Chapter 39
ROOKE
When I stalked through the gates of Frostveil Castle, the familiar hum of the wards pulsed through my bones, welcoming me home.
Home.
Once, maybe, that was what this place was.
But now, this frozen pile of stones would never be anything but a prison to me, cold walls I could never leave, a lake I could never cross.
The closest thing to freedom I’d experienced in fifty years was how I’d spent this past hour—standing at the water’s edge, the magic gnawing at me with greedy teeth, yearning for a world completely out of reach.
And now…
Gravelock had fucking outplayed me.
Everything had fallen into place so neatly, and I hadn’t even questioned my good fortune. Not the sudden sighting of the sister at Evernight, not Ryland’s mad plan, nothing.
Maybe I’d lost too much blood, maybe I’d just grown too desperate, but after they’d left, it struck me just how convenient this all was.
How fucking easy. And after I’d done some thinking, I’d done a bit of digging—or rather, I’d sent a magical summons out into the world, calling in a favor from a mage who once knew my father.
I didn’t have to wait long for answers.
Ariel Sandrush had established quite the reputation, and now…
Now we were well and truly fucked.
I couldn’t kill her—and damn Lyrae for even thinking I would ever stoop so low, but the girl was dangerous.
A tool of Gravelock’s planted deep in the heart of my castle, at the worst possible moment, when I was running out of time and needed every ounce of my magic and my wits to win this final battle.
"Bring her to the east wing," I commanded, gesturing to Ariel's fragile, unconscious form cradled carefully in Varian’s arms. " I have one more vial of the potion, which will keep her under for a few more hours, but after that….” I shook my head. “Someone will have to stand watch, I can’t risk her being left alone.”
Which was bullshit.
To survive what came next, I needed all three of them armed and ready to defend this place while I united the Triune. Losing even one of them to babysitting duty meant our chances went down dramatically.
“I didn’t free my sister so she could be locked up again,” Lyrae hissed, her voice raw and throaty, boot toes tramping on my heels as she dogged my every step. “She’s already been a prisoner for decades.”
“I won’t let him take your sister,” I murmured, reading every fear etched on her beautiful face. “As long as she remains asleep, he can’t reach her. He can’t use her. He can’t hurt her, commander.” My throat tightened. That might be the best I could offer, and it wasn’t nearly enough.
And my heart was already half-shredded apart, imagining of Lyrae as a child on the streets of Southwell, starving, responsible for her sister, because she thought she was…worthless.
Which was the very last word I’d use to describe Lyrae Antares, but now I understood why her eyes had teared up, describing children playing in the streets of Tempeste. The weight of failure struck me, the knowledge that everyone’s dreams would end, once Gravelock took back the Triune.
No, I had to make this work.
This was my fight. Mine.
I wanted to walk the streets of Tempeste with Lyrae.
I wanted to hear this laughter, see the lights and the vendors for myself.
I wanted to see her smile, the way I had yet to see her smile, and I wanted to kiss her and love her and worm myself inside her big, generous heart, so she would never be able to carve me out.
The crows told me Gravelock was making preparations.
There was not enough time now to complete the spell.
But…this was my fight, and if I failed, then I failed Lyrae, too.
“Find a room, light a fire, keep the girl warm. I’ll find the second draught, and then…then we’ll see.”
Varian’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and cut off to the left, heading down a side corridor, Lyrae throwing me a deadly glare over her shoulder and all I could think of was how it would feel to have someone love me as fiercely as she did her sister.
“Come, I’ll give you the potion, you can stretch it out, maybe buy us some extra time.” I told Ryland, keeping my hands in my pockets so I didn’t wrap them around his throat. “These next hours will be dicey enough without worrying about having a traitor at our backs.”
I took a breath, then asked the question I already knew the answer to. “I’m assuming this…development isn’t a complete surprise?”
“I suspected,” Ryland murmured, staring after them.
My eyes kept drifting to the Crown he still held, wave after wave of heart pounding magic calling to me like a siren’s song. Magic that made my blood sing.
Magic that made me want to take that thing, put it on my head and make the world bow.
Danger, the music seemed to say.
Use me, the power coaxed, skating over me with invisible fingers, tracing over my body like a lover’s hand, until they slowly captured my heart and squeezed, their grip cold and cruel and immutable.
No, I told that cunning voice. Not yet.
“A long time ago…Ariel was skilled at locating certain treasure, but far too young to be a proper member of my little…cadre of thieves.” His eyes slid away, something like shame on his face.
“But I recognized her…unusual skills, and would occasionally bring her along. Never anything dangerous, but I gave her a taste for the life—the excitement, the thrill.”
“And…?”
“And there’s a lot you don’t know, Rooke. About Lyrae, about what happened between those early years and now. You know we wanted Gravelock dead for betraying us.” Some of that cold clarity was returning to his eyes, his mouth set in a tight line.
“You’ve made it abundantly clear over the years.”
“There was more, we just didn’t put it together until we saw Ariel. Fifty years ago, Ariel found Varian in a tavern in Tempeste. We were…well, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is, Ariel convinced Var—for old times’ sake—to help her with a little job.”
“I take it this little job wasn’t little at all?
” I headed down the same hall Lyrae and Varian had disappeared into, opening the door to my workroom, the smell of old books, potions and chemicals hitting me full in the face.
Ryland followed me in, fingers skating over half full bottles, open books, a container of crushed black salt.
After a moment’s hesitation, he set the Crown on the work table, stepping away quickly, as if he couldn’t stand to even look at the thing.
“Ariel and Var stole some ancestral golden sword from the Fae King, but the item itself isn’t what was important. The point is, Varian described the sword as teeth-grindingly powerful, and Ariel went straight to it, no hesitation, no fumbling around, as if she knew exactly where it was hidden.”
“And then you knew.”
“And then I knew,” he agreed, rubbing his temples.
“Keeping all that information to yourself might very well get us all dead,” I muttered.
“Up until yesterday, I didn’t know Ariel was alive. Her special skills were the last thing on my mind. All I thought about was getting her out of there.” He paused. “And Lyrae.”
I found the vial, the bright pink liquid practically glowing, and pressed it into Ryland’s hand.
“The second she stirs, or her breathing changes, tell Varian to put a few drops into her mouth. With luck, we can ration the dose, stretch her sleeping out long enough we won’t have to lock her up.
Someone will have to stay with her at all times. I suggest Varian.”
I stared down the hall, listening to the low murmur of voices as Lyrae and Varian got the girl settled.
She could not wake up.
Gravelock was, even now, trying to establish contact. He’d be giving her orders to find the Triune, to incapacitate me, to kill the others. The second consciousness returned, he would take over. Sleep bought us all some extra time. But now I had one more soul under my roof to protect.
A soul Gravelock would snuff out, the moment Ariel ceased to be useful.
I didn’t understand why she was still alive. Insurance, maybe.
The Butcher didn’t leave loose ends, but resources in the Shadowlands—especially these days—were scarce.
Perhaps he’d left her alive for just this exact scenario.
My father always claimed the Mirror could be used to see into the future. If the Butcher used the relic—if he’d attempted to access that magic—he might very well already be one step ahead of us.
“Once the draught wears off, how are you planning to restrain her? Lyra won’t go for her sister being chained up, Rooke." Ryland held the vial up to the light, squinting. “And she’ll want to stay with Ariel. She won’t listen to reason on that front.”
“That’s not an option anymore,” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
“Ryland, I need you and Lyrae outside. We’re now one sword short, and when Gravelock comes—and he is coming—he’ll bring every single one of his soldiers with him.
I need time to unite the Triune, which means I am sure as shit not going to be the one babysitting our new guest.”
I slanted him a look. “I told you from the beginning, I wasn’t running a fucking hotel.”
“Yet here you are, with a castle filled with guests, prince.” Then Ryland’s smile dropped off his face.
“Fine. I know we fucked up. Give me a minute. I’ll give Varian this stuff and his instructions, then Lyrae and I will meet you in the drawing room.”