Realm of Stone and Starlight (Heirs of Elydor #4)

Chapter 1

TERRAN

Thaeron, Elydor

“Kill him, Terran.”

I would do no such thing, despite that the order had been given by my father, the king.

The Aetherian captive was haranya, and there was no glory in killing one who’d not lived yet one hundred years. I met the ice-blue eyes of the warrior, one whose hands were tied behind him with vines from an ancient tree of my ancestors. Binds that would not break.

“He was delivered to me, and I will deal with him.”

That his father would even grace this corner of the palace underscored the importance of this particular captive.

Here, in the eastern-most caverns of the mountain, the only one above ground as much of the Gyorian palace was built underground, the men were more loyal to me.

The Gyorian nobles and diplomats from other clans rarely ventured this far east either.

It was my domain. That my father made an appearance meant there was more to the story than the guards had told me.

“He is an Aetherian spy.” My gaze met the water-wielder. He didn’t acknowledge my father’s claim in any way.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But until your men’s claims are verified, he will remain as my prisoner.”

One of the guards who’d brought him here cleared his throat, his discomfort obvious.

My father’s jaw flexed, the ground under his feet rumbling. That he allowed his anger to show in front of an audience was not surprising. The Gyorian king was not known for his stoicism or patience.

Few Gyorians were known for such a virtue, including myself. But the king less than most.

Watching Father’s fingers, I envisioned what might happen next. He could twist them so subtly, most would not see them move. And as the most powerful Gyorian, not only would the Aetherian be dead in moments; my father would likely cause a fair amount of destruction to the courtyard where we stood.

Challenging him would not end well.

“He’s been questioned,” I said with a glance at the guards who handed him over to my men. “But not by me.”

I let the implication hang in the air. I would question him and then kill him.

“My lord?” The youngest of the guards who had caught the apparent spy, one not much older than the Aetherian himself, spoke.

My father looked sharply his way without responding.

“He was found speaking to Ilyas Rho just outside the gates, but Rho was nowhere to be seen when the traitor was apprehended.”

I didn’t know the guard well, but my opinion of him soared. He knew well how to appeal to my father. Naming him a “traitor” would appeal to a man whose hate against the Aetherians had grown to a fever pitch of late.

Traitor.

I couldn’t think of the word without envisioning the face of one familiar to me. So familiar, I saw it each and every time I peered in a mirror. There was little time to dwell on my brother’s treachery. We were a heartbeat away from war. According to some, it had already reached us.

“Terran.” The reprimand was sharp. The one who delivered it, inflexible.

Perhaps more inflexible now than ever before, the father I’d known for so many years was nearly a stranger to me. Sometimes, I wondered if duty was simply what my father used to mask fear. Fear of change. Fear of what we might become if we didn’t hate the Aetherians quite so much.

My jaw flexed. I’d not apologize. Weakness among a Gyorian was unacceptable, especially for a prince.

“I will question him first,” I said to the guard.

With that, my father spun angrily away, accustomed to having his orders followed. His men walked away with him as quickly as they’d come, leaving me and my own to deal with the Aetherian.

I sighed.

Young. Defiant. He stood on a copper slab mined from the very mountain in which we gathered. A defense against erosive air magic, mined from the ground beneath us, would ensure that even if the vines that bound his hands broke, he would find it difficult to summon magic.

“You have been accused of infiltrating the Gyorian court as a spy.”

I could detail the reasons why such an accusation was leveled against him. But sensing it would not matter—the look in his eye telling me that the Aetherian would either not speak, or confess all—I instead said nothing more.

He met my gaze.

The air stilled as we both held our ground.

“The Gyorian court,” he said finally, “is no longer what it once was.”

My nostrils flared in defiance. Not because his words were untrue.

But because they were.

“What do you know about our court? Are you yet a century old?”

The warrior’s chin lifted.

“Fifty years. One hundred years. Three hundred. What does it matter when the facts stand as they do? Prince Kael sees what you do not. A king who would damn us all.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Do you”—my fingers twitched—“deny the accusations against you?”

Cheeks as slim as his shoulders, he was so unlike my brethren who were as brawny as this Aetherian was slight.

Justice.

My father demanded it.

My honor, after the Aetherians killed my mother, demanded it.

“Nay. I do not,” he said finally.

There was one penalty for traitors. All knew it. Including the young Aetherian spy.

“Release him.”

“Price Terran,” my right-hand man began.

“Release. Him.”

My voice boomed. The tone I used was my father’s.

Dren did as he was told.

The moment the spy’s hands, and then his feet, were unbound, he lifted his hand and attempted to use a gust of wind so powerful it would have swept most off their feet.

But not me.

With one last exchanged glance, his eyes wide with surprise that I still stood, I swept my fingers in a small arc.

The vines leaped to his feet and hands once more, binding him for the last time.

With a twist of those same fingers, the stone beneath his feet trembled just before it opened and sucked him down to its depths.

Closing my eyes at the site of the chasm, I said a silent prayer to Terranor for his safe passage and then twisted my fingers once more, closing the crack and damning him to a death so few immortals faced.

Keeping my eyes closed, I cursed my father. My brother. The Gods.

Myself.

And then opened my eyes.

Some of my men appeared proud at the ease with which I’d killed him. Others, more inexperienced, likely knew not what to think.

Only Dren’s shoulders dropped as he looked at me.

Disappointed? Proud? Awed? Even after all these years, I could not tell. Nor did it matter.

Kill him, Terran.

And I had.