shadow burst into the hall, their forms shifting and snarling like living smoke.
Seconds later, King Ozul followed.
He filled the doorway—broad-shouldered, towering, crowned with magnificent horns befitting his right. Even in age he was formidable, his features still handsome, his frame strong and unyielding.
A king.
But not now.
Now he was only a father.
He did not acknowledge a single soul in the chamber. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat and dropped to his knees beside Kage’s body. With trembling hands he lifted his son, cradling him against his chest as though he were still a child.
His cries shattered the hall.
They struck the stone walls and came back again, echoing like something ancient and wounded beyond repair.
Adriana did not move. She stood where she was, watching the great king bowed upon the floor, howling at the heavens as tears carved tracks down his face for yet another lost child.
No one dared speak.
No one dared breathe.
The shadow-hounds circled him, whining low and confused, their forms flickering as though grief itself unsettled them.
And in that suffocating silence, Adriana allowed herself one small, private moment to mourn.
Not only for Kage Blackburn.
But for all they had already lost.
And for all they were certain to lose.
…
That very night, the castle emptied.
Torches were lit, their flames bending in the restless wind as the procession wound its way towards the temple.
Wyverians from the nearby villages had gathered along the path, silent and solemn, to bid farewell to their fallen prince.
Soldiers—those of highest rank—stood close to their king, armour gleaming dully beneath the grey sky, bearing witness to his grief as though it were a sacred rite.
Kage Blackburn had been laid upon a slab of polished black stone, which rested behind the temple, used for wyverian royals as a deathbed on which to rest before their bodies returned to dust and ash.
They had first taken Kage from the king’s arms to wash his body in the sacred pools hidden beneath the temple, water said to cleanse both flesh and soul.
Now he lay upon the stone as though merely resting, dressed in his finest black royal attire.
A dark crown had been set carefully upon his head.
He truly did look every inch a prince.