Chapter 8
Daed
Before her. The rain and lightning welcome me back to Baev’kalath as the ocean hurls itself relentlessly against the ship’s hull.
The moment we dock, I launch myself off the deck, soaring through the storm-laden air toward the fortress.
My boots strike the stone hard just as a crack of thunder tears through the sky, the force reverberating in my chest.
The Blades lining the walls bow their heads, their faces hidden beneath dripping hoods, as I march past. My focus is fixed on the throne room doors, looming ahead like the maw of some great beast.
When I throw them open, the grand hall is bathed in flashes of blue and violet from the lightning illuminating the stained glass window behind the thrones.
King Kaelus and Queen Lanneth sit side by side on their cold, carved thrones.
The king’s gaze is, as always, fixated on his queen, as though her very presence bends his will.
Even the echo of my boots on the stone doesn’t stir him. It isn’t until I reach the foot of the dais, soaked and breathless, that his bright gray eyes flicker toward me.
“Father,” I say, urgency sharpening my voice, as I push my rain-soaked hair from my eyes.
My father is ageless. He carries the kind of stillness that only comes after watching centuries crawl by.
There’s a distinction to him, etched deep.
Every feature of his is sharp, noble. Not rough like stone, but fine marble, all smooth edges and elegance that only seems to grow harder with time.
And just like marble, there’s no warmth to him.
Only cold. Heavy and perfect beneath flawless skin.
I see pieces of myself in him. The way our ebony hair curls at the ends when it’s wet. The exact line of our ears, pointed, proud, Fae-blooded. But that’s where the likeness ends.
I’m not as splendid as he is. Not as clean-cut or untouchable. My edges are rougher. My shine dulled by ghosts I can’t shake.
Whatever fineness I had, if I ever had it, has been chipped away by grief, by rage, by everything I’ve had to survive.
And neither of us has warmth.
Only she ever had warmth.
My mother. Queen Veloria.
Her portraits are all I have to remember her now, but they too are starting to fade.
This place can’t stand anything pure. It sniffs it out like a sick dog and drags it into the dark.
Even memories rot here. Even love fades.
Sometimes I see her. My mother.
In that thin moment between sleep and waking, when I float just outside myself.
Numb, weightless, and my demon’s claws haven’t quite sunk in.
She’s beautiful. Even in childbirth, body shaking with pain, she glows with a light the world doesn’t deserve.
She’s screaming, and under her cries, I hear mine, sharp and new.
A Fae prince born into a world that will break him.
But I hear something else too.
Another cry. Almost the same as mine.
A second baby born into the same twisted legacy.
For a heartbeat, we’re together.
Tiny hands touching before we’re pulled apart.
Then it’s gone.
Pain sears through my head, sharp enough to blind me. My skull feels like it’s caving in. The dream rips away, torn to pieces until there’s nothing left. It always ends like this. When I remember her.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and hiss through my teeth.
Where the fuck did this headache come from? What was I…
Queen Lanneth shifts in her seat. “Daedalus. Are you alright?”
I manage a glance through half-lidded eyes as the pain recedes. “I’m fine,” I say.
The words are barely out before the ache is gone, like it was never there at all.
King Kaelus drags his gaze away from his queen and studies me for a moment before finally speaking. “Welcome home, son. What news do you bring from Valorne?”
Queen Lanneth’s icy gaze slides over me, piercing and clinical.
A pearl choker encircles her neck, and her ivory satin gown clings to her pale skin, damp in the humid storm air.
She is his shadow, always at his side, granting him no respite from her presence, and I fear she taints even his thoughts.
I keep my gaze fixed on my father, the response I’ve practiced resting at the edge of my tongue, but the words refuse to come.
I rarely feel the cold, yet tonight the water soaking through my leathers seeps deep into my bones.
Somehow, I know it isn’t the chill of the night that freezes me.
It’s the weight of what’s coming, because I’m about to lie to my father.
“Well?” Kaelus repeats, his gaze narrowed and curious, with a deep crease through his brow. “Speak. Is it as the Maledannan feared? Did you find an Awakened?”
I clear my throat, shoving my hesitation into some dark corner of my mind. “No,” I reply, my voice even. “She is nothing.”
“She?” the queen interjects, her voice a dagger, her gaze boring into me.
“Yes,” I answer, glancing at her briefly before returning my focus to my father. “A young girl of the forest.”
“And you’re sure?” Kaelus presses, his voice heavy with expectation. “There can be no doubt about this, Daedalus. These things must be dealt with swiftly.”
Deception is no stranger to me. I have worn lies like a second skin, wielded them as tools to serve my purpose time and time again.
But never have I borne a falsehood so heavy, one that carries the weight of my people’s fate.
And yet, despite the risk, despite the shadow of treason that now looms over me, I cannot force the truth past my lips.
Not when I know it would condemn her to death.
“I am certain,” I lie, the finality of the words feeling like a noose around my neck.
My father leans back in his chair, a slow smile curling at the corners of his lips. In that moment, I feel it. His unwavering belief in my words. The sting of my deception cuts deep, carving its way down to the bone.
“Very well,” he says. “This spares us bloodshed. An execution would only stoke the flames of their defiance, and these humans already test the boundaries of their leash. If they do not quiet themselves, the House Lords may be forced to pull them back into line.”
The queen sighs theatrically, her voice dripping disdain. “A few burned fields or poisoned wells should be sufficient to curb their insolence. We have been far too lenient with the humans for far too long. I’ve said this for years.”
My father turns to her, taking her skeletal hand in his, a gesture that sets my teeth on edge. “I know, my love. I should always heed your wise counsel,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her pale lips curve into a satisfied smile, and the sight makes my gut twist.
“Now, onto other matters,” my father says, his voice cooling like steel left to temper. His gaze returns to me. “Did you meet Eryndor’s children during your visit?”
I nod once.
He lifts his chin, his stern expression set. “Two heirs,” he says. “A legacy secured. A future for his line. And yet House Mordorin stands on a precipice, threatened not by war, but by your continued inaction. You need an heir, Daedalus. It is past time you took a wife.”
At the king’s words, the queen’s glacial eyes flash with interest, her posture shifting forward like a predator scenting prey.
I force myself to look past her. “I have told you. When the time is right.”
“The time has been right for centuries,” my father growls.
“These humans are a nuisance, but the Lords are a threat. They breed heirs while the King’s line remains vulnerable.
It’s not only embarrassing, it’s dangerous.
You know how they covet the throne, Daedalus.
Without an heir, our position grows weaker by the day. ”
“They would have to kill us both for that to happen,” I snap, my voice laced with mockery, “and I welcome any who think they have the courage. I’ve swatted flies more menacing than these cowardly lords.”
My father exhales, long and heavy, his breath thick with the weight of his endless frustration over my refusal to wed. “House Merrin of Mor’Thravar has bred strong warriors, especially for a thrall house. Modok’s sister, Nyraxes, has her... charms.”
I arch a brow, searching his face for any trace of humor. “She is insane.”
He smirks. “I thought you might enjoy the challenge.”
I don’t dignify that with a response, but I don’t have to. The queen is even more repulsed by the idea than I am.
“They may produce capable warriors, but the Merrins themselves are vile,” she spits, as if merely speaking their name taints her tongue. “And have you forgotten, Kaelus, the trouble their youngest sibling has caused?”
My head snaps toward her, the sharpness of my gaze enough to wound. But she does not relent.
“It is fortunate this human was not Awakened,” she continues. “Has there ever been a time in history when two have existed? Though I would welcome a Fae witch over a human one.” She shudders. “Abomination.”
“Zema is not a witch,” I say, my tone cutting. “And she has nothing to do with this. Leave her be.”
My father and the queen exchange knowing glances. The unspoken weight of their meaning settles in my chest like a stone.
“You cannot still be sentimental, Daedalus,” my father muses, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Regardless of the friendship you once shared, Zema is Awakened. That seals her fate.”
I glare. “You give my heart too much credit. The fate of Zema Merrin does not trouble my sleep.” My teeth grind behind my scowl. “If that is all, I can think of an infinite number of places I would rather be.”
My father opens his mouth, likely to rebuke my insolence, but before he can speak, the air in the throne room shifts.
Darkness slithers from the corners, stretching and coiling like the creeping fingers of dusk swallowing the last light of day. With it comes a cold so sharp and biting it turns my breath to mist, yet the air is too still, the tendrils of white fog barely curl before hanging motionless.
Then, the world holds its breath.