Chapter 30
T he High King’s mountain was exactly that. Hewn within the blackstone and only reachable by a bridge connecting the innards of the two castles. Its slopes were crowned with lofty, arching cloisters, erected across the middle depths of the mountain. The grand structure culminated in a pair of towering, night-dark doors, each engraved with the High King’s Raven crest much like …
Alora willed herself not to swallow as her feet threatened to stop mid-step.
Nevilier. Magnelis’s half-skeletal raven that’d stolen Garrik before his birthday.
Garrik’s face was a calm storm beside her as a muscle feathered in his cheek. Appearing handsomely bored as he observed it and the twelve members of Ladomyr’s High Guard positioned there when a High Fae-looking male faded out from within the ranks.
Black locks as straight as a wooden board cascaded over his right shoulder, framing cheekbones that seemed to be molded like broken glass. Few pieces fell over swirling, inked runes that marked half his porcelain forehead and twirled over his eyelid to his cheek, darkening his deep crimson eyes even more. Markings like the swirls were shaved into his head above his left ear, leaving no locks covering a broad scar proudly displayed as if in warning.
The male stepped forward from the shadows. A long, golden chain and ruby earring connected from the tip of his pointed ear to the base, illuminated by faelight lanterns flanking the doors as his authority forced the High Guard at attention. He cupped his hands behind his lean body, disturbing the fine charcoal jacket and ornate black tunic half unbuttoned underneath.
Alora’s attention snapped to the very same markings down his neck and chest when a serpentine smile twisted on his handsome face, capturing her exploration.
Like a snake constricting its meal, those crimson eyes didn’t leave her as the Shadow Order, followed by Draven’s battalion, approached the end of the bridge.
“Spymaster,” Garrik growled in way of greeting, stepping forward as if to shield those behind him, demanding the male’s attention.
But that piercing blood-gaze burned like starfire against Alora’s skin, unmoving as if he could see through her.
“It is amusing how you still believe that shit will protect you.” Gesturing with a harsh nod upward, Garrik toyed with a baiting grin, boring his darkened eyes at a marking resembling a bleeding eye. “Especially from me.”
But the male’s smile never faltered, not even when his head swept slowly across the Dragon-storm before him, considering each face before slowly finding oblivion in Garrik’s eyes. “They have their purposes,” the spymaster drawled, his expression dropping wholly bored.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, Silas?”
Silas. She’d heard that name before. The mercenaries were going to sell her to him.
Alora stiffened.
Garrik must’ve known because a rush of shadowy calm brushed her mind. You are safe, clever girl.
The spymaster uncupped his hands and cleared a speck of dirt from his jacket, assessing the fabric as he spoke. “Haven’t you heard?” Crimson flickered to Alora. “There is a powerful Marked One within Kadamar’s borders.” That critical gaze snapped to Garrik. “I thought it best I usher him to his father’s mountain. You never know what dangers lie within.”
Garrik scoffed. His cruel smile widened. “Silas … I am touched. I never knew you cared.”
Silas’s expression was as if it were carved in stone. “Indeed.” With a sway of his arm, he gestured to the raven-crested doors. “I am quite certain you remember the way. Should you require anything … I would be happy to assist.”
“I am certain you would be, Silas. But we will not require your careful eye.”
That cunning grin twitched on Silas’s mouth. “Even so.” He gracefully side-stepped, allowing room for Garrik to pass before his stare fell on Alora. She was nearly passed when he leaned in, drawing close to her shoulder to whisper, “Welcome to Kadamar, white-hair.”
If it were anyone else, perhaps she would’ve smiled. But laced within his sharp tongue, it sounded more of a threat than anything.
With a wary nod, Alora glanced over her shoulder to Thalon directly behind her, and Jade and Aiden steps behind. That warm smile she knew so well was nowhere to be seen. The illusion of barbarity under the Savage Prince’s order reigned. But glowing golden eyes locked on her, and he nodded as if to say everything is alright before stopping just outside the threshold and turning to speak to the guardsmen.
Static energy like strikes of lightning undulated through her the moment she crossed the threshold. For a moment, Alora’s eyes closed, allowing the sensation raising the hairs on her arms to sink deeply into her bones, reveling in the taste of metal and satisfying silent protection of her High Prince’s shield. When she opened them, what had been dreary and dark blackstone and the aroma of molded earth under waterfalls transformed into a grand spectacle.
Greeted by a foyer crafted of silver that envied Garrik’s polished eyes, spiral railings deigned two long staircases. Each rugged in deep purple, expensive fabric and embroidered in silver filigrees, they led to upper floors splitting into five hallways.
On the top level, a backdrop of arched windows stretched to the impeccably high ceilings, casting light from gardens carved within the mountain. Through the windows trimmed in deep brown wood, she browsed the numerous balconies and doorways up to the mountain’s peak, where turrets and spires nearly touched the bright afternoon sky.
One more staircase atop that extended to the ceiling, which dripped with crystal faelight chandeliers. And at the base of those railings, two considerately tall ravens perched as if watching over the castle’s doorway. Their piercing red eyes as ominous as those on the wooden doors, flanking a glimmering pool of water between the staircases.
Unlike Ladomyr’s castle, this foyer gleamed. Wooden floors in rich oak stained in an almond finish were polished so perfectly, and she wondered if anyone had ever graced the boards with their boots. Marbled walls held hanging weapons and tapestries of the sea and landscapes much like those in Zyllyryon—though Alora didn’t imagine Magnelis cared so much about the kingdom he’d usurped.
Garrik regarded the slight pinch of her brows and leaned close as he observed them, too. “My mother’s taste,” he said and cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the Kadamarian guards mere feet away on the bridge. “Magnelis has not visited since before her death.” Which meant Magnelis hadn’t removed and stolen these memories like he had in Castle Galdheir.
Alora’s heart dropped at the thought when her eyes drifted to Garrik’s face. That look of the ruthless Savage Prince had disappeared as he observed one particular painting. For only a moment, the silver in his eyes went glassy, his breathing uneven before darkness swirled inside. She saw the painting reflected in his stare as if mirrored crystal replaced his irises.
She’d never seen him before. Was never allowed inside the throne room when Kaine was summoned to Galdheir for lord’s business. Never laid her eyes on the usurper beast that haunted Elysian. But she knew, looking at how Garrik’s jaw tightened, how his grip crushed the pommel of his sword enough to crack the iron beneath until his knuckles blanched.
To anyone else, the painting was an endearing memory. Settled on the bottom level, between the stairs, directly in the center of the wall so guests welcomed into these halls first saw the royal family. High Queen Airathel cradled a faeling with perfect gray hair and glowing green eyes. Her long curls were so bright they resembled sunlight spilling like waves over a teal gown made of smooth silk and crystal gemstones as if she were the seas themselves.
It would’ve been a perfect painting …
If not for the dark-haired male claiming her shoulder from behind.
In all the portraits Alora had seen, his likeness resembled the brutal perfection of kingship. The stark exemplar of authority and unmatched power. No smile sat on his striking face; his eyes cast in a darkness that equaled his wicked heart—it was a wonder how the artist had painted the emotion so perfectly. A crown of amethyst and ruby jewels on spikes of iron parted his night-dark, straight hair falling below his chest, almost as beautiful as Storm’s mane.
Magnelis was as striking as all High Fae were, but she couldn’t imagine he resembled this beauty now. Not a creature so vile. Wickedness could change a heart, it could change a face, too, she supposed.
When her eyes drifted from the painting, leaving a chill as cold as Garrik’s skin settling deep into her bones, tormented eyes stared back.
A gentle caress brushed against her mind, parting her starflames enough that she happily accepted him in.
She would have loved you. Alora almost saw it then, an emerald flare in his eyes as he stared at his mother’s likeness. I wish… His voice was low, as broken as it was inside that winter’s barn. I wish you could have met her.
Sapphires studied the canvas, falling upon Magnelis’s young face, frowning. Airathel’s painted smile traded it for a soft grin when she turned to him and thought, I think I have.
Garrik pinched his brows in silent question, but Alora simply continued to smile.
You look like your mother. And I have seen that gentle, kind spirit the histories speak about her, in you.
Confusion melted from his features as his mouth drifted into a serene smile, as if the mere thought of being like his mother thawed some frigid part of him. He was every bit as thoughtful and selfless and loving as the artist painted her to be.
Alora stepped closer to the painting, scanning it and daring to face the monster that had stolen her parents so long ago. Then she felt Garrik’s hand brush against her own.
They were silent, standing there, hands nearly touching.
Garrik’s eyes were on Magnelis’s hand, and she wondered how many scars it had carved on his body. Perhaps Garrik relived a memory just the same because he shifted uncomfortably, plucking the fabric from his abdomen before he quivered.
But this wasn’t fear.
This was building disdain.
Beast Made for Magnelis. His voice scratched like talons inside her mind when she noticed his eyes now burning into the faeling. And she knew he didn’t only mean his ruthless title. He was born to be who Magnelis wanted him to be, like any son. Groomed from birth to carry out the sinister desires of the wicked male who raised him.
It didn’t matter what Elysian said, though. She knew Garrik as something different. Not who he was Made to be but who he wanted to be—who he already was.
I don’t see any likeness of Magnelis in you.
Without a moment of thought, Garrik quickly retorted, Nothing but his wickedness.
Not even that. Darkness, yes. But not Magnelis.
Behind, wooden doors latched and footsteps approached, drawing their attention to Thalon, Jade, and Aiden entering the grand parlor. Thalon’s eyes glowed brighter than his Earned before he nodded at them, dropping the pretense of the hardened, ruthless warriors.
“Race you to the wine cellar,” speaking in Jade’s direction, Aiden’s face gleamed with mischief as he unbuckled his crimson cloak, allowing the thick fabric to pool on the floor.
Jade was a step ahead of him as she shed her cloak and draped it over a statue of Magnelis, scanning the hallways. Those green eyes squinted as if she could see through the darkness to the rooms within.
“Again, it must be said. The most deadly warriors in Elysian.” Alora grinned, shaking her head.
Garrik turned and gave them a slow, stern scan. “Do try to at least be convincing of our presence here. It would be pertinent if the rest of the castle believes us to be here under threat to Ladomyr.”
“Oh, no need to worry your delicious little head about it.” Aiden strolled close to Jade, who leaned against a display table. Tracing his finger along the surface, he smiled at her and rubbed his fingers together close to his nose. His face scrunched, eyes blinking a few times before a contorted expression twisted his mouth.
Aiden drew in a sharp breath as tears welled in his eyes … and sneezed directly onto Jade’s face.
“ What , and I mean this from the depths of my heart,” Jade paused and briskly wiped her cheek, “ the fuck ?”
Aiden’s face blushed as he scratched the back of his head, shrugging. “Allergies?”
Shaking his head, Garrik’s mouth tightened as cutting sarcasm dripped from his voice. “As if I ever need to worry. My point entirely.”
Jade’s face remained as brutal as death, edging on something lethal, glowering at their sea captain. “Step away from me before I stab you.”
Palms lifted, Aiden cautiously backed away. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Thalon leaned on the wooden doors, boot pressed against the raven engraved there, inked arms crossed as he chuckled. “Glad to see that display in the ballroom changed nothing.” His gaze flickered to Garrik. “Draven’s soldiers are stationed outside the doors, and Deimon’s Wingborne is patrolling the skies. Ladomyr’s High Guard has been dismissed. Might we now discuss our plans for Blood?”
Straight to the point. After all, they hadn’t come to Kadamar for the infamous Hunt and festivities. And the sooner they found the sister stone, the sooner they could return to the safety of the legion.
“Not here.” Garrik moved toward the left staircase and tapped his ear, then pointed to the hallways above. Footsteps and clattering echoed as if many hands were at work deep inside. “Servants here gossip worse than a horde of mothers boasting of their sons.”
Someone strode out from a hallway as if the stars were in agreement. With a deep curtsy and the soft mumblings of Your Highness , a young scarlet-haired faerie with fox-like ears and a tail lifted her burnished skirt and white apron, shuffling up the first staircase.
Everyone in the foyer waited until her slippers crossed the threshold of a darkened room. Garrik frowned, watching her, then twisted to his Shadow Order. “Dine, enjoy yourselves tonight.” Garrik’s eyes shifted to another maid scurrying atop the staircase with dark linens. Keep alert if opportunities arise. We will discuss Blood in the morning.
They each nodded, but Aiden’s face beamed brighter than the silver railings as he adjusted his belt with a toying grin.
Alora deciphered that look, having seen it in the ballroom when he’d laid eyes on a bronze-skinned female.
Garrik apparently did too and quickly added, “Your room will be at the other end of the castle.”
“Thank Maker of the Skies.” Thalon closed his eyes with a deep, relieved breath. “Here I thought I wouldn’t get any sleep.”
With an air of roguery, that smirk that irritated her wholly twisted up the side of Garrik’s face. “On second thought, perhaps I will room you two together. That should keep him from trouble.”
“Like that stopped him before,” Thalon’s retort was nothing short of a youngling’s whine.
Faelings, Alora thought. Big, muscled bodies with lethal weapons strapped to the sides of overgrown faelings.
Whole amusement flashed across Garrik’s features as silver drifted to her. Faelings certainly do not carry big muscles. Muscles you seem unable to stop thinking of, darling.
She ignored him. Ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and strode to Jade, daring to hook her arm through hers. “Shall we find our rooms before the males end up in bunkbeds together?”
Jade’s smirk widened, and she sharply laughed. “I thought you’d never ask.”