Chapter 62
Alora
The castle forge roared like a living beast, humid heat rippling against Alora’s skin as she stood among the smiths of Argyle.
Sparks spat from hammers striking black ore, the shards ringing sharp as they were shaped into blades.
Even the firelight was subdued by the strange black metal, swallowing the glow as if the darkness itself had been forged into steel.
Calla lingered at her side, shadows curling lazily around her wrists. A pace behind them was Caelum, his expression grim. Zuma merely leaned against the wall, silent as a statue as he watched the smiths work among the Minotaurs.
Her people didn’t know what to do with the barrels of Night Ash Rune had provided. A mineral created from demon blood and crushed meteorite.
When properly forged, it becomes Nightstone.
Deadly to demons and mortals alike.
Lord Zuma’s kind knew steel and worked day and night to help forge weapons. The racks were full now with blades as black as the void of the Abyss.
“Even if we filled the armory with Nightstone,” Calla said, voice flat, “it will not be enough when we don’t have enough hands to hold them.”
Caelum gave a stiff nod. “Our armies were bled dry against Calveron. We’re asking them to fight again when they can barely stand. Against foes beyond our measure.”
Alora pressed her lips together, her gaze lingering on the weapons.
They had worked day and night for the past month to prepare. And yet even as the racks filled with black steel, dread gnawed at her. Would Rune’s army be enough? Even with shadows at their back, what hope did they have against a Primordial?
“We do not fear Primordials nor the Wild Hunt,” Zuma rumbled, his deep voice rolling like thunder. “Arm us, my Queen, and we shall stand at your side, or fall at your side, if need be. Our blood has long been spilled on this soil. It’s our home, and we will not yield it.”
Warmed by his words, Alora lightly rested her hand on his furry arm. “I commend your bravery, Lord Zuma. Our people will need it.” She turned to Caelum, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her ribs. “Were you able to make contact with the United Crown?”
Caelum’s gaze flickered over her changed features, gliding to the ends of her hair moving like living flame, to the markings glowing on her skin. He cleared his throat. “No, Your Majesty. Our ships could not cross the seal.”
Alora sighed. That had been her last hope.
They would find no allies in this war. Rune had told her about the enchanted dome that sealed the kingdom, preventing all from leaving or entering.
Another part of this curse that trapped them in time.
Even if she could get a word out, she imagined any neighboring kingdom would decline sending their men to slaughter.
The forge’s smoke made her eyes mist. The day she reclaimed her power, the spread of the Sleeping Curse had halted, yet those already claimed by it still lay trapped in their slumber. Including half of Argyle’s army.
“And the Banners?” she asked next.
Caelum gave her a hesitant nod. “Most have gathered at your call, Your Majesty. Save for a few disgruntled lords.”
Ser Tallin and Lord Graye, she presumed.
Their men had yet to present themselves in the training yard.
The bond hummed as Rune surfaced in her mind like a phantom. I warned them to comply or die. Really, I couldn’t have been clearer. Shall I carve your name into their bones, so they are reminded who rules this Realm?
Alora smiled to herself. We want their allegiance, Rune. Harming them would only make the other lords dither when loyalties are fragile. They already tremble in their beds in fear of you.
When she had officially introduced her husband at Argyle’s court, several ladies fainted. The pale lords looked ready to do the same.
Rune’s chuckle echoed in her thoughts. If only they knew the only one I seek to make tremble, is you.
The lewd insinuation warmed her cheeks, sending a flutter through her stomach. He did plenty of that.
And how fare your matters at hand?
His responding groan was equal parts bored and irritated. Which must mean the council meeting with Dominions was going well.
Rescue me, I beg of you.
She held back a laugh. I will return to you soon.
If you have not returned by sundown, I will steal you away again.
The dark promise sent a delightful tingle down her spine.
As Rune’s consciousness slipped away, Alora turned to Caelum. “Commander, inform Lord Tallin and Lord Graye that if they don’t present themselves at court today, I will have them hanged for treason.”
Caelum struck a fist to his armored chest and bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
To Lord Zuma, she said, “Continue overseeing the smithing of Nightstone, and see the shields are inlaid with Moonstone. Whatever comes, we must be prepared.” Alora looked up at the castle and said in a softer voice. “Six days remain until the Blood Moon.”
Then she left the smithery with Calla. The evening air was crisp and cool, autumn winds stirring the open courtyard as they took the covered cloister toward the castle.
“Are the preparations finished?” Alora asked.
Calla hummed softly, turning her Bloodstone ring with absent thought as she lingered in the shadowed edge of the courtyard. “Yes. You may move the Crown Prince tonight, along with those too weak to fight. They will be safe. No demon shall reach them.”
Some of the pressure eased from Alora’s chest.
She had asked Karag D?r to prepare a wing deep in the southernmost part of the mountain, a place well-warded and buried in layers of stone and spell. It was warded with Night Ash and Moonstone to keep out demons. It included a hidden tunnel designed to only open beneath Rihan’s palm.
It would serve as an escape route should the worst come to pass and they fall.
She clung to the hope that Rihan could slip away into the southern lands with what remained of their people. That was, of course, assuming the enchanted dome enclosing the kingdom collapsed once Vorak was freed.
When war arrived, Rihan wouldn’t be safe here or in the Midlands. Taking him to the mountain was a last resort. Nexus and his personal Royal Guard kept him under watch day and night.
He was Argyle’s future.
“By the Seven, this has to work.” Alora pressed her hands to her face, weariness pooling behind her eyes.
“Have you slept at all?” Calla asked, tilting her head. “You look a breath away from falling over.” She scowled, but it was fond. “Tell his sire to let you rest.”
Alora gave a faint laugh, dry and brittle. She hadn’t told anyone that Vorak was stalking her dreams. That every time she closed her eyes, he was there, waiting.
“I can hardly rest with the weight of what’s coming,” she murmured, rubbing at her brow. “I’ve half a mind to return to Khar Avalen and consult the Scry Mirror.”
Calla stilled. “The Scry Mirror?”
“It reveals your heart’s desire,” Alora said, almost to herself. “I looked into it once. Back when all I wanted was to remember who I was. Now...” She exhaled slowly. “Now I’d ask it how to survive this war. Even if the answer lies in summoning the Abyss.”
Calla’s gaze sharpened. “Did you both gaze into the mirror?”
“We did…” Alora paused, catching her careful expression.
“What did Rune see?”
The question made her pause. She blinked, surprised. “He didn’t say. Why?”
Calla glanced toward the mountain’s jagged outline.
“The mirror itself is not bound to Vorak. It was forged before the First Age, crafted from stone deep within the earth. Some say the ore came from the Abyss. It responds to will and reveals your greatest desire. But only by what must be lost or endured to attain that desire.”
Alora absorbed that in silence, unease stirring in her gut.
Before she could speak, a new voice interrupted.
“Quite a powerful relic, then.”
They turned to find Lady Solara stepping into the courtyard, reins in hand. Beside her stood a magnificent eagle-griffin, its feathers ash-gray, as large as a horse. It squawked and ruffled its wings as the sorceress soothed it with a gloved hand.
“Puk and I could reach Khar Avalen by morning and retrieve the mirror,” Solara said courteously. “Such a thing could be useful in the preservation of kingdoms, especially one on the verge of collapse.”
Alora managed a weary smile. The sorceress meant no harm, only clarity.
“Perhaps,” Alora said. “But I need you in the escort to the mountain. If demons stray where they’re not welcome, your light will be a greater shield than any sword.”
Lady Solara dipped her head, auburn braids catching the light. “Then I’ll make myself useful. I’ll report to Commander Caelum and see where he’ll have me.”
With a swish of her robes, the sorceress turned and walked away, the griffin padding beside her like a silent sentinel.
Alora watched her go, the weight of leadership pressing against her spine. There were no right choices anymore, only those that cost the least.
“Well,” Calla said, “I must attend the war council.”
“I will join you.” Eager to return home, Alora summoned a portal, shadows already curling at her call.
“Before you do,” Calla mused. “The Queen Dowager has asked for you. Incessantly.”
Her jaw tightened. “I will see her when the time calls for it.”
Though, when would there be time? Delphi had been requesting a meeting for weeks now and Alora had run out of excuses.
Ignoring her had been out of spite, but Alora let the shadows fade with a sigh. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
The tower chamber was warm and richly appointed, though its occupant was no longer queen. Alora stepped inside, shadows whispering indistinctly along the walls with her presence. A tray of fruit and wine were left on an opulent round table.
Even confined, Delphi did not lack for comforts.
“I see they have treated you well,” Alora said coolly.
“A few are still loyal to the true line.”
Alora turned toward the voice where Delphi reclined among silks and gilded cushions, but her stomach turned as she took in her aunt’s true face.