Chapter 50 Wolfe #2
I was so fucking glad I’d enlisted Kaem’s help. The old Fae warrior had more than proven his worth with his off-grid magics and abilities. This was one more thing to add to his growing list.
“Go on, ask him what you wish?” Kaem continued, yanking on the rope again. “My magic compels truth. He cannot lie. He cannot withhold.”
The corpse’s mouth opened and closed, jaw cracking.
I walked right up to the corpse and gazed deep into those soulless eyes. “Who commands you?” I asked.
The rebel’s head twitched.
“Speak,” Kaem urged.
The corpse convulsed. “I have many commanders. All over the realm.”
“But there must be one mastermind,” I insisted, mindful of the time slipping away from us.
A sound scraped from its throat like bone against stone. “There is one mastermind here. But there are others—those who answer to the ones who whisper with no lips and watch with no eyes. And all of them owe allegiance to a greater master.”
The heat of rage raced over my skin. “Give me names.”
“Your… uncle.” The rebel’s jaw stretched too wide. “Dreyn… thor.”
The name echoed in the library before it rang through my mind.
Alaric and Kaem stilled, faces turning a ghostly shade of white.
I did not move. I simply stared, all my suspicions narrowing to this single point.
“My uncle,” I grated out through gritted teeth. “Tell me everything you know about my uncle.”
The corpse’s spine snapped straight. “He… staged… the rebellion.” Each word tore free with visible strain. “He orchestrated the unrest, manipulated supply chains. Spread dissent. Paid the rebels. Staged his own attack,” the corpse rasped. “Distract… King Lysander… distract Wolfe.”
My pulse remained steady despite the turmoil roiling within me. The motherfucker I’d been after this whole time was Dreynthor.
And he’d wanted to distract my father and me specifically. Why? “Distract us from what?”
“The rituals.”
I glanced up at Kaem. He clenched his jaw and shook his head in disbelief.
“Only you can stop them,” the corpse rattled on. “Your dragon bond magic.”
“What are the rituals for?” I demanded.
“For the greater ones. I do not know their names only that they are powerful.”
I wanted to press him for more information about the names but there was little point. Kaem’s magic had already ensured the rebel was telling me all that he knew. So now for the biggest question.
“Did my uncle have anything to do with my father’s death?”
The world waited for the answer with me.
“Yes, he ordered the assassination.” The corpse’s head twisted toward me, showing the angle his neck had broken. “But not he alone. They all did. But only one wielded the sword.”
“Who?”
“A human. A man.”
That must have been Elariya’s father. I hated the confirmation of that.
Silence crashed over the room.
The bone rod pulsated and the corpse began to convulse violently.
Kaem tightened his grip on the bone rod. “We’re losing him.”
“How long has this been going on?” My final question. “How long have you worked for my uncle?”
The corpse shuddered. “Ten years.”
Ten fucking years.
While I’d fought enemies at our borders.
While I’d hunted the ring.
While I’d bled for this kingdom.
Dreynthor had fed rebellion from within.
The corpse spasmed violently, then collapsed into stillness, the animating threads dissolving into ash.
Kaem waved a hand and the rebel disappeared, fading from before us as if he was never here.
Silence reigned after.
Dreynthor.
I’d been fucking right. It was him. Him all along. But rebellion?
I never saw that coming. It was a fucking distraction.
He had needed chaos. And my father’s death had provided both.
That day when I told him war was coming, he already knew, but it wasn’t the war I’d thought.
When I told him about the magic that bore no signature, he already knew about it.
He probably wanted to know how much I knew.
And if he knew about all those things, he knew the truth about Elariya too.
He was aware of what she could do. And what she meant to me.
The fucking asshole played the part well, acting concerned about the kingdom, wanting me to marry into Thalyrius, and trying to appease the lords at the High Table.
I didn’t need to ask what his price was. I knew it all along.
The kingdom. He wanted to rule the kingdom.
But who else was he working for?
The rebel had echoed the Seer’s words. And whoever these people were, they had kept certain secrets from their own.
War was coming indeed, but it was worse than I’d thought.
There was only one thing I needed to do now.
Shadow crawled over my skin, hardening into steel. A second later, I stood fully armored, my sword strapped to my back.
“Where are you going, Wolfe?” Alaric grabbed my arm.
“I’m going to pay Dreynthor a little visit.”
“My boy, please do not do anything rash.” Kaem stepped in. “Your uncle is the steward of this kingdom. You cannot just kill him. We need hard evidence or a confession. I was lucky to get one of the rebel generals. I doubt I’ll be as fortunate again.”
“I am going to see him,” I insisted. “And I will decide what to do with him then.”
“Okay, I’ll go back out.” He dipped his head. “There are some other things I need to do. You… be careful.”
“I will.”
He phased, leaving Alaric and me.
“Be mindful of your condition, brother,” Alaric warned.
“Don’t worry about me. Stay here and man the place. I’ll report back later.”
Within a blink, I left too, rage consuming me.
I didn’t know how I was going to control myself when I saw Dreynthor.
I made for the palace at once. He was usually in the accounts chamber at this hour. I portaled into the eastern wing—close enough, but not directly into his rooms in case he had company. I made my way down the corridor, relieved to find it empty.
As I approached, I saw the double doors stood slightly ajar.
I pushed them open and a strong scent hit me.
I stalled. I knew that scent.
Metal and honey and tar.
Nightmother’s kiss.
The same poison that killed my father.
The last time that scent had clung to these palace walls, my father had been found dead on cold stone.
Nightmother’s kiss was not used casually. It was not carried for show. You only smelled it when someone intended to end a life.
My steps slowed. I scanned the room carefully. If someone was waiting to strike, I needed to be ready.
I turned the corner and froze in place, my lungs locking, my heart galloping.
Dreynthor lay sprawled on the stone floor. A sword jutted from his chest, slick with Nightmother’s kiss. Black tar bubbled around the wound, mixing with blood, so much blood.
His eyes were wide and unseeing.
He was dead.
Dead.
Just like Father. The same way as Father.
I moved as close as I dared—close enough to see, not close enough to die from a poison lethal to Fae.
Who would have done this?
Only a human or those unaffected by the poison could have killed him.
And what a fucking coincidence. I’d just learned he was responsible for everything. Now this?
What the fuck was going on?
The air suddenly shimmered faintly above Dreynthor’s body.
A thin, silver haze drifted upward like breath in winter.
What was that?
I risked stepping closer and the haze moved toward me.
I stepped back, but it was too late.
It covered me, then lightning detonated all over my body. A howling sound filled the room. And the curse answered.
Shadow surged from my spine, swallowing bone and flesh alike. My Deathwalker powers took over and I hit the ground as the transformation tore through me in full.
Smoke bled from my skin and the world warped at the edges. The stone walls groaned. Then barriers came down around me.
Runes flared along the chamber’s perimeter, igniting in blinding white.
Something locked and sealed shut.
A cage.
I was in a cage.
And I couldn’t get out.