Chapter 39
S unset eyes like blood glowed brighter than the end of the mellowherb roll, wafting smoke into the surrounding air.
Garrik did not mind as long as it did not host hallucinogenic qualities. His surveillants needed to remain alert. Of the many times he had met with his spymaster in the concealment of a darkened corner or storming night, the male usually could not help but relieve the stress of his duties without a light.
Either that or to quench an undying thirst the male could not fight.
Garrik had been on the receiving end of it before. And standing there, he sensed the need for blood in his spymaster. The mellowherb would not stifle it for long.
At least the male’s eyes were not black yet. Then that hunger would turn into something … more .
Hidden in the depths of the royal gardens, in the shadow of a stone wall that appeared more like a prison than the maze of shrubbery and statues it concealed inside, the male dropped the mellowherb and twisted his boot atop it. That blood-gaze tightened, squinting through the canopy of trees, which barely allowed in any sunlight, as he adjusted the cloak over his pin-straight, long black hair.
“Think you can locate it?”
The male deepened a breath as if he were still inhaling smoke. “Yes,” he said with absolute certainty. Garrik did not doubt it. “If Blood is in Kadamar. I will find it.”
Garrik surveyed those crimson eyes under the male’s cloak and warned, “I do not wish to be here by the Cullings.” And he sure as shit would not be around for the Hunt.
Across the darkness, the male nodded. “It will be done, High Prince.”
Either by his Shadow Order or his spymaster, Blood would be found. There was no other alternative.
The male reached into his cloak and pulled out another mellowherb roll and match.
Garrik eyed it while his veins burned in warning. That bloodthirst must have been boiling directly beneath the surface if the male needed another so soon. “Do you need something?” he asked and began to roll up his sleeve.
“As much of a delicacy as you are … I have a warm selection waiting.” The flare illuminated the dark ink along his fingers as he sucked in relief and puffed out tension. “If that is all?”
Garrik simply nodded, glad for their short meetings, and laid amused caution in his tone. “Do not allow Kadamar’s spymaster to find you out.”
The male barked a dark laugh and smirked. He dipped his chin before that casual nature merged into a face of carved stone and backed into the shadows, simply fading from view as if he, too, commanded darkness to carry him like air in the wind.
Fading .
If his upper left arm were exposed, a death mark would disclose the male’s curse that solidified him as the perfect surveillant. Able to roam the median of space and time. Veiled within the in-between—the Middleworld—as an entity. There, but not seen until the moment pleased him. Surely something most Bloodlusteds would envy. Able to fade into existence when it pleased them. Especially if overcome by thirst, to manifest in front of a warm High Fae vein …
Garrik rubbed the pulse on his wrist and watched ash dance away in the wind, wondering if the male still lingered or had simply walked through the stone behind him. He closed his eyes and listened. Breathed in the fresh lilac and rose bushes. Then there was the familiar settling scent of pearlseas his mother had gifted Kadamar’s late queen, her closest friend, MiraBelle.
These gardens were named after her. After her wondrous beauty. He pictured them there. Mira’s long, moon-white hair and stunning ice-blue eyes. How Airathel embodied the sea under the summer sun, but Queen Mira mirrored the winter she was born from.
Pushing away from the wall, he revealed a path from darkness to sunlight—a path to the castle—and passed courtiers who trembled in fear. Some tripped over their hideous skirts or clung to their male’s arms. Garrik paid them no mind. His face was a work of hewn marble, uncaring and dismissive, flashing his sharpened teeth as a pleasing threat.
Silence veiled the courtyard. Even the steps leading into the castle where soldiers were normally stationed were entirely empty. No sooner did Garrik drop his hand to the sword sheathed at his side did High Guardsmen swarm from the outer cloisters and burst through the doors.
Garrik drew his sword, forcing a murderous glare into his swirling abyss for eyes.
Every soldier stepped back.
Until one on trembling knees dared to step from the swarm, voice cracking in fear as he said, “Your Highness. His Majest—” Those terrified eyes flicked to the tip of Garrik’s sword. To the Smokeshadows tendriling around their legs and necks before he corrected, “The king requires your attention,” and swallowed as if he had signed his death missive.
The entire court had gathered.
Garrik made a spectacle of sitting on the throne. Instead of last evening’s dinner chair, he now reclined on an onyx dragon. A symbol of his Order, his legion. If the High Prince was to preside over the dealings of a foreign court, then he would do so on his own throne, not the High King’s.
But if someone did not speak soon, he would not only start redecorating the room but the way certain necks appeared too.
Ladomyr strode through the newly crafted doors wearing a golden circlet of rubies on his sweaty head. Not a crown, but even so, Garrik entertained the idea of misting it to dust with the kingling’s every step. It would certainly amuse the boredom of being kept waiting.
Behind Ladomyr, walking shoulder to shoulder, two males stepped onto the crimson rugs that replaced Magnelis’s gaudy purple. Silas, Kadamar’s spymaster, kept his tattooed neck straight and chin high, displaying those useless runes stark against the side of his face.
Prowling beside him, adorned in autumn-colored armor, Garrik speculated that this was the High Guard’s general, Kyrell—as old, plump, and bald as Ladomyr. Only Kyrell’s face repulsed him. Thanks to the High King delivering punishment that ended in the removal of his tongue centuries past, he was grotesque.
The king acted as if his back would break if he bent even slightly. The bow was barely noticeable, but Garrik’s rumbling growl was not. Wisely, Ladomyr bent forward. The golden circlet on his head shifted as if unable to withstand the motion. After all, since when did kings bow?
In one rippling wave, Silas, Kyrell, and the court mirrored the king until every knee touched rugs and polished stone.
The only ones who did no such thing were Garrik’s Shadow Order, perfectly scattered and poised at the bottom of his dais. Thalon’s golden sword pierced the floor, both hands draped on the pommel while Jade cocked her hip and twirled a dagger between her fingers. To their right, Alora crossed her arms with a look of ruthless indifference as Aiden draped himself over six steps and cleaned his nails with a dagger.
Garrik gave Aiden a curt nod.
“Rise,” Aiden announced with a lazy gesture, sounding as annoyed as Garrik felt.
Ladomyr grunted as he straightened and adjusted his circlet.
A growl reverberated deep in Garrik’s chest as he reclined on his throne and dawned a glass of amber liquid into his palm.
Still. Silence.
“Are you going to make me wait all fucking day, Ladomyr?” It was enough of a threat that the king turned to Kyrell and Silas, and he whispered something before the general and spymaster parted the blanched faces and finery.
That threat of snapping necks lingered in the air until the doors to the left of the throne burst open and flooded with guardsmen. When the autumn-storm lined the walls, three figures crowded the doorway. One waited on their knees.
Kyrell stepped into the light, drawing a rope taut. He ripped it forward with a harsh tug?—
Garrik glimpsed Alora stiffening as that figure entered the light. As that female tied by her neck was forced to crawl through the crowd with Silas casually strolling behind her back.
Everything in Garrik’s body tightened.
He knew these types of dealings. Had watched from a marble floor as Magnelis pointed his finger and ordered Garrik to lay ruin to imprisoned and tortured Mystics after the High King had thieved power from their souls.
Only now, the Savage Prince sat on the throne.
Expected to lay brutal and bloody judgment.
Silas’s neutral face burned into the female. It was only then that Garrik realized why. The reddened skin… The freshly created runes—like Silas’s. Not over her forehead and across her eyelids until they swirled down her neck and chest like the spymaster, but they were runes all the same.
And on her left upper arm—Garrik could have scoffed.
A symbol, much like his ruined death mark, was displayed.
His magic whispered inside him. Warning of treachery the court could not perceive. Normally, Mystics carried a halo around them, a glowing marker like torches of a city igniting the night sky. This female was dull. Not a single trace of magic inside.
The fucking fools . They had conjured a ruse. He did not think Ladomyr was so stupid, but even so, he would allow them to play this out. The punishment would only be sweeter. The more lies they told, the more pain Garrik felt justified in delivering.
Abyss flickered to Silas. Though his eyes were expressionless, Garrik knew better than to underestimate the male. He had not earned his position at the king’s side for sharing simple secrets. Nothing escaped the male. Nothing .
It made him incredibly dangerous to those he called enemy .
Garrik suppressed a smirk and willed every bit of malicious hunger to contort his face as they settled before the dais steps. “Silas,” he singsonged. “Did you bring me a gift?”
With his hands clasped behind his back, Silas stepped around the sobbing female as if she were filthy boots. His mouth never faltered from the thin unamused line as he hauntingly scanned up to Garrik’s throne and drawled through boredom, “It’s believed that this Marked One is who crossed our border.”
Garrik arched a brow and flashed an expression of disinterest, tapping one of his rings against the crystal glass that caused members of his court to flinch. “The measly effort hardly pleases me. We are searching for a male,” he stated dryly, but it was still every bit of a threat as the sword draped across his lap.
Silas did not so much as shift his feet, wholly unaffected, and slowly nodded as if time meant nothing. “The mistake shall be remedied.” And carelessly gestured with the sway of his hand to the female. “She’s yours for the pleasure.”
The pleasure of tearing her apart limb by limb until her blood soaked the rugs. A pleasure expected of the High King’s son.
“Is she now?” Though bile burned his throat, the illusion needed to remain. A cruel smile played on Garrik’s face. He slid his sword from his thighs and stood.
Every step, the sharpened tip clanged down the steps until he crossed the barrier of his Shadow Order and stood before the trembling female.
Silas merely side-stepped toward Alora and Aiden as Kyrell tugged the rope harder, forcing the female on her face.
Unimaginable rage surrounded Garrik. Only, it was not his own he felt. He did not need to look behind him to know sapphires pierced the general. And imagined green, golden, and shale ones too.
I do not think you need reminding to keep your emotions buried, he called to each of his Shadow Order. In the corners of his mind, they answered in their own way of recognition, but Alora’s simmering disdain remained. Speaking to her, Clever girl ? —
I want to burn this entire kingdom to the ground, she snarled.
Seeing as it is an entire kingdom made from blackstone, I do not imagine that as possible.
She scoffed, and it settled his nerves as he deliberately circled the female on her knees.
Do I need to conjure a reason to excuse you? Not meant as a dismissal, knowing she could handle much more, but if she required a moment… If this revived torturous memories?—
No. Just … get her out of here.
That is the plan. Do you trust me?
There was no hesitation. Never.
He could have chuckled at the sly grin and wink she flashed in his mind. Garrik brushed a shadow along the curve of Alora’s lower back, disturbing the draped chains of diamonds there, feeling her shudder as his eyes stole hers from behind the female.
With a hand on the tattered rags of the female’s shoulder, Garrik finished circling and tilted her chin to glare into his eyes, and said, “Let’s see what you are hiding.”
Her eyes widened instantly as she strangled a breath.
Garrik did not require a display of darkness, though Smokeshadows begged to burst from every inch of him. No . The Savage Prince only searched into the soul of those eyes of fear and betrayal and hatred and spoke to her in one terrifying word. Scream.
By the stars, she did. So loud the chandeliers rattled and nobles covered their ears.
He hated it. Hated Magnelis for being Made . For what he was forced to be—to do. If the Stars Eternal could hear him… There is no point in wishing. His soul was condemned to Firekeeper. This act of disgusting entertainment could not possibly have him burning in a deeper pit. His actions had already doomed him as far as Firekeeper’s realm could go.
Pain will not be inflicted upon you. You will only scream as if it had. And then, you will hate me. Be convincing, he commanded, but she had no choice. His whims were engraved in her mind as if she had convinced herself.
The screaming continued. Ear-shattering wails that trembled the polished stone beneath his feet until she had no breath remaining and convulsed on the rug. Garrik tried not to remember his own body. How that exactly felt when he laid bruised and bleeding and bare below Magnelis’s throne by Brennus’s torture or Malik’s flames.
Garrik crouched above her and brushed sweat-soaked hair from her face. Perhaps something that could be sensual, but to one bound and broken, it was nothing but wicked possession. “Are you hiding others?”
“No!” she barely choked out and spit in his face.
He merely gritted his teeth and wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“ The stars will curse you for this. ”
Garrik’s cruel smile widened. “They already have.” He cocked his head like a beast and warned, “I will not ask again.”
The female sneered through her teeth, “No, High Wretch. I’m telling you the truth!”
He laughed. Taking the female’s chin between his fingers, Garrik pulled her face inches from his endless abyss for eyes. “I know. But I simply do not care.”And turned over his shoulder to Thalon, staring down the general who burned his hideous gaze into his swords-master. “Guardian. Drug and bind her in iron. Deliver her to Galdheir at once.”
But it was Ladomyr who skulked forward. Garrik had entirely forgotten of his existence, hiding amongst his wives like they could shield him from the punishment Garrik vowed to administer before they left this starsdamned kingdom. Ladomyr offered, “If it pleases you, High Prince. She can be bound in your bedchamber.”
Garrik tightened his fist beside his inner knee so he would not unwillingly tremble.
A burst of white flame danced along the shadows in his mind. It reminded him to breathe.
Repulsed by his words, Garrik stood and addressed the king. “Finally, the first pleasing idea you have offered since our arrival.” But it was not the thought of having a female in his bed that had him smiling next. Every courtier, noble, and royal, even most of the castle guards were gathered. Meaning the halls were empty save for some wandering servants.
Garrik gestured to Kyrell for the rope. Once it was in his hand and the unsightly ilk stepped away, bumping into Silas who stared forward and brushed the invisible filth from his shoulder, Garrik turned and handed it to Aiden.
He scanned past Alora, past Jade, and met the burning glower of Thalon. “Take her to my bedchamber.” The tunnels. Thalon, you know where they are. Secure her in camp, find Eldacar and Calla, then you and Aiden search them while we remain at court.
Thalon nodded and motioned for Aiden to follow. He parted the crowd with his massive figure and runed sword strapped to his side before they disappeared through the throne room doors.
“You really must have a death wish,” Alora said, swirling her glass of wine in her half-crossed arms.
Ezander heedlessly strolled toward her, paying no mind to anything else but her. “Perhaps. But if it’s you as my final vision, then I will die a happy male.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head with a sigh. “He will kill you, you know.”
The male heir merely shrugged and dug his shoulder into the pillar beside her. “I don’t doubt that.”
“What do you want, Ezander?”
“A date.” He rolled his head against the marble and smiled. “Just one.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like you.”
“I think you could like me very much.”
“Ezander,” Alora scolded flatly. Stars , he was incorrigible. She gestured her chin to Jade in a long-sleeved black gown standing by Garrik’s side, looking just as unapproachable as at dinner last evening. “Why don’t you ask Jade?”
“She scares me more than our High Prince.” He cringed.
Alora snorted a laugh. “Yes. She does have that effect.”
In the shadow of the pillar, she watched the court conversing and picking from trays while females pretended to worry about their figures when offered something sweet. Alora thought of Thalon and Aiden, who’d been absent nearly an hour, but that wasn’t of concern. If they were searching endless tunnels, they certainly wouldn’t return so soon. And being the brutes of the High Prince, as much as it bothered her, the vain and self-conceited wouldn’t miss them.
“The High City is overflowing with eateries,” Ezander continued. “Countless shops of gowns and clothing imported from all over Elysian. Art galleries and thrill parlors. Flowers. Gem collections from Evanoran. Music halls. Worship houses. Anywhere you wish to go—to see. I would be happy to escort you.” He clearly wasn’t going to relent, she realized.
Alora downed the last of her wine and found Ladomyr staring at her. Raking his eyes from the floor-length blue gown matching her eyes—the dress Garrik had brushed his palms down in the library as his breath fanned across her neck.
She narrowed her eyes at the king, willed her spine straight as an iron rod, and glared, causing him to scoff and turn away.
Something whispered to her. An urge to scan the room.
Alora stilled her breath when she found Garrik. Oblivion stared directly into the shadow of the pillar when she asked Ezander, “Why?” Never taking her eyes off her High Prince.
Ezander considered her question. “Is it enough to say I delighted in your command to my father to lick our High Prince’s boots?” He paused and searched her face. “You could inform him and I’d be in the dungeons instantly. But somehow, I sense there is much more to you than malicious intent. And I wish to know you much more. More than any of the brainless courtiers who only want under my belt and in the royal coffers. If not romantically, then … merely a friend.”
“I can’t?—”
“ She belongs to no one but herself. It is her decision . Is that not what our High Prince said?”
As much as she hated to admit … Ezander was right. Garrik, from the moment in those woods when he returned Soulstryker so long ago, had always respected her choice unless to save her life.
But why did it feel with either choice she would betray one heart or break another?
Alora chewed on the inside of her cheek, surveying a servant approach Silas and offer a silver plate of the garlic braids Garrik loved. The spymaster flickered his eyes to the selection and hauntingly angled his head away without expression. Always observing.
“Allow me time to consider,” she said. It was as good an answer as he would receive. She already knew she wouldn’t say yes. This was just … easier.
Ezander’s smile widened, and she had to turn away, knowing sometime soon it would fracture. “I can accept that,” he said. “When you have your answer, I am only a pen stroke away.”
Warmth enveloped her palm as Ezander lifted it. The last thing she felt before he slipped out a side door was his warm lips against her knuckles and a promise that she’d see him soon. If not in the ballroom, then on the streets of Karanagar with her arm in his.
Thalon and Aiden hadn’t returned by the time court was dismissed.
Flanked by Dragons in battle-black armor, Garrik had escorted Jade and Alora to the High King’s mountain in the dead of night.
He’d only just dawned from the threshold of Alora’s door when Smokeshadows whorled again.
From the tendrils, Garrik surged forward. A look of urgency had her tensing. Waiting for him to say the words she couldn’t dare to speak.
Thalon and Aiden …
He didn’t have to say it. It was written on his face.
“Tell me they’re okay.” Her voice shook.
Garrik was a pillar in a storm. Calm. Unwavering. Unbreakable. Before Smokeshadows turned them into ash and shadow and clouds, he demanded, “My chambers. Now .”
“You lost her?” Garrik pinched the bridge of his nose.
Thalon sprawled across a couch holding wrapped ice to his temple as Jade dabbed a wet cloth to a half-conscious Aiden’s split lip.
Apparently, the moment Garrik dawned from Alora’s door, he had found Thalon staggering and dragging Aiden inside his rooms. Both bleeding. Both barely coherent.
Groaning, Thalon rapidly blinked as if to steady his vision. “Aiden and I thought it best to escort her to your chambers before portaling to camp. We had only arrived at your door when something hit Aiden. I turned and … everything went dark.” His throat worked, then confessed, “She was gone when I woke. I’m sorry, Garrik. I didn’t see who it was. We never made it to the tunnels.”
Garrik’s back faced them, staring out the window. But when he turned, Alora shivered at his sharpened jaw pressed so tight it looked painful. He walked until he gripped the back of Thalon’s couch. If it were wood, she dared to believe it would have cracked.
“Someone broke through my shield,” he growled. “Those only permitted through are our Order and servants. None of those currently in the castle carry memories of what happened.”
“Is that possible?” Alora asked, handing Jade a glass of water, hoping to rouse Aiden.
Garrik gripped the couch harder. “It would seem the impossible has become achievable in the last few days. I would be a fool to believe otherwise.” The null’s magic. He didn’t have to say it. “No one goes anywhere alone,” he ordered.
Alora and Jade nodded. Thalon groaned. Aiden still appeared caught in a daze as his fingers twitched on the scaled ring on his finger.
“Aiden can’t go anywhere like this.” Jade’s voice… Alora hadn’t heard it that way since the gamroara attack. Since Aiden hadn’t returned to them after so many months. She hated hearing the worry there. Hated seeing Jade like this as she guided Aiden onto his back.
Garrik agreed, “Take him to his room, Jade. Do not allow him to fall asleep. I will send Ozrin to tend to him.” He gazed down at Thalon. “You too.”
Thalon grunted his disapproval but said nothing else as Jade helped Aiden to his feet. It was evident Aiden wouldn’t be walking easily down the halls and stairs. Garrik must’ve known that too because one moment, Aiden swayed in Jade’s arm banded around his waist, and in the next, Smokeshadows coiled around them until nothing but a damp bloody cloth remained.
Another day… Another starsdamned day they would have to endure this horrid kingdom.
Defeated. She felt defeated .
Like the hope of a long-lost lion trinket was in her sights, only to be burned away when she was so close to reaching it.
There had to be more they could do than sit there and tend to wounds.
“If we can’t search the tunnels tonight, then we must try alternatives. It would do little damage to get close to the royal family. Ladomyr’s wives … I have glimpsed some disgust toward the king. I could get to know them. Invite them for tea. Something.”
Garrik seemed interested enough that she thought to take it a step beyond steaming drinks. Her next word was cautious, bordering on something careful like it would aggravate a volcano into eruption. “Ezander.”
Death entered the room in the form of Garrik’s eyes.
Alora stiffened her spine and spoke with caution, “He’s asked me on a date.”
It appeared as if he couldn’t speak. For long moments, he stared and breathed. At last, when he did open his mouth, that rumbling warm voice was cold enough to freeze the fire in her blood. “Ezander,” he repeated, voice dancing on the brink of nightmares. Of terrible destruction. “Asked you on a date.”
Thalon pulled the ice off his temple and attempted to sit up. Garrik sank his palm onto the Guardian’s shoulder and pushed him back down.
She threw Thalon an appreciative look and cleared her throat. “I could convince him I enjoy jewels. Maybe sway him to see the royal collection. He said he’d escort me anywhere I’d like.”
“And sugarcoated bullshit still tastes like bullshit,” Garrik warned.
Alora wondered if she’d find Ezander scattered across Elysian by morning. Knowing it wasn’t her that Garrik was angry at, she sighed and countered, “If Ezander isn’t an option, maybe you could entertain Erissa’s attention?—”
“ No .” Garrik pushed from the couch and walked to the table of liquors before his word was final. “ Never .”