Chapter 12
KAELERON
Ipulled another three leatherbound journals from the arched bookcases set into the dark stone walls of my office and rubbed my gritty eyes as I carried them back to the large black wooden desk that occupied the centre of the room.
Sinking onto my chair again, I set two of the journals down near me and carefully opened the third, the ancient leather creaking as I peeled the cover back.
Perhaps I should have taken more care of the books, scrolls and leather folders I had stolen from the Great Library of the Summer Court all those decades ago.
It had been years since I had read them though, and so I had almost forgotten about them. I had found nothing of worth in them at the time, beyond intelligence on the bloodlines of the Summer Court royals.
Which, looking back, had neglected to mention the heirs the king had been producing in secret, so they were of little use as intelligence on that court.
Perhaps the king had sired those heirs long after I had stolen these documents. Perhaps I would glean nothing from reading them all again. Perhaps I just needed to do something that would make me feel useful, as if I was taking strides back towards Saphira.
I rubbed my right eye with my pale fingertips again, the first time they had not been ashy black since my return. Since she had been taken from me.
Stolen away by seelie.
By my enemy.
The dates scrawled on the pages of the journal I opened before me were long before the Summer King had fallen, long before Saphira had been born.
Long before the accord had been signed by the high kings, preventing me from entering the Summer Court without facing execution or inciting a war that could see my own court destroyed.
I scanned the pages, casting aside mentions of the strongholds that I knew were now abandoned and crumbling into ruin, and studying the mentions of the ones that were in favour now.
I charted each of their positions on my hastily drawn map of the court, intending to check them against the markers on the map in my war room, and continued, searching for mentions of the royal family.
On a mission to discover more about the one who had sired Saphira.
And the one who called himself steward.
This was the fourteenth book I had read, the other thirteen providing me with nothing of worth since neither male had been mentioned.
I cast it aside, pulled another towards me, and flipped it open. A history book. Stifling a yawn, I began reading, the motes of magic that illuminated the vaulted wooden ceiling above me drifting and condensing in a single point to cast more light onto the page, easing my tired eyes.
Those tired eyes scoured the pages, seeking mention of Sylvan. I needed to know if the male was a threat to her.
I turned the page.
What I found there did not please me.
Sitting straighter in my chair, shoving away my fatigue and the lure of sleep, I read the account five times, each time making that cold feeling that opened up inside me more glacial.
“The laws of succession were changed,” I muttered as I read it for a sixth time, just to be sure my tired mind was not imagining it. “How did I miss this?”
I closed the pages, revealing the family tree that had been painted on the inside of the cover and across the first page, tracing it through the ages to Sylas and then back again, up to the name that had been written in the record.
His grandfather.
“Have you slept at all?” Jenavyr marched into my office without knocking, a habit she had developed since every attempt to enter it had ended with me telling her to go away.
She set a silver tray down on my desk, the gilt edges of the plate sitting on it catching the light to glint at me, and shoved the food towards me.
“Eat. I will not ask again. If you refuse to sleep, you must at least eat to keep your strength up.”
I growled at her, no real threat in it as I continued reading, because she was right and I did need to eat. I had missed dinner again. Just as I had missed breakfast before it.
“You must try to sleep, brother.” Her tone was gentle, but it held the sharp edge of command she had attempted to use on me more than once over the last few days.
“I cannot sleep,” I muttered at the book and then lifted my head to glare across the carafe of wine at her. “How can you expect me to sleep when Saphira is in that court?”
Her soft expression told me without words that she understood, but that steely edge to her eyes warned she was not going to let this go, not until she got her way.
“You need to rest,” she said.
Proving my point.
Her silver eyes lowered to the books scattered across my desk, the map I had drawn, and my notes. “What are you doing?”
“Reading the books I stole from the Great Library to see if there is any information on this steward who took Saphira. Sylvan. I need to know he is not a danger to her.” I arched an eyebrow when she took the seat on the other side of the desk, picked up the book I had not read yet and opened it, and turned her question back on her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.” She flipped a page. “I thought if I helped you, you could get some rest and regain full control over your feelings.”
I frowned at her now.
“You shook the court again.” Her tone was matter of fact, if a little scathing.
“I did not.” I turned the page in my own book, nearly ripping it with the sharp action.
She bluntly said, “You did. Shortly before I entered. What did you read that upset you?”
A huff burst from my lips.
My first instinct was to deny her, so she would leave me in peace and would not have the proof she was seeking, but this was my sister, and I had kept too much from her already.
It was time I stopped shutting her out, stopped acting as if I was alone, and began letting her in again, lowering my guard around her so neither of us would feel alone.
“The fallen Summer King’s grandfather changed the laws of succession.
” I found the record again. “It is written that the male had been wed to his queen for centuries, but had only been given a daughter. Fearing his bloodline might lose their claim to the throne, he changed the laws so a female could rule, making his daughter heir.”
The fine black slashes of her eyebrows rose. “Who would have thought the seelie could be so progressive?”
I gave her an arch look. “You command my army, do you not?”
She shrugged, her small smile teasing me.
“Should I continue, or would you rather I evict you from my office?”
In response to that, she pretended to pout and regally waved her hand, acting as if she was queen of this court. “Do continue.”
The corners of my lips twitched at her easy, playful air that reminded me so much of when we had been younger.
Both of us had been difficult for our parents at times, although I had always caused far more trouble than she had.
Our mother had said we all got our mischievous streak from our father, although I had never seen it in him.
I had seen it in our brother once or twice though, a flash of wickedness between the long periods when he had been studious and the perfect heir.
I went back to the book perched in my hands. “Many decades later, his queen bore him a son.”
“Did the daughter remain heir?”
I nodded. “She became queen upon her father’s death, and with her husband, she bore a son—Sylas—while her brother had a son of his own—Sylvan—and when she died, Sylas became king.”
I had not realised that the steward had been the cousin of the fallen Summer King. I had only known him as the general of his armies and a skilled warrior, and the male who had acted as the commander of the group of soldiers responsible for the attack upon Belkarthen that had killed our parents.
“Cousins,” Vyr murmured, her gaze fixed on the book in my hands and her expression distant, thoughtful. “I wonder how he feels about the fact that his cousin was crowned king.”
I did not know, but I wanted to find out, because the more times I read the account, the stronger the feeling within me grew, and it was little wonder that I had shaken the castle when the weaving path of my thoughts led me to a terrible conclusion.
Sylvan had an agenda of his own.
I looked at the books I had already read and the ones that lined the bookshelves, determined to read them all again and look more closely at the reports they contained this time, seeking knowledge of this steward when before I had been fixated on the king.
“You think he is up to something.” Jenavyr’s words were careful, her gaze sharp and boring into me.
“I am beginning to suspect the terribly benevolent steward of the Summer Court might not be so benevolent after all,” I growled, inky night staining the tips of my fingers as my mood darkened. “He might be as vicious as all his kind behind that mask he wears so well.”
My sister gave me a look.
One that was a pointed reminder.
Saphira was of his kind.
“This will take some getting used to,” I grumbled into my book.
She loosed a soft chuckle. “I cannot disagree with you about that.”
Shadows snaked from the corners of the room and beneath my desk to curl around my boots, rising upwards to my knees and then my thighs, and I felt my sister’s gaze on me as they caressed my shoulders.
“What?” I glowered at her, daring her to mention them.
They were not present because I was in danger of losing my temper. They were a comfort to me, one I badly needed if I was expected to act civil and not shake this court while worry about Saphira was my constant companion, dangling over me like a blade ready to cut out my soul.
“What do you think Saphira is planning?”
Not the question I had expected from her.
I sighed as I set the book down and leaned back in my chair. “I think she is planning more than just saving the wolven female she calls friend.”
Vyr nodded. “I worry that you are right, and I worry what might happen to her if she is not careful. You said she went there to protect you. She stepped in when you were fighting Malachi to protect and shield you. She did what she must to keep you safe. I worry how far she might go to keep the wolven female safe.”
I worried about that too.
It was one concern in a sea of many.
Overshadowed by the one that gnawed at my insides, hollowing out my heart until I was empty, devoid of emotion and circling an abyss that might take this world with it when it consumed me.
“What is it, brother?”
I stared beyond my sister, tracking a mote of magic that curled upwards behind her, towards the wooden beams that supported the vaulted ceiling.
A tiny mote of magic that shone so brightly compared with the others that were far larger than it.
“I fear that protecting me was only part of the reason she went with those seelie wretches.” The words fell quietly from my lips as I followed that tiny speck that shone with the intensity of a star, as fierce as my little wolf.
“She knows she is the key to my vengeance, and she is probably going to attempt to fulfil that destiny. I cannot let it happen, Vyr. If she does—”
My throat closed, tightening my voice.
I cleared it.
“I fear… Neve had a vision. She saw me in the Summer Court… but not for another lunar cycle. I fear that if I wait that long, my little wolf might do something reckless, something she believes I want… and in doing so she might take away what I need and want more. She might grant my vengeance, and that vengeance might cost me her.”
I could not remember the last time I had spoken so openly with my sister, but the tears that glittered on her lashes told me it had been too long, but that she was glad I was speaking to her now, in my greatest hour of need.
“I do not want to lose her, Vyr, and I might if I allow her to do this. I need to get her away from that court.”
“How?” All softness faded from her expression, replaced with a wary sort of hardness that challenged me to be honest with her now, to admit what I was thinking so she could cut it down and deny me.
“I do not know,” I bit out, shadows leaping to snare the legs of the table that formed a barrier between us, ready to tear it out of the way so I could get at her. “But I cannot leave her there. Not now. I am stronger now.”
A brittle scoff burst from her lips. “You are far from stronger. You have not slept since we returned to the Shadow Court. You eat only when I force you. But even if you were stronger, even if you were at full strength, you cannot go to her. You cannot cross into the Summer Court.”
“I can,” I snarled and my shadows tightened around the obstacle that blocked my path to her.
“You would risk everything—everyone—if you go to war with the Summer Court. An unseelie king entering the lands of a seelie court without permission is a death sentence for that king. You know that. You know that going to her would mean risking your life and your court… even if the seelie were the ones to capture you and take you into their court.”
Apparently, my sister possessed the ability to see through all my plans, catching that stray thought before it had even fully manifested in my mind.
“There must be a way. I cannot lose her, Vyr,” I countered.
“If you love Saphira, you know what you must do.”
I stared at her, shock rippling through me as I met her fierce gaze. “Neve told me I will not enter the Summer Court for another lunar cycle, but if I were to rally an army—”
“I meant speak with the high king about this agreement between you,” she snapped, cutting me off.
“I wish it were that simple, sister.” My tone hardened to match that look on her face. “I wish I could simply stroll into Ereborne and come to an amicable agreement with the high king, one that will release me from my promise. There is no easy way out. If there is a way out at all.”
I felt war was inevitable either way.
Either I would be fighting the Summer Court to take Saphira back, or I would be fighting Ereborne to keep her mine and free myself of the result if my own reckless actions.
But my sister had given me an idea.
Perhaps it was time I paid a visit to Ereborne.