Chapter 37 #2
Now I’m the one holding back my fury. How dare this phony king speak as if he knows Daerios and Berendir? How dare he call them useless and expendable? My fingers twitch, eager to reach for the bow slung over my shoulder.
“Pointless insults aside,” Daerios says, his voice remarkably calm for the black rage that I know must be bubbling just beneath the surface. “We are here to make a deal. Would you like to hear the terms or not?”
“The terms?” The Shadow King barks out a laugh. “Son, you marched straight into my territory, armed with little more than a few spears and sabers. What bargaining power do you expect to hold over me?”
“You underestimate the level of planning that has gone into this exchange,” Daerios says.
“Berendir and I were sent ahead as a show of good faith, but my father is not far behind. Within an hour or so, he will be arriving at the top of that mountain over there.” I can’t see to which mountain he’s referring, but I’m assuming it’s one of the peaks visible through the wide, open-air window.
“With an army of approximately 4,500 soldiers behind him. Either you deal with Berendir and me, or you deal with them.”
The Shadow King’s face tightens. He spins on his cloth boots and marches back toward his throne.
He ascends the two steps that lead up to it and settles back onto the black cushion covering its stone seat.
He crosses his legs, settles his chin on one fist, and narrows his eyes at Daerios. “You’re lying,” he says at last.
“He’s not,” Berendir says. “My father is the one leading the army.”
The Shadow King sighs, rubbing his forehead with one pale hand. After a long pause during which the king seems to think through his next move, he lifts his face back up and says, “Very well. What are your terms?”
At this signal, Daerios steps forward to stand beside me.
I nearly melt with relief. I didn’t realize how tense I’d become while having to face the Shadow King without being able to see Daerios.
Now that I can see his dark hair, his green cloak—even just peripherally—warmth and comfort spark at my center.
“We will give you the Lightbearer in exchange for two things,” Daerios says, just as we practiced. “Her brother and the Shadow Sword.”
The Shadow King appears genuinely surprised by these demands. “Her brother? What on Elaerion could you want with that useless human?”
I would love to run an arrow through that bastard’s heart.
“That part of the deal has nothing to do with us.” Daerios gestures to me. “It was a demand made by the Lightbearer. She agreed to come willingly with us to Elaerion, provided that we could guarantee the safety of her brother.”
The Shadow King surveys me, his all-black eyes glinting in the sparse moonlight. “Interesting. You would give up your own life to save that of your brother?”
“A thousand times over,” I say. This time, I’m not lying.
The king nods. “Very well.” He turns to the guard at his right and says, “Fetch the boy.”
I’ve never been so happy to hear three words spoken aloud in my life. I have to hold myself back from sprinting after the guard, ensuring no harm comes to Michael before he reaches this chamber.
“Now.” The Shadow King steeples his fingers. “As to the matter of the Shadow Sword. I’m curious as to what you want with the weapon that caused all of this”—he gestures vaguely, encompassing the infinite night coating all of Elaerion—“in the first place. Planning to do the same thing on Earth?”
Daerios shakes his head. In my peripheral vision, I see his black hair swish back and forth. “Quite the opposite. We will be placing the sword under our protection to ensure that you don’t get any ideas about doing the same thing to our new home.”
The Shadow King taps a long fingernail to his chin. “The Shadow Sword is quite sacred to us, you know. Only one of its kind exists, and the blacksmith who made it is dead.”
“We’re aware,” Daerios says.
The Shadow King says nothing for a long breath. His lips turn down. I can see the wheels spinning in his head—weighing the deal, the benefits he would gain, the opportunities he would lose. And, of course, the veracity of it all. What if Daerios is lying? What if it’s all a ruse?
Please, God, if you exist on this planet, if you exist at all, let him buy our story.
After a small eternity, his pale grey lips quirk upward.
“Very well. The boy and the sword in exchange for the Lightbearer.” He stands, folding his hands behind his back.
“It’s a small price to pay, really. We have no use for either of those items. And once the girl is ours, our reign will be cemented.
There is nothing and no one else who can take away the shadows.
We will happily hand over what you desire…
” A smile curls his lips. “Once we have the girl safely locked away.”
Beside me, Daerios tenses. I reach out and brush his fingertips, hoping to remind him that I am not afraid, that we planned for this scenario. That we wanted this scenario.
I only realize my mistake when it’s already too late.
The Shadow King catches the gesture, subtle as it was.
His eyes dart down to our fingers, then back up to us.
They narrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but at that moment, the doors to the chamber swing open. I whip around, and there he is.
My brother.
He’s different than I remember. Taller. Paler. Hair thick with dirt and down to his hips. Painfully thin, as if the elves have fed him nothing. But it’s him.
It’s my little brother.
“Michael,” I sob. I can’t help it. I break away from the guards and my friends, sprinting over to greet him in the doorway. I throw my arms over his shoulders, which have grown to unfathomable heights, even if they feel frail as bird bones under my arms. “You’re alive. Thank God. You’re alive.”
I’m allowed only a brief moment to cling to my brother before the guards pull me away. Still, I keep my eyes glued to his face—to his concave cheekbones, his sunken eyes, his lips dangling open in obvious confusion.
When he speaks, his voice is raspy with disuse. “Quinn?”
“Yes,” I choke out. “Yes, Michael, it’s me.”
“You…” His eyes dart back and forth across my face. “You came for me?”