Chapter 19
CYRAN
I traced my fingertips over the plaque reading Genevieve Vestana while looking into the same green eyes which belonged to Elora’s father. The woman in the portrait was Elora’s great-grandmother, Soren’s mother, and I scoured her face for similarities. Though untouched by Aonara as Elora had been, the woman’s hair was only a few shades darker than hers. The dates on the plaque surprised me. Either she wasn’t a conduit, or her life had been cut short by the time she reached eighty years. She didn’t appear much older than Emmeline in the portrait, but I wasn’t sure when it had been painted.
Her face held none of the joy that Elora’s did, and frown lines grooved her brows and either side of her mouth. When Elora was feeling exceptionally aggravated, usually by me, her face tended to crease in the same ways. I wondered if it was so miserable for all who sat upon a throne. Would Elora look like this one day? In hundreds of years, if we were to rule, would we both look so miserable?
How disenchanting.
Though the corridor I explored was in a disused corner of Crown Cottage, there was not a single speck of dust. The Vestanas treated their history with dignity. The Umbroths did the opposite, attempting to erase the legacy of each one who came before him. Once, as a child made to haunt the halls of Darkhold, I found a single monogram belonging to Dryul’s father carved into a decorative piece of trim in the library. Declan had swatted me for pointing it out when I asked what the initials stood for.
The next day, the library had been demolished by my father’s shadows. But with the history of the Umbroths shameful reign of terror, could I be too horrified by what each generation had done? Though, I doubted my forbearers ever intended to learn from their mistakes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if each of my ancestors only sought to outshine the one before him in terms of depravity. The previous monarchs were banished to history in order to empower the current one.
My inheritance was no less loathsome just because it had been erased.
I heard voices from ahead, and I ducked into the shadowed entryway of one of the many guest rooms within the estate. Though I was, strictly-speaking, allowed to wander, I often felt as if I was a prisoner when I ran into anyone besides Reminy or Thyra.
Or Elora, I supposed.
But with Elora, I was a prisoner of a different sort. No matter what had happened or been said between us, with Elora I was stuck. Stuck pining, stuck repenting, stuck knowing I was a disastrous prospect for her. She’d asked for a fresh start, and I’d been glad to give it. But how could that ever work? How could I push aside my guilt?
Of course, it was her voice which pierced the stillness and made me wish to disappear. Why couldn’t it have been that nuisance of a child who belonged to the caretaker? He had called me ‘ugly shadow boy’ on multiple occasions, but I was certain that was only a testament to his poor eyesight. The feral creature wore spectacles, and must not have been able to properly see me. I might have been a ‘shadow boy’ but I had not, nor had ever been, considered unattractive in my life. I had so little to my name, I wouldn’t lose my beauty too.
“Why are there no portraits of your family? I’d love to see them,” Elora said, surprisingly pleasant despite her sour mood the last time I’d seen her.
“I was not brought to Astana because of my wealth, darling, but because of my divinity. Portraits were a luxury my family couldn’t afford, and by the time I could, there was no one left to sit for a painting,” Shivani replied.
I winced, knowing if Shivani caught me in the corridor, I’d likely be accused of plotting their deaths. There were not two people living at the estate that I less wanted to see than the two of them.
I wished with everything in me that I could take Elora’s offer of a second chance. It would be a gift to forget the mistakes I’d made and the harm I’d caused. But she didn’t deserve the burden of having someone like me in her life. Every single thing I touched turned to rot, and I couldn’t do that to the only good thing in my life. Now that my sister was dead, I had no one left but the girl I’d once killed. Emmeline healing her was the only second chance I needed. I wouldn’t risk her.
“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” Elora said, though her voice was far closer than a moment before.
I reached for the doorknob behind me, hoping the room was unlocked. Quietly, I slipped into the room. I breathed a sigh of relief when I closed it just as softly, and Shivani continued speaking—unbothered—on the other side.
“There is nothing to be sorry for, darling. I was not particularly close with them due to my siphoning.” Her voice dipped low as their footsteps passed in front of the door. “You will receive more fear than friendship, I’m afraid.”
“With Theo gone, I have none of that anyway.”
I frowned, wishing I could take away her pain over her friend. Though I didn’t particularly care for him, I had been saddened by his death. Losing Ismene was the worst blow of my life, and I was sure Elora felt something similar. But our grieving was very different. Elora held a loud, fiery rage toward Emmeline, wishing to lay the blame solely at her feet. While my sorrow was quiet and personal, my anger was directed toward myself alone.
I should have known better than to leave my sister with Declan. She had insisted, but I shouldn’t have listened to her. Ismene’s blood was on my hands, just as Elora’s was. But Ismene was gone forever.
Elora and Shivani lingered in the corridor, looking at the portraits from her other side of the family, and I backed into the room to make myself comfortable. I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long while. Though I had thought it was another guest room, when I turned around, I realized I’d found a storage room instead. Furniture was stacked around the room with white sheets covering each item to protect them from dust. In the back corner, near the window, a couple portraits leaned haphazardly against the wall. Uncovered, I wondered why they were there. With the meticulous care given to everything else in the room, why were the paintings not given the same attention?
Picking my way across the dusty carpet, weaving in between two towering stacks of dining chairs, I only bumped into one thing on my way to the window. The vase I disturbed wobbled, but I was able to use my shadows to catch and settle it. I’d grown more adept with them during my time here, and I wondered just how long it would be until I came into my full divinity. I hoped soon, so I could leave.
Because I didn’t want to claim my throne.
The moment I was capable of defending myself, the best choice was to flee. Folterra could be absorbed into Vesta, or Honor—the novice my brother had sired—could take the throne. Though Folterra passed the crown through the male line, if there were none to speak of, what could be done?
All of the babes born from Declan’s rampage of assaults were girls. I’d checked when I lived at the dormitory. Desperate to not have anything to do with the crown, I’d hoped for a single infant to pawn the responsibility off onto. Anyone would be better suited than me.
I was a king without a family and without the desire to rule. I was also certainly lacking sense. Why else would I have relied on the Vestanas to protect me? Why else would I accompany Elora, the only person I cared about? I ought to have kept her far away from me.
I traced my fingertip through the dust on the frame, wrinkling my nose when I saw just how much had accrued. The portrait was heavy, and when I turned it, I had no idea who the woman could be. She had auburn hair and a kind face. Bright green eyes and a soft jaw made her less fearsome than most of the other portraits in the halls. I’d only sat for one, and I was never interested in seeing the results because of how boring it was. I was certain my face looked rather sour.
Sliding the portrait aside, I came face to face with another woman, and I dropped to my knees to better look at her. For a moment, I thought it was Elora, or perhaps her deceased aunt. But it didn’t make any sense for either of the portraits to be shoved into a dusty, unused corner of a storage room. Only when I saw her eyes did anything make sense.
Larke.
King Soren’s first wife, younger sister to my father, looked back at me with the Umbroth hazel eyes. Stark white hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her lips were tilted in a half-smile. She appeared uncertain—or perhaps sad. She wasn’t plain, but she also wasn’t what I expected. Considering an endless war had been fought over her, I had expected a great beauty to rival that of the gods.
There were far more stunning women. I tried very hard not to think of one in particular.
My father had rarely spoken of my aunt, and Declan refused to answer any questions I’d had about the woman. Dead long before I was even thought of, this was the face which had caused every bit of distress between our kingdoms in the last five centuries. She resembled both me and Declan, I thought. Fine-boned and long-limbed, Larke seemed tall. Her hands rested atop the back of what I recognized as the throne which now belonged to Emmeline.
When she was sent to Vesta, had she been a lamb at the mercy of her father’s enemies? Had she felt just as out of place and ill-prepared as I did? Did anyone know the true Larke Umbroth?
Portrayed as an evil influence in Vesta and an innocent martyr in Folterra, I was certain the answer was somewhere in between, especially after everything I’d learned. Forced into a marriage she didn’t want, she’d had to leave behind her friendship with the Supreme and studies in Lamera. I snorted when I realized how similar we were. Her older sister was supposed to marry Soren, and my older brother was supposed to be king. But they both had to go and get themselves killed, didn’t they?
I didn’t let my thoughts linger on Declan. Every emotion I had about my brother felt complicated and wrong. Instead, I thought of the different path Larke had taken, though the ending was no less tragic for her than it would be for me.
Where I betrayed the only girl I’d ever loved, Larke made do and fell in love with two men. Or so it seemed. Tannyl, the elf-prince, and Soren, the king of Vesta, had clearly been extraordinarily important to her. So important, it seemed Soren might have doubted that he was the father of the babe she’d carried in her belly when she died.
Larke inherited responsibilities she was never intended to have before meeting her bitter end. Countless more died because of it. It was likely myself and many more would die as well if I took up my supposed duty. I didn’t care about my own life, but there was one I couldn’t stand the thought of losing.
Everything I touched withered. I was a weed that needed to be pruned before I took over the garden and destroyed it all. Though she was of Declan’s blood, and as a female technically unable to inherit the kingdom, Honor couldn’t have been worse than me. Suddenly, I realized my solution.
As king, I could do away with the nonsense of male primogeniture. It wasn’t as if it had given us a thriving and prosperous kingdom. I laughed, unburdened by my swiftly approaching future for the first time since my brother died. My first act as king would be to declare Honor Umbroth as my heir. And then, I would abdicate. Everyone else was better suited to sort out the rest, while I disappeared for good.
“I’m lowering the wards tonight, and I need you to come with me,” Elora murmured, leaning over me to point at the diagram of her ancestors I’d drawn. Louder, “You misspelled Vestana here. How, I don’t know. You’d think it would be impossible after writing it seven thousand times.”
“I did not,” I said, leaning forward only to get away from her sunshine citrus scent. She always smelled so gods forsaken fresh—like summer. It was the most pleasant form of torture. I was certain it lingered in her hair. Perhaps Aonara had blessed it; as long as it grew white, touched by her divinity, it would intoxicate those around her. Elora sat beside me, nudging my knee with hers.
She took what she had said to heart. Wanting things to start anew between us, our interactions changed profoundly. Gone was her awkward discomfort and her fleeting glances. Instead, I became victim to a barrage of her attention and kindness. How could one possibly convince themselves to stay away when her keen interest felt like the warm light of the sun?
Weeds were persistent in that way—given the slightest amount of sun and water they’d invade. I needed to pull myself out at the root.
“Reminy, I think I will take you up on your offer. I would like a romance novel most like The Discovered Dragon.” The man only looked at her with a raised brow. Across the table, Reminy sat behind a pile of books about the legend of Shika, trying to find out more about her husband’s identity. He appeared to be on the verge of telling Elora to get the book herself, but I wondered if he had the nerve to do so. It was unlike her to use her royal status to intimidate, and I couldn’t help watching the interaction with a barely hidden smile.
“Please? You have such a beautiful shop in Astana, with so many titles. I couldn’t possibly know better than you,” she exclaimed. I bit the inside of my cheek as she batted her eyelashes. Reminy’s cheeks pinked, and he pushed his spectacles up his nose. I shook my head in disbelief when the flattery worked, and he marked which page he’d stopped at before standing to do as she asked.
“He isn’t used to that kind of attention from someone with such beauty,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. Stammering, I tried to walk back my remarks. “You should see him with Thyra. You’d think she told him her deepest fantasies all involved him.”
I winced, not sure what I’d said had helped at all. My ears grew hot, and I swallowed. Elora shook her head, but I could tell my words rattled her when she let out a small sigh. Rolling her lips inward, she glared at me, but said nothing.
“I’m going to Brambleton tonight, and I don’t want to go alone,” she whispered. I was grateful she didn’t have a retort for me, but that relief was short-lived when I realized what she said.
“I am almost certain there is a history of very bad things happening here when the wards get taken down. Maybe I’m not remembering correctly, but I think it had something to do with the Beloved and my father? Your...who was it? Aunt Lucille? Lucinda? I believe she was murdered?—”
“Ass,” she grated out, but I watched her lips twist as she fought back a smile. Lips that I’d never felt with mine in person, but imagined to be quite plush and warm. Gods, how unfair it was that she was so pretty. It made my plan to disappear and forget about all of this that much harder.
If I were to be an exiled king, it seemed a requirement to long for my kingdom—not a girl, no matter how fixating she was.
“They say lightning can’t strike in the same place twice. Besides, we are the likely targets of such an assault, and we won’t be here. ” Elora leaned closer, conspiratorially, and I held my breath so as not to allow myself to be bewitched by her scent.
“And why Brambleton, then, min viltasma ?” Gods, I couldn’t help myself. She blushed, and I reveled in it.
“I want— no ,” she cut herself off, “ need to go to Theo’s house.”
I waited for her to elaborate. Her grief was so different from my own that I was afraid to say anything. It was as if she was a trap, simply waiting to be sprung. I refused to walk into it. My own sadness regarding my sister was like a dark cloud over me—it might storm or it might not, but there was no danger in it.
“I just want to make sure he’s...there.”
The trip through the tunnel had been long, dark, and solemn. With Theo’s body strapped over the back of Thyra’s mount, haunting our footsteps, Elora hadn’t spoken a word. The soldier had separated from us as soon as we reached Crown Cottage.
“Do you have any doubts that Thyra did as she was supposed to? I’m sure she wouldn’t lie.”
“I just need to go, Cy. Please don’t make me go alone.”
“All right,” I said, without further hesitation. My only goal was to keep Elora safe, and I had thought the way to do that was to stay away. But if she was so determined to traipse off alone, perhaps I needed to stay by her side. Elora beamed at me, and reached over to squeeze my hand. Her fingertips were callused and marked with charcoal. She had never let me see her drawings, and I hoped that I’d be able to before I left her for good.
Truthfully, I wasn’t shocked I’d given in so quickly. With Elora, my willfulness melted, and her desires somehow became my own. Sure, I could tell Thyra about Elora’s plan, but I didn’t want to send her into a fit of rage either. If Elora got mad enough with me, it could have adverse effects on her health, I reasoned. It only made sense to accompany her.
I repeated my justifications to myself throughout the day. Long through my research with Reminy, during dinner when Elora slid me a glass of wine she’d snuck from the cellars, and later, when I retired to my chambers and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t being selfish—wanting to steal as much time with her as possible before my inevitable departure—I was being practical.
And well past midnight, when Elora knocked on my chamber door, I told myself this wasn’t for my benefit, but for her protection.
“I suppose I don’t know what I expected.”
Lit only by the moon, Elora appeared ethereal. She’d braided her hair into a crown upon her head, minimizing its bright appearance in the dark. She’d wanted to wear a cap, but I’d been unable to contain my snort of laughter when I’d seen her. It wasn’t my fault she looked like the caretaker’s little boy. I’d asked how she convinced him to let her borrow his cap, and she’d flicked my ear in retaliation. With brown trousers she probably borrowed from Princess Lavenia’s chamber and a dark grey shirt, she was unassuming. If her hair hadn’t been the color of midnight snow, she might have looked ordinary.
But there was nothing ordinary about Elora Vestana.
She knelt over the freshly dug grave where Thyra had laid Theo to rest. There was no marker yet, but I’d overheard the woman and Reminy discussing it. Emmeline had put her in charge, and the soldier had gone to Brambleton to procure a stone with his name etched on it. For now, wilted blooms laid atop his grave, likely plucked from nearby wildflowers.
“I never thought the eternal lands were real,” Elora whispered.
“After my mother died, I convinced myself they were.” I crouched beside her, wishing there was some way I could comfort her without shattering my resolve. I was going to get away from her as fast as I could. It was the only way I knew to keep her safe. “The alternative wasn’t a pleasant thought.”
“Well, the gods proved themselves to be real with Mama. So, I suppose the eternal lands are likely real as well. Do you think they can hear us? The ones we’ve lost?”
“I hope not,” I blurted, sitting back on my heels as Elora turned her frown upon me. She waited for an explanation, and I was entirely too quick to give it. I trusted Elora far too much and let my guard down around her. My idiocy clearly knew no bounds. “I’ve told my mother quite embarrassing things since she’s been dead. If she actually heard them? Dreadful. I could never show my face there.”
Elora smiled, though the action seemed painful. “I think she’d just be happy to see you, Cy. And sad, I suppose. You’ll be dead when she sees you next.”
“Now it’s my turn to say I should have expected this.”
“Expected what?” she asked, before settling down against an ancient oak whose roots entwined with the dead.
“Well, a midnight jaunt to a cemetery certainly calls for such morbid topics. But, somehow, I expected lighter conversation.”
She exhaled a laugh. “At least he wasn’t placed in a crypt. My grandparents and aunt are entombed near Ravemont. Rain—I mean...Otya—told me about it. Well, I suppose only my grandfather is actually there.”
I’d heard about what the king had discovered in the Highclere crypt. Elora’s grandmother was never there to start, and Lucia’s tomb had been robbed. I could understand finding the crypt unsettling, and I was very glad Theo’s family didn’t have one.
“I think I’ve had enough of speaking of the dead, min viltasma .”
She bit her lip and tilted her head down. When her eyes met mine, hooded by long, white eyelashes, my heart nearly stopped. “Perhaps we could discuss the fragility of life? A much lighter topic, in my opinion.”
I averted my eyes from her lips as they twisted into a crooked grin.
“You said your home was near the spring we crossed?” I asked, wishing to change the subject. If I allowed myself to think too much of life and death, I wouldn’t be able to do anything else.
“You want to see it?” Elora asked, before standing and brushing off her palms. When she offered her hand to me, the rules of chivalry dictated I shouldn’t take it. They also said I shouldn’t be with her, alone, in the dark, without a chaperone. I accepted her offer of assistance, savoring the rub of her smooth skin against mine. I let my hand linger for a few seconds longer than I should have as I rose to my full height.
Part of me wondered if I hadn’t pulled away, would she have maintained the contact?