Chapter 47
A ncient whitestone and vines of red roses decorated the hall leading to Erissa’s wing. Like inside the castle, as they strolled through the cloisters opening to private gardens, each step echoed off the tranquility and high stone arches, casting shadows on the polished pathway. With vibrant evening sunlight dappling through the mountains and trees outside, the golden shards painted freckled designs, leaving a sense of peace and beauty that Elysian longed for.
Which was a shame because Erissa was none of those things.
What should’ve been a symphony of flowery citrus, sweet perfumes, and a delicate cradling of velvety petals saturating the air, was nothing more than the rotting dregs of self-conceit, coddling, and greed. It seeped through the solitude of the walls and settled into the very mortar holding the palace together, murmuring of danger lurking. Of Erissa’s presence lingering inside every surface.
Even as she and Aiden searched her rooms, that feeling never receded.
It was in Erissa’s third bedchamber that Alora studied the grandeur. Unlike the other themes—one of a whimsical forest and the other a shrine of the Stars Eternal, this one ….
This one.
Fit for the Celestial she more than likely believed herself to be, this bedchamber opened to a balcony. It appeared similar to the cloisters inside the castle, like the waterfall and its mist, magic lay there. With no door, no windows, and wholly exposed to the elements of the world beyond, only a soft breeze trickled through. Disturbing the flowing crimson curtains along the openings and the four-post golden bedframe.
A whitestone balustrade opened to four steps leading to a private garden of perfectly clipped shrubbery, flowers, and a water fountain swimming area surrounded by walls of blackstone and evergreens. Beyond the garden, hewn within the mountain peaks like jagged crowns, an outdoor balcony waited. Overlooking the splendor of the High City of Karanagar, like it was hers to rule.
Alora tried not to gawk and turned inside the room, finding Aiden with his ear pressed against a cherry-stained door while maneuvering two metal sticks inside the golden lock. Her ballgown fluttered as she turned to the dresser embossed in golden accents and the same stain as the door. Drifting Soulstryker along every surface and waiting to see if Life gleamed.
So far … nothing.
Not a starsdamned sparkle.
Aiden was inside that door within moments and exited even faster, shaking his head as he pocketed something. “Nothing but a bloody shoe closet,” he announced. “Why do females lock up shoes?”
Alora chuckled, dragging her blade along a picture of Erissa in a gown of scarlet—and the same crown as she wore that evening. “Not many females obsessed with shoes in your realm?” she asked. Though she could admit, she didn’t see the sense in barricading shoes either. Who wanted to steal a slipper?
“No,” Aiden dramatically elongated the vowel as it rolled off his tongue. “Most females in my world have fishtails.”
“Mermaids?” She beamed. Like humans, she’d only ever read about them in books, though it was rumored they existed in Elysian.
Aiden paced forward and said, “Aye. In my father’s homeland, legends foretold that mermaids are ancestors of bound women thrown from ships in fear they’d stir the seas to curse the vessels.” He stopped in front of the vanity mirror, licked his left thumb, and flattened a wild strand of hair from his forehead. “The damned beauties were cast into the depths until they changed and swam to the surface for revenge. And unlike human legends of my mother’s world, they sometimes sang while their lungs still burned from the saltwater they breathed, luring them to shipwreck. Then the sand offered them their legs back to walk the land and deliver the men a bloody end.”
Aiden waggled his eyebrows in the mirror when she surveyed the mermaid tattoo on his forearm.
“I wanted to try it with Jade, but she never let me. Bloody devil.”
Alora shook her head and smiled, huffing a laugh. “How long did you know Jade before you shipwrecked in Elysian?”
Aiden knocked over a perfume bottle on Erissa’s vanity then fumbled to right it, knocking over three more. “Bloody hells,” he cursed then turned his attention to the vanity drawers. “What is time, really?” Shuffling through two more before he went on, “She bossed my crew around on and off the sea for two years. But damn, they loved her.”
A look of shock stole Alora’s features as she maneuvered Soulstryker along the wall.
Her sea captain shrugged. “Some pirates wear daft little beasties on their shoulder, but we found having a dragon perched on my mast was far more terrorizing.”
She didn’t contain her chuckle. Fixing her bare shoulder against Erissa’s bedpost, Alora imagined fiery red hair in the sea breeze, one boot pressed to a mast while the other dangled alongside a dagger in Jade’s hand. Aiden was right. With that red-headed killing machine, any enemy would run in the other direction. And Jade didn’t even breathe fire. Her look alone could burn souls.
Trickling water from the outside fountain accompanied Aiden’s footsteps to a nearby bookshelf. Alora wondered if Aiden would find anything to his liking and pocket one of the trinkets. But instead of offering a warning, Alora asked, “Why have you been searching for Soulstryker?”
Aiden’s hand stopped fumbling along the books as if he hadn’t expected the question to rattle him so intensely. His shoulders dropped before a hand flattened on the wood. It was the most calm she’d seen him, usually shuffling his weight or fidgeting with something, but now he resembled the mountains.
Staring at the collections in a daze, he barely whispered, “My twin sister, Aleyna.”
Alora whirled to him, her ballgown caught the edge of the bedframe, tearing a strip down the fabric. “Your sister ?” she repeated, wide-eyed.
Throwing a withering gaze over his shoulder, Aiden turned, folded his arms, and leaned against the shelves. “Wretched thing went and got herself married,” he scoffed, but instead of disgust, Aiden smiled at the floor, undoubtedly captured in a memory. “Kallias—Kas—my first mate. Hells, he loved her. Damned fool, maybe loved her too much.”
As mistakenly blue eyes roamed over the room and landed on the fountain outside, Aiden paced until he stood in the doorway, and inhaled like the pool was the sea. “We lost him.” He spoke to the mountain and trees. The sky and Stars Eternal beyond.
A wind swept through the opening, disturbing his captain’s jacket when his voice adopted a rogue quality of vengeance. “And I vowed to Aleyna that I’d rip the soul from the man who did it. For them, I’d scour the seas until I found a way.”
A look of mischief crossed his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. “Soulstryker was a myth … but I acquired the Compass of Beginnings. And possessed a fragment of that bloody dagger’s leather.” Which meant he had used the compass.
Alora gripped Soulstryker harder, stepping toward him. “You were led to Elysian?”
“No,” he quickly answered. And added, “We found its origin, which told a tale of two places it could be. Aleyna and I captained our own ships, deciding she’d seek out one world while I sailed to Elysian.” Where he, Jade, and their crew shipwrecked on the outskirts of Miratara.
It was an effort to keep her feelings contained. A vicious determination pebbled her skin. This male she’d only befriended a few weeks past since his return from Galdheir, standing before her with hurt and love and revenge and something everlasting in his eyes—she felt it too, as if those he spoke of were her own family.
But even in the intensity of that protective spirit, Alora’s face fell. “Aiden,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Soulstryker kills both the intended and the executioner. You’ll die.” A ruthless shiver rippled down her spine, granting her the reminder; someone, they didn’t know who or how, would have to use that dagger on Magnelis.
A smile like glimmering silver widened across Aiden’s face. “Never said I would be doing the stabbing, love.” He winked. “We captured the bastard’s brother. Both were to blame. Aleyna sails with him in the brig. The plan was to use his hand.”
Alora scanned her sea captain. Then, held her obsidian dagger between them, gripping the leather until it groaned, and avowed, “When this dagger is whole and Elysian is free, we will find a way back to your sister.”
Eyes glistening, Aiden smiled. “Thanks, love. But unless you’re able to restore my ship and the magic within, I’m afraid Aleyna will be wondering what happened to her older brother for centuries to come.”
She pinched her brows in a thin line. Older?
He registered her confusion and clarified, “By six minutes. I’ll never let her forget it.”
“You can remind her when you see her again.” Because he would, she would make certain of it. Somehow?—
Clacking heels and heavy boot scuffs echoed down the hallway.
Males. A female voice. Another as thick as bloodlust whispered along the walls and vines.
“ Damn .” Aiden surged forward, dug his shoulder into the threshold, and used a knuckle to nudge the door an inch open.
Alora moved behind him. The cold of the wall seeped into her back.
Aiden whispered, “We need to move.”
She wasn’t delusional in hoping the princess would find another room to occupy when they were standing in the only bedchamber on this level.
Removing his knuckle, Aiden carefully closed the door and grabbed her hand. The cold of his scaled ring shot a jolt through her, but she ignored it as he pulled her outside and ordered, “Take that door”—pointing to a hill leading to a doorway—“to the first room we searched. It leads to a lower hallway. Go left until you reach the servants’ quarters and follow them to the kitchens. Then, third door on the right, to the main foyer.”
Alora threw him a wary look. “What about you?”
“There’s a vault here somewhere. I’m not leaving until I get inside.”
She glanced between the door and him. “What if you get caught?” What if she got caught?
As if in warning, Erissa’s agitated voice growled, though Alora couldn’t discern what venom she spit and to who.
Aiden’s eyes danced with something wry, cunning, as he answered, “With this face? Oh, I can get away with anything.”
This can’t be right.
Deeper and deeper into the swallows of the castle, Alora clung to the walls as her salvation. Keeping her steps quiet by carrying her heels and clinging to Soulstryker latched to her hip inside her dress.
There were no servant quarters.
No kitchen.
Nothing but endless hallways and locked doors.
Alora turned a corner, stopping dead as crow-picked corpses.
A voice like summer and as bright as his dawn-kissed hair brushed along the walls, ripping her heart into a panic. Her legs felt like they would liquefy. Breath short as she surveyed each doorway and the end of the hall.
Scuffs of boots and rushed footsteps slammed off the corner in front of her.
They could round it at any moment and see her standing there, caught in a daze.
Alora moved to run back the way she came, but footsteps echoed behind her, boxing her in.
Move. You have to move. She couldn’t just stand there. Time was running out.
“Do you need help?” someone snickered down that hallway.
The voice like sunlight snarled, “Does it seem like I need help?” That was a reprimand, not intended for an answer.
That serpentine voice hissed anyway, “Yes, Your Highness. You do.” She recognized that voice. “I will not allow distractions and setbacks to bring ruination to our plans,” Silas warned so callously her legs threatened to buckle. This male. This wretched vile male who sold faeries and collected others for servants to the king …
Alora’s feet padded the stones before she convinced them to move. With a mind of their own, they carried her along the corridor, gripping handles and yanking them.
But every door was locked.
Dawn. Try to dawn. It would’ve been a good idea. A great one. But the best she could hope for was lighting the hallway aflame. And seeing as this kingdom collected Marked Ones for Magnelis, that was a terrible idea.
“The female. She is a problem.” Ezander’s low voice was like a dagger to her back as she jiggled another knob. Still nothing.
Metal scraped on something as Silas’s voice became muffled, and Alora looked over her shoulder to see their shadows drawing closer against the faelights lining the halls.
Another door. She had to try another?—
A handle twisted.
Alora wedged her shoulder into it and scrambled inside the darkness. Before she could seal it closed, shadows darkened the doorway as the male she thought was her friend and the other she knew as an enemy slowed to a stop.
“There are at least seven ways that could have ended differently. I’ve counted, you imbecile.”
Ezander’s face was perfectly calm, considering his next words. “I love when someone insults me. It means I don’t have to be polite anymore.” The princeling grabbed the spymaster’s collar, and Silas merely lifted his head with a cold curl of his lip. “Get rid of her. Before she burns the damn castle to the ground.”
Alora glimpsed Silas’s face as Ezander released his collar. The spymaster melted into his careless composure as he straightened his lapels and brushed the fabric like Ezander had soiled it. Never taking his blood-gaze off the prince.
Then Ezander said so quietly Alora had to lean into the door, “I mean it, Silas.”
In silence, Alora witnessed Silas cup his hands behind him and walk around Ezander, fading from view. The princeling ran a hand through the golden waves side-swept over his head. The flaxen flecks of his gaze brightened, observing the wall as if it held answers he searched for.
She surveyed him, biting the inside of her cheek to distract her from breathing too heavily when those russet eyes flickered to her door.
“You can come out now, my lady.”
Her heart stopped.
Ezander didn’t look her way, just stared down the hallway and deepened a breath before he called out, “Your mistake was not in the hiding place. It was in believing you could hide in my home in the first place. I know every corner, every unlocked door, every shadow.” The golden metal tips spiking his hair glinted in the faelight as he, at last, glanced her way.
Alora cautiously pulled the door open, meeting that russet stare.
“Want to tell me what you were doing in there?” He raised a brow.
Starfire sparked beneath her skin in warning. Ready to unleash if need be. But Alora closed the door behind her, crossed her arms, and dropped her back to the wood, smirking. “I got turned around after preparing the escort.”
“Hmm,” the princeling hummed. “So you decided instead of asking for my aid to … hide,” he said it with about as much skepticism as she had after hearing his conversation with Silas.
“I thought it’d be fun to jump out and scare you.”
Ezander barked a sharp laugh. “Sure.” Even she didn’t believe it. The princeling finally moved his feet, pivoting to face her as he looked down the hallway and inquired, “So where is the High Prince?”
She shrugged. “In the throne room dealing with the Mystic. Where else?”
Ezander’s eyes narrowed. A subtle smile grew up the side of his face. “I’m too tired to entirely care about lies and trickery tonight. It must be said. My brother is still in there. Not this Savage Prince shit. I think he’s not as dark as he wants everyone to believe.” And paused. Scanning her dress, the twin to his attire, and the heels dangling in her hand before he continued, “The same as what you heard may not truly be what you believe.”
Alora’s face remained neutral. There was no point in denying it. Of course she had heard what was said. Instead of excuses, Alora asked, “Who is the female, Zander?”
“Someone causing a problem.”
“Me?”
His brows furrowed. “Why would I want to get rid of you? Is there something I should know?”
She said nothing, only raised her brow, expecting an answer.
“No, my lady. Not you.”
Alora scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I’m hoping you can trust me a little longer.”
Trust. From the moment she left Telldaira, that was all everyone asked of her. To trust the hands that rescued her—that did nothing but protect her. And up until now, Ezander hadn’t given her a reason to think differently. Even walking in the High City when he carefully chose his words.
Not quite excusing what she’d heard, Alora shoved the thoughts away and pushed from the wall. “We’ll see,” she said, and he smiled.
Ezander remained unmoving, never crowding her or backing her into the wall. Not reaching for her or stirring to clamp her in shackles. “I’m a patient male. I look forward to proving so many things wrong,” he conceded and offered her an elbow?—
“What. A. Surprise.”
The princeling’s breath stopped short; his face drained of color.
Slowly, so so slowly, they turned to the voice and two figures casting shadows of finery down the hallway.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to release my beasts from their cages.” A twisted grin captured Ladomyr’s face. Another on his general, Kyrell’s. “What a delight to see you’ve finally taken an interest in our traditions. And to have caught yourself a Dragon, no less. You can leave now. I will take her from here.”
Some part of her screamed to stab Soulstryker into the male’s skull. But Ezander’s arm carefully glided in front of her, cupped her side, and drew her behind him as he stepped forward. Risking a threat in one word, “Father?—”
“We can skip the dramatics, son. This plaything is mine. Move.” Their stares locked. Ezander didn’t budge. Ladomyr’s gaze darkened to something insidious, and cruel, as he snarled like the bears on Kadamar’s crest. “You defy your sovereign, boy ?”
“Might I remind the king of the High Prince’s instruction regarding?—”
“I remember everything quite well.” Malice pierced Alora over Ezander’s shoulder. She curled her lip, baring her canines at Ladomyr when he spoke. “How I was made to play the fool on my knees in front of my court, twice .” He prowled forward, but Ezander’s hand fell to his sword as Kyrell’s fell to his.
The king narrowed on the movement and cocked his bald head. “What are you going to do with that? Kill your king?” It seemed more of a challenge than anything.
Alora was certain she would witness the death of an heir, and, before she could stop herself, placed her hand on Ezander’s.
His grip loosened, falling from the hilt to tuck their hands behind his back.
“Do not make me command you again, Ezander.” An outright warning. But Ladomyr’s words… They began to slow, almost slurred, as slow as the faelights flickers had fallen. “You will surrender her to me.” The words required a full minute to understand.
Ezander’s finger was moving—pointing—behind his back. So slow. So trance-like.
Every movement felt as if she were swimming underwater. Rippling through the hallway as she watched Zander’s finger point straight and then draw back to gesture left. Over and over, he repeated it. And she knew this was him giving her a chance to escape.
As if wading through thick mud, Alora ran.
Restrained by time enough she could see every grain in the wooden doors and speck of dust floating in the air. Ran to the end of the hallway and squelched around the left corner and continued running until time slammed into her.
Something cracked behind her.
But Alora kept running.
She didn’t stop. Not until she met the throne room doors.