Chapter 50
Ipace my bedroom floor with a glass of mead in my hands. It’s close to midnight now, and the fucking bells are still going. They’re vibrating in my bones, my brain.
A knock sounds on my door, and I rush over to it, hoping to find Tristan.
I open it and find Elizabeth instead.
“There you are!” Her eyes are wide. “I came by earlier a few times, but you didn’t answer.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just been—”
“Worried about Aneirin?” Her brow furrows.
“Exactly.” I’m too much of a mess to carry on this conversation in a normal way.
Fire burns in her eyes. “But I don’t understand what happened.
He seemed fine last night, didn’t he? We all know what happens when you run away from here without permission.
Why would he do such a reckless thing? He was doing all right in the trials.
There was no immediate danger. He could have left with a dismissal. ”
My head throbs, and I don’t want her to see what I’ve got laid out on the table behind me. “I don’t know, Elizabeth. I wish they’d stop with the bells. I can’t think clearly.”
“Right.” She nods at me. “I’ll let you get some rest. Come find me if you hear anything.”
“Of course.”
I close the door and return to my new obsession, the maps. When I left the library, I took the maps of England and Brocéliande back to my room with me.
With a sip of mead, I turn back to my table. Once more, I spread the maps out, using books to pin down the curled ends.
I pick up my little bronze raven friend. “Where is Aneirin now?”
The raven hops out of my hand, landing in the forest. He’s about an hour from Castle Catreath now, still fleeing with my grail.
“Raven, where are the cugol?”
He hops north, and I can see that they’re on the right track. Still, they’re a few hours behind Aneirin.
“And Tristan?” I ask, my voice breaking.
The last time I asked this—about half an hour ago—he was in the Melian Forest, where Vero lives. I know, at least, that he’s on his way back to me. Just as I asked him to, he stopped to check on my sister.
But this time, the raven hops farther north—in Brocéliande. He lands on the spot where the Veiled Court stands now, by the sea.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes. “Thank the gods.”
In just a few more minutes, a knock sounds on the door.
I fling it open and find Tristan standing there. I throw my arms around him and press my head against his chest. He wraps his arms around my back, his warmth enveloping me as I breathe in his familiar scent.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
I peer up at him. “Did you see Vero?”
A line forms between his eyebrows, and he nods. “Yeah. She and Balin are fine. I think I interrupted them shagging—”
“I don’t need to know that part.” I pull away from the hug and tug him into my room, shutting the door behind him. “So, she’s totally fine?”
“Someone with shadow magic attacked her immediately after she was healed. I take it you already know that?”
“Yes. Tristan?” My breath catches. “I think we’re going to need to steal another dragon. We need to get the grail back from Aneirin.”
* * *
I wait by a cliffside a few miles from the Veiled Court, armed to the teeth with a sword and as many daggers as I could slip into my holsters.
It’s a cloudy night, and I stand in almost total darkness. The cool marine wind whips over me. My halo beams in the air around me, but I’m not as worried this time about the cugol hunting me. They’re a bit preoccupied at the moment.
As I stare out at the sea, the ground shakes with heavy, thundering footfalls. My stomach swoops.
I turn to see a midnight blue dragon stalking closer over the seagrasses, and my breath leaves my lungs.
He’s almost impossible to see in the dark except for the silver flecks that shine from his scales.
He looks like the night sky in living form.
Slowly, his silver eyes cut to me, and he narrows them.
Tristan clings to his neck as the dragon rears back his head and roars.
The sound trembles through my body, and the dragon unleashes a great stream of fire into the night sky.
My heart races as the air heats above me. Is Tristan in control of this thing?
I step back toward the edge of the cliff as the dragon thunders into the air, and pebbles trip down the cliffside behind me.
At last, the dragon lowers his neck to the ground. Tristan sits on the creature’s neck, and rubs his scales, trying to soothe him.
When the dragon seems to have calmed, Tristan looks up at me. “It’s okay, Syn. I’ve got him under control. He’s ready for you.”
I swallow my fear and cross over to the dragon.
Tristan helps me up, and I mount the creature, sliding into place in front of him.
As he taught me before, I squeeze my thighs around the dragon’s neck, and Tristan wraps an arm around my waist, locking me in place with an iron-clad grip.
I lean back into his strong chest and grab one of the dragon’s spikes.
“Seronos is a little wild,” Tristan whispers, “but he blends in with the sky. The cugol are less likely to notice us.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I trust you know what you’re doing.”
“Seronos,” Tristan calls out. “Rise!”
Slowly, the dragon takes a few lumbering steps, pounding the soil with his feet. The ground shudders beneath us with every footfall.
The dragon raises his neck, and I slide back into Tristan. His strong grip tightens around me as we tilt and the ground seems to fall away beneath us. I cling to the spike harder and clench my teeth. Slowly, his wings start to beat, great strokes that pound against the sea air.
And with a lurch of my stomach, we lift off, soaring into the night sky. The wind rakes at us as we sweep above the forest. I hang on, gripping hard with my thighs. Wisps of clouds float in front of the moon, darkening the world around us.
Seronos flies higher, shooting through the line of clouds. Silver and red moonlight bathes us as we soar.
The dragon spreads his wings, and we race south.
* * *
The clouds have thinned, and as Tristan said, Seronos’s scales blend with the night sky. As we sweep closer to Castle Catreath, the dragon glides over a gleaming lake, where the still waters reflect the moons. His dark shadow sweeps over the swells.
Tristan keeps his arm locked around me as the dragon glides lower toward a beautiful ruin.
Moonlight glints off the gothic spires and arches. Three walls ring a courtyard, with the fourth lying in ruin, just a few crumbled stones and columns left.
With a boom, we land on the grass in the square courtyard, and I shift forward a little.
Slowly, Tristan relaxes his grip, and the dragon lowers his head. Tristan slides off, then helps me down.
I breathe a sigh of relief to be on solid ground once more and step away from the dragon, surveying the castle.
Through some of the sharply peaked windows, warm light glows. But even as I look at the ruins, the lights start snuffing out, one by one.
Seronos wasn’t exactly quiet with his landing. Whoever is inside is trying to hide from us.
“Should we search together?” I ask.
Tristan turns back to me, his eyes flashing green in the dark. “No, I can go much faster than you. Let me use my speed to race around. I’ll find him within minutes.”
“His magic is powerful,” I say. “Especially if he has his cane with him to magnify it. The moment you spot him, call me, and I’ll come help you. I’ll wait near the castle and listen.”
“Shelter somewhere out of view. I’ll call for help if I need it.” A cocky half smile. “Of course, I don’t think I will.”
Then he’s off in a blur of speed.
As I walk closer, I draw my sword. The hair rises on the back of my neck, and my fingers tighten on my hilt. With every step toward the ivy-clad walls, I feel like someone could be watching me.
I cross under an arch, where no one can see me from the windows. As I wait here, I listen for Tristan.
My eyes dart, left and right, searching for signs of movement. Around me, the shadows seem to darken. My muscles tense, and alarm bells ring in the recesses of my mind.
Sword in hand, I whirl. I barely have time to glimpse Aneirin before his shadows slide from his cane, wrapping around my mouth and throat. Immediately, I lose my grip on the sword.
He’s not choking me—but he’s silenced me. Another tendril slips around my ribs and binds my arms together. Then, he tugs me down to the ground—hard.
His halo beams from his skull, staining the air around him with gold. A few wisps of his shadows curl before his halo, like smoke is rising from his body.
“I don’t have it anymore.” His voice is ice-cold, and he has a strange lisp. “And if you’ve come here for revenge, you needn’t bother. I came home to die, anyway. That is all that’s left for me.”
I writhe, frantically trying to free myself from his magic.
“I know, I betrayed you,” he adds. “But you’re not who you said you were, are you? I followed you to the cottage. I heard you call that peasant girl sister.”
He takes another step closer on the gravel, peering down at me. Still, shadows cloak his face.
“I was betrayed, too,” he lisps. “It’s justice, isn’t it?
I didn’t have a chance, Alis. Whoever you are.
The noble houses would never choose someone like me to rise up.
I’d never win more titles, more land. I was either going to die in the trials or be dismissed.
And then what? Back here, to my crushing debts and the fucking isolation.
What do I have to offer anyone? Even the servants don’t like my company. And really, I can’t even pay them.”
I try to scream, but the bindings around my mouth are choking me.
“I might as well be dead,” Aneirin says.
“But then someone powerful approached me. The Order of the Green Knight, it’s called.
He wanted three relics, and he offered to pay me very handsomely for any of them.
Just one was all it took. He wants the throne, you see.
Not only did he promise to settle my debts, but he promised me protection from the cugol and vast tracts of land.
And if anyone is in a position to make those promises, it’s him. ”
From the ground, I inch closer to him, trying to kick out his legs, but it’s useless.
The shadows clear from his face. Now, as I look up at him, I see someone has already beaten the shit out of him.
They must have used iron to smash his face, because he’s not healing as rapidly as a Fey should.
Blood spatters his white collar, and he’s missing all his front teeth. One of his eyes has been gouged out.
Nausea turns my stomach as he keeps talking.
“But my benefactor never intended to keep his promises. He simply took the grail from me, then battered me half to death with an iron rod. He was angry that I let myself be identified. He said that was messy. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.
You know, I don’t know why he left me alive.
I think he liked the cruelty of it, leaving me to suffer, mutilated like this.
No money, no friends. He didn’t really need me in the end.
He has a more powerful ally in the trials.
His own son. And why bother with me when Rion is winning the whole thing?
You helped him get to the top, Alis. Was that really a good idea? ”
I shriek into the bindings around my mouth.
At that moment, Tristan whips into the archway and presses his blade to Aneirin’s throat. “Pull your magic away from her,” Tristan hisses, “or you’ll be dead in moments.”
A smile curls Aneirin’s lips. “If you think you can threaten me with death, you’re sorely mistaken. I long for it. Cut away.”
“Where is the grail?” Tristan snarls.
“Not here.” Aneirin says through clenched teeth. “Isn’t that clear by the state I’m in? Don’t you think I would have sipped from it to cure myself, you contemptible moron?”
His magic still binds me, which means I still can’t speak. I want to ask him who the fuck Rion’s father is.
“And who took it from you?” Tristan’s voice echoes off the archway.
“Ah.” Aneirin’s single eye holds a dull sheen.
“Well, King Auberon isn’t dead. He plans to reclaim the throne.
And you know who else isn’t dead? Prince Lothyr.
Alis’s new lover. For the past few centuries, Lothyr has been living as a high lord on Tintagol.
He’s changed, but it’s him all the same.
You think I’m evil? He’s a fucking monster.
They want to bring the whole world to its knees, and Alis seems to be along for the ride. ”
Shadows burst from Aneirin’s body, knocking Tristan back. Tristan’s head slams hard against the stone.
Aneirin runs just outside the archway, where another stream of shadows shoots from his body, racing up toward the sky. It loops around his throat, forming a noose—and jerks him sharply upward.
The loud snap of his neck makes me gasp, and then silence unfurls over the courtyard.
Aneirin swings above the ground for a few moments, his head limp, feet swaying.
As the shadows slide from my body, evaporating into the air, I step out of the archway. His magic loops over a gargoyle on the facade above him until the shadow magic drifts away like smoke into the sky, and then his broken body falls to the ground in a heap.
My body shakes as I stare at him.
Auberon. Of course he’s still here, still pulling strings. Still demanding perfection.
And Rion is there to help him.
“Auberon wants the throne back,” I say, my voice choked. “I knew he was still alive.”
Tristan steps out of the shadows. “Why would he need the relics?”
Tears blur my eyes, and I stare down at Aneirin’s broken body.
“Auberon was defeated in combat. In the old days, that’s how a reign ended.
No one will accept him as king now. He looks weak, dethroned by his son.
A monarch has to defend his crown. But with the relics, he can claim the gods blessed him. ”
“Then our mission has changed,” Tristan says. “Now, we’re after Auberon.”
I meet his gaze. “Kill the king.”