Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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Chapter 2KLARA

“Stop fussing, Klara,” Dannik ordered, though amusement curled in his tone. He slid into the empty space beside me, tucking his shoulder against the column of the open window. “You don’t have a hair out of place.”

I huffed out a sharp breath, and my hand dropped away from my head, from where I’d been nervously smoothing down my hair. “That’s not⁠—”

“The guards said you were down in the western market today,” he said, cutting me off, bumping my shoulder with his arm. “Why’d you go there?”

I shot my brother a sharp look. “You had me followed?”

“It’s the shadow moon” was all he replied, shrugging one shoulder, as if that would answer my question. And well…it did.

“Then you’ll know I was with Sora. I’d been in the archives all morning, I wanted to get some air before this tonight,” I explained, waving a hand before us.

We were tucked against the far window of our father’s grand throne room. I could hardly hear my own thoughts with all the chatter, music, and laughter, a headache starting to bloom behind my right eye.

There was an edge to my brother tonight. More guards were in the throne room for this celebration than for any other throughout the year. Even the laughter of the guests seemed louder, more forced.

Perhaps we were all trying to pretend that dragons wouldn’t land at the East Gate any moment, if they hadn’t already.

Across the room, I spotted the Laseta Kalliri—the high priestess of Dothik. She was watching me across the crush of bodies, and I pressed my lips together, inclining my head in respect. Then I looked away swiftly, telling myself to relax my shoulders and to smile softly at no one at all, like I was enjoying the merriment of the gathering, like I was at ease with her piercing eyes on me. Like I had nothing to hide.

Out of the corner of my eye, I waited until she turned her back, speaking with a male I recognized as a powerful merchant, and I blew out a steady, slow breath through my lips.

“What is it?” Dannik asked.

“Nothing,” I said, turning to him with a small grin.

My brother frowned, his golden eyes cutting to the Laseta Kalliri before fastening back on me. His lips parted, but before he could say anything, a guard approached.

“Rukkar, your father is requesting your presence on the dais,” he said. Prince, he’d called Dannik. His proper title.

A jolt went through my belly, a spear of disappointment cutting through me.

“Come,” Dannik ordered me, grabbing my hand.

The guard said, with evident hesitation, “Only you. The Dothikkar made it clear.”

He stared down the guard, who was a head shorter than him, until the other male dropped his gaze to the floor.

“It’s all right,” I told him, pressing my fingers to the back of his scarred hand. “Go.”

Dannik’s gaze cut to mine. I hadn’t expected to see the burn of anger there.

“There is always defeat in your eyes, sister,” he told me, cupping my cheeks in his warm palms. “I wish you would fight more for what is yours by blood.”

Then he released me. He turned away while I struggled to swallow the sudden shame in my throat. I was alone again, watching my brother spear through the crowd, which parted for him like curtains in the morning, welcoming the dawn.

That was what he was for Dothik. It was common knowledge he was my father’s favored heir, though my half sister, Alanis, was his firstborn. My father was expected to step down from the throne in the coming years. A new rule would come. Dannik would likely be at the helm.

From my corner in the throne room, I watched my family rise together on the dais. My father, with his graying hair and unyielding green eyes; a pink, thin-lipped mouth; and ruddy, wrinkled cheeks. My stepmother was next to him, though she hated when I made any mention of that title. Instead, I called her Lakkari just like everyone else. Queen of Dothik. And my half siblings.

Alanis, with her waist-length blonde hair and black pyroki scales sewn to her clothes in a way that resembled armor—not unlike the male from the market, I noted. She had never warmed to me, thinking me nothing more than a bug beneath her boot, another competitor for the throne she coveted.

Lakkis, in all her ethereal beauty that left the guards’ tongues tied in her wake. My sister—while she’d always been kind to me—was still practically a stranger, an impenetrable wall I’d never been able to break through.

And Dannik, the unspoken heir to it all.

Together they made a pretty picture. The longing to join them on the dais burned so hot in my stomach it made nausea rise.

Across the room, my siblings’ mother caught my eyes. Her chin lifted, brow raising. The gold crown seated on her brow sparkled under the lights as the throne room quieted, eager to hear the Dothikkar’s welcoming speech.

This blatant rejection was growing more humiliating every year. I’d thought it would get better. It only ever got worse.

Leave, came the thought that had been surfacing more and more in recent months. Rent the little room we had above the tavern, and live as you please. Or return to the wildlands, where you remember Mother best, where we were happy.

But then I would truly be alone…and that scared me more than anything in this life. At least here, in this cold palace, I had Dannik.

The Lakkari’s serene smirk followed me out of the throne room when I fled, keeping to the outskirts of the room like a rodent, hoping that I drew no one’s eyes but hers.

Unfortunately, I felt the burn of dozens’ as I slipped through the door, the snickering whispers erupting in my wake.

“I knew I’d find you here,” came my brother’s voice, cutting through the hushed, dark chamber.

I raised my head, confused. Then I jolted and wiped my right cheek with the back of my hand, my spine straightening as I smoothed my dress.

“It’s only me,” Dannik said. “You don’t have to do that, Klara.”

I was sitting on a bench across from an unyielding pedestal, one that held a gleaming sword. Dannik was regarding me carefully, and I couldn’t help but frown.

“Have they come?” I asked immediately. “How many are there this time?”

My brother and I looked nothing alike. I looked like my mother—all dark, wavy hair and small features. And Dannik? Well, he looked like his mother. With golden hair and light eyes, his skin warmed and blessed by the sun, with a wide, bold smile that had broken the heart of at least ten different females.

“You spend more time in here than you do in your precious archives,” he grumbled, his booted feet crossing to me, ignoring my questions. “You’d think Arik’s sword would’ve lost its appeal by now.”

“It was Bekkar’s sword first,” I told him. The first great king of Dothik, passed down to my own ancestor. There was a white glowing stone still embedded in its hilt, its energy palpable. The heartstone. The last one in existence.

“And then Kara gifted it to Arik after the red fog’s defeat, lysi,” Dannik said, impatience threading in his tone, making me bite back a smile. He wasn’t interested in history, in our ancient line, in all the little roots and paths and stories that had brought us here to our present. It didn’t matter. I cared for more than the both of us. “We all know the story. I could recount Bekkar’s campaign trail and the history of the Five in my sleep.”

I turned my gaze back to the sword. The power of the heartstone was warm. It felt like a heartbeat to me. Comforting. Tangible. I could feel the tendrils of power floating over my skin, and if my mother was still alive, maybe I could ask her why.

Dannik took a seat on the stone bench next to me. There was an edge to him that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. We were in the bowels of the palace. Once a dungeon, this place had been made new. It housed a vast collection of our history, of our family’s history, Bekkar’s sword included.

No one had wielded it since King Arik. It burned any who touched it. And yet it remained gleaming throughout the years, not a speck of dust or sign of mottled age marring the metal. The blade was as sharp as it had been in Bekkar’s own hand.

“What does it feel like to you?” Dannik asked suddenly, taking my palm. I frowned, but then he waved his other hand to the sword. “The heartstone.”

I swallowed, my spine snapping. “What?”

“I heard you and your mother speaking once, shortly before she was sent away,” he started, his voice hushed, as if we weren’t alone in this crypt of a place. “Shortly after you came to live here. Right here.”

I swallowed, dropping his hand quickly. “Dannik, that was a long time ago.”

“You told her you had seen them in your dreams. For years,” he said quietly. “What did you mean? Because I know a sword injury when I see it. And that scar? It didn’t come from a sword.”

“Dannik,” I whispered, averting my gaze from his to drop to the ground. “I—I don’t… You know I cannot…”

“You think I’ll let them take you to the orala sa’kilan? You think I’ll let them take you away to the priestesses in the North Lands, to live out the rest of your days in training and servitude, used as a conduit to try to create more heartstones?” Dannik asked me, his tone bitter and aghast. “Your mother lied to them. What makes you think I wouldn’t lie to protect you too? You know me, Klara. I would do anything to protect you. You’re my sister.”

Blood is blood, Klara. You are of me. He is of another. You cannot trust him fully.

My mother’s words. Permanently embedded in my mind. I’d wanted to tell Dannik. My mother had forbidden it. Now she was dead. So why couldn’t I shake her words?

“Even go against your own mother?” I asked. “Because we all know what she did.”

Dannik reared back.

“She’s wanted me gone since I first came to the palace,” I told him. “Any hint of weakness… I’m surprised she hasn’t married me off to a darukkar in one of the hordes. If only so she never has to look at me again.”

“You are of royal blood,” Dannik argued. “Even more so than any of us. She…resents that. Alanis too. They fear you.”

I laughed, but it sounded hollow. My eyes were stinging from the tears that had already dried in my lap. “Because I’m so frightening. With all my books and half-mad theories.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?” I returned.

His eyes cut back to the sword, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He was on edge, his tail skittering across the stone.

“What is it?” I asked, turning on the bench to face him more fully. Something was wrong. Had the celebration feast already ended? “Dannik?”

“The riders landed at the East Gate.”

His words weren’t unexpected, however. Yet there was something I couldn’t place in his tone that made nerves curl in my chest, skittering my heartbeat.

“How many?” I asked, repeating my earlier question.

“Too many this time.”

I straightened. “What does that mean?”

Dannik said quietly, his voice hushed, “If you know anything of them that might be of use, it’s your duty as a descendant of the royal line and to your people to speak it. You must trust me, Klara.”

“They’re just dreams! They aren’t real,” I told him, unable to withstand him feeling betrayed. Like I didn’t trust him. Because I did. I trusted him with my life. And if the priestesses caught wind of this, my life would be given to them. That was what at stake. “They are unclear. No words are spoken. I’ve never seen another person in them. Only…”

Only the dragons.

Two in particular.

A terrifying black creature with eyes as gold as the sun and teeth as sharp as swords.

The other…

I blew out a sharp breath, standing to pace to Bekkar’s sword. I stared down at the white heartstone shimmering in its hilt. The last heartstone in existence on Dakkar…as far as we knew. It had been the heartstones that helped the Five banish the red fog in the Dead Lands. It had nearly cost them their lives.

“If,” I started quietly, my words barely a whisper, “I possess fragments of our ancestors’ magic, it is a useless thing.”

Dannik’s hand came to my arm, right over where the male in the market had gripped me, where he’d left that strange black residue on my skin.

“You might believe that,” he whispered, as if we could be overheard. “But I don’t.”

My lips parted⁠—

“Through our father, you are a descendent of Queen Kara, the Banisher and the Wielder of the Heartstones, and King Arik of Rath Serok. And your mother’s line of Rath Drokka? You descend from the Mad Horde King and of Vienne the White Sorceress. There is power, electric in your blood, and it chose you. Not Alanis. Not Lakkis. Not even your mother. You, Klara.”

My throat went tight.

“Can you feel it?” he asked, voice suddenly guttural. My lips parted when I heard the trepidation in his voice. “The power leeching from the land? Our home? This heartstone is growing dimmer with every passing day. Have you noticed?”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My gaze cut to the heartstone. It hummed in answer. I could feel it. For the first time, I wondered if Dannik could too.

“These dragon riders?” my brother continued, shaking his head, and I heard the gold beads in his hair clicking together. “I think they want what we cannot give them. And I fear what they will demand in its stead. They are much too at ease. They have no fear. The only reason they would have none is if they knew there was no need for it. Because they know they could snap this city in two within the jaws of their beasts. I only wonder why they haven’t yet.”

“Dannik, what⁠—”

“It was foolish of us to believe that there was nothing beyond Drukkar’s Sea,” he continued, his lip curling in a mocking, sad smile. “I have a feeling that we know nothing at all and that we will pay for it in due time.”

My brother took my hand again. “You need to have strength, Klara,” he said, trepidation in his eyes. “More so now than ever before.”

“Why?” I asked, hearing a thread of warning in his tone. “Dannik, what’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

“They’ve asked for you.”

“What?” I asked, thinking I heard him incorrectly. “Who?”

“The dragon riders.”

All my breath left me. Dannik’s grip tightened around my palm.

“Their leader. He asks for you at the East Gate.”

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Chapter 3KLARA

They came every year.

On the tenth month just after the shadow moon.

Sometimes with many dragons, sometimes with just a mere few. But they always came. Every year they left almost as quickly as they’d arrived.

Only this year, they lingered.

I felt the palpable tension in the air, thick like heavy, black smoke, when I stepped beyond the East Gate. My legs froze, my feet not catching up quick enough, and Dannik caught my arm before I tumbled to the tightly packed dark brown earth.

The East Gate, unlike the well-manicured and paved northern entrance, looked out across the wildlands of Dakkar in all of its raw, unforgiving beauty. It was an entrance used primarily by Vorakkar—the horde kings—or the Sorakkar—the kings of the outposts—when they entered or exited our capital city.

I’d snuck through it often, a secret not even Dannik knew. And sometimes I sat out on the wildlands long into the night, uncaring that sand and dirt streaked my hair from the winds, as I listened to the quiet and felt a peace I’d never known within the confines of Dothik. I missed the wildlands. I missed my mother.

For a moment, my eyes fastened on the blackness of the night, only lit by bright starlight. Tonight, however, the shadows of the mountains seemed ominous and the vastness to them seemed insurmountable.

The clearing had been made with lines that no one dared to cross. Bright torchlight illuminated the wide circle, my father and his legion of guards on one side, protecting the council, the Lakkari, and my half sisters, and a line of strangers on the other.

Behind them, a great dragon seemed to materialize out of the darkness. I felt my chest go tight, shock piercing through my lungs like a dagger.

“Strength,” Dannik whispered into my ear. A reminder. A softly spoken word, and yet it seemed amplified as I stared in the golden eyes of the dragon that I recognized. My scar gave a mighty throb, and I squeezed my eyes closed, feeling that panic and confusion rise in me, hearing my mother’s hushed horror as she’d tried to quiet me in her arms.

“Dannik…” I said, my tone a strange mixture of a plea and a realization. It can’t be true…because then that would mean it’s all real, I thought.

I felt my brother’s grip on my arm tighten before I felt him step in front of me.

The dragon roared, so sudden and violent that it trembled the earth beneath our feet, and I heard the startled cries from my father’s council. Dannik froze. I heard a breath loosen from between his lips.

On the wildlands, I heard the other dragons respond. Now we knew they were there, hidden in the darkness, the weight of them shaking the earth as they stamped their limbs like a warning rumble. It sounded like thunder.

Then all at once it went quiet. Not just quiet…silent.

“Zaridan recognizes you, aralye,” came the voice.

My eyes snapped open, fastening on the male who had stepped forward into the circle, breaking away from the line of the dragon riders that had come this night. Familiar eyes met mine, and all at once, I remembered the strength and warmth of his hand on my arm, leaving behind a glittering black dust.

It was him.

The danger I’d sensed in the marketplace with him only seemed amplified with the dragon looming over his shoulder.

“My wonder is if you recognize her,” he continued, never taking his eyes off me on his approach.

“Zaridan,” I whispered, blinking, the name stretched out on my tongue.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guards trying to right my father, who’d fallen over at the dragons’ chorus of roars. Alanis stood away from my stepmother and Lakkis, who were safely hidden behind a circle of guards. My eldest sister was standing next to the Laseta Kalliri, the priestess’s lips pressed together as she regarded the stranger, her beautiful gown stained by dark earth at the hem.

“No,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t.”

“She denies you, Zaridan,” the male announced, his eyes never leaving mine. A maelstrom of colors were swirling in his eyes, all reflected in warm torchlight.

Behind him, the dragon stomped and her hot breath blew into the circle, blasting my hair away from my face and snuffing out all the torchlight until I blinked into the darkness, my hand scrambling to find Dannik’s.

“Get them lit!” came Alanis’s hiss to the guards.

“She is one of the ancients, you must understand,” came the stranger’s voice, amplified in the dark, and I saw those glowing golden orbs behind him, fastened on me, stealing my heaving breaths. “Proud in her bloodline. All of the Elthika are. But Zaridan has lived much longer, and she deserves your respect.”

“I…” I trailed off, and the torches began to light, one by one again, until I saw the male, standing closer than he’d been.

There were nine others behind him in a line. They hadn’t moved an inch, but all of their hands rested on the hilt of a blade at their hip. All were dressed in varying colors—dark greens and blues, silvers and blacks—but all of them wore the same scaled clothing that this male wore. Armor, I realized now. And they weren’t pyroki scales. They were dragon scales.

“I believe she does,” I replied, lifting my chin. I pressed my fingertips to my brother’s hand and gently stepped away from his grip, approaching the male. “Yet you give her name so easily for one to be respected.”

“Names should not be hidden, Dakkari,” the male rasped, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. Surprised that I stepped beyond my brother’s protection? “Names should be feared.”

“Then what is yours, dragon rider?”

The edge of his lip lifted. He moved. I heard the creak of leather on my brother’s hilt as his hand tightened on his sword.

The stranger circled me, and I stiffened when he ran his hand over my waist, sliding it down until it cupped my hip. That palm dragged over my backside, and when my brother made a sound in the back of his throat, I shook my head, my hand gesturing for him to stay away.

This male was sizing me up. Studying me and inspecting me, like I was something for purchase at the market.

His palm was searing through my thin dress. Strong and sure. When I looked down at my waist, I saw the same black dust glittering in the torchlight, smearing across the white material. A mark. A warning.

He came to stand in front of me, and it took everything in me to hold my tongue, to not swallow too loudly, to not tremble beneath his gaze. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting back my face so he could inspect my scar. Internally, I cringed though I held still. I couldn’t stand anyone to look at it. The curtain of my hair hid it, and I always made sure it was partially covered except when I was alone in the confines of my room.

But this male could do whatever he wanted to me with a dragon at his back. I knew that. Dannik knew it. Even my father knew it—the Dothikkar, the king. I imagined he was watching the exchange closely and carefully…but he would not interfere. Not like I feared Dannik would.

“I am Sarkin Dirak’zar,” he told me, his voice gentle like how I imagined a lover’s might be. But there was no mistaking the edge of malice in his gaze. “Rider of Zaridan. And king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”

My lips parted as I stared, as my heart pumped mightily in my chest. I could feel the ripple of that name as it made its way across the clearing. I thought maybe even the stretch of mountains heard them and felt the quake of their power.

No, it wasn’t a name. It was a warning of what would come if we didn’t submit to him.

My dreams told me what he wanted. They’d been woven through my veins like a tapestry, and now the image they made was suddenly clear.

“And what is your name, aralye?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking, the dangerous glint in his gaze making my tongue feel like a heavy stone in my mouth.

“Don’t you already know it?” I asked, realization slotting into place.

In the market, he’d asked, Who are you really?

Those words had struck me as odd. Now I understood why.

He’d known who I was the moment I’d bumped into him. He’d known my bloodlines…but my scar had surprised him, taken him off guard. Why?

Sarkin’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, his dragon stomped, shaking the earth.

Strength, I thought.

“Klara of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka,” I told him. “I have no great name like yours, Sarkin Dirak’zar, rider of Zaridan, king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”

Sarkin’s chin lifted, and behind him, the line of dragon riders made a simultaneous chanting sound, a rumble of deep, short thunder. Like a war cry that the hordes would make upon a Vorakkar’s return.

My gaze flashed to them. Six males and three females, I noticed.

Sarkin curled his finger under my chin, reclaiming my eyes.

I continued with, “I have no great name, but I am descended from greatness. From great Dakkari and humans alike who made this kingdom what it is now. I know what you want, Sarkin Dirak’zar. And I know you will only bring destruction in your wake if you take it.”

“It is not so difficult to guess what I want, Klara,” he told me, his lips pinched down, a glare in his gaze. He released my chin, and my head bobbed back from the force, my legs swaying underneath me, the pull of his eyes like a dizzying magic.

“I have seen your forests of heartstones,” I whispered to him. “Perhaps you’re greedy for just one more.”

Dannik cut me a sharp look, but the burn of Sarkin’s eyes held my full attention.

My loose tongue would get me into trouble, but I had spent the majority of my life tucked away in quiet places, out of sight and safe. For once, with the glowing golden eyes of a dragon upon me, I wanted to be fearless. With the Laseta Kalliri’s piercing gaze on me—her eyes hungry like a thief’s hand—I knew my fate had already been sealed. After tonight, I would likely be sent to the priestesses in the North Lands, just like my mother had always feared.

“Dothikkar,” Sarkin called out suddenly, making me jump. When my father said nothing, he continued, “You have a choice to make for your people.”

“Dakkari do not accept threats, rider, even if you proclaim yourself to be a king. You are no king here,” my father spat. “I am. You are in Kakkari’s realm now, and our goddess will⁠—”

Zaridan’s roar drowned out my father’s words, and her mighty tail struck the ground behind her. After long moments the echo of it trailed away, though the mountains in the distance sung with it, and my father was silent. She was still snorting out sharp huffs, a low growl in her throat.

“We answer to the Elthika, Dothikkar,” Sarkin said with cold patience as his eyes ran over my face. I had the impression he was looking for a weakness or trying to memorize every fault. “They are our gods and our goddesses. We are not Dakkari.”

I saw his eyes change, and he turned to meet my father’s gaze, stepping toward him though the guards unsheathed their swords at Sarkin’s approach. He didn’t even flinch.

“We are the Karag—riders of the mighty Elthika,” he growled, a low rumble that mirrored his dragon’s. “The gods of the sky. The death from above. You would do well to remember that before you speak to me. You might be king but only because of your bloodline. Where is the honor in that? Where is the sacrifice in that? The kings of Karag…we earn our thrones.”

The Karag.

“You have a choice to make, king,” Sarkin said, mocking distaste dripping from his tongue. “Give me the heartstone…”

A murmuring went through the clearing, the members of my father’s council loosening their tongues in their shock.

“Or give me your daughter.”

The world spun, the starlight brightening above as my vision blurred.

Dannik was the first to react.

“No,” came the word, growled from my brother’s lips. “Absolutely not.”

And yet…my father’s eyes had widened when he’d heard the Karag’s offer. As if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Here was his opportunity to offload the daughter who had only ever brought shame and embarrassment, whose birth had nearly torn apart his legacy. And he could keep the heartstone?

His shock might’ve been mistaken for the shock of a loving father. Maybe that was what Sarkin would see. Maybe he would even revel in it.

My father knew that.

“No,” he said quickly, mirroring Dannik’s rejection. I saw my sister, Alanis, cut him a sharp look, her lips pressed together.

“Then perhaps I will take both,” came Sarkin’s simple reply.

A chorus of muted gasps and murmurings went through the clearing, and I stood there, unable to feel my feet planted firmly to the earth. Strangely, I thought of Queen Kara’s book in my room, the one that Sora had let me borrow from the archives, and I wondered how she could reclaim it if I was gone.

“Do you know why the Elthika are feared?” Sarkin asked. “Because of their strength? Because of their might? No. It’s because of their ethrall.”

My brow furrowed. Ethrall?

“It has toppled kingdoms and created civilizations. Would you like to see it, Dothikkar? Would you like to be reminded of what it can do?”

“Reminded?” my father rasped.

“Your people have seen it before. The last was two centuries ago. It wiped out an entire race on your planet…I wonder what it would do to your glittering city?”

“Impossible,” Dannik breathed. But except for him, no one moved.

Horror rooted me into place.

I saw Sarkin’s lips curl into a devastating grin. “You will learn to fear us. And only then can we come to understand one another, Dakkari.”

It happened quickly.

Sarkin’s eyes cut to mine, studying me again.

“Zari, ethrall,” he commanded.

Behind Sarkin’s line of riders, Zaridan reared back, the scales on her chest glittering as she inhaled deeply, the gust of wind she sucked in whipping my hair around my face. I didn’t understand…until I watched a silent roar, her jaws wide, razor black fangs exposed.

The red mist that streamed out of her crashed into the clearing like violent waves against a sea cliff.

“Klara!” I heard Dannik’s call, but I couldn’t see him. I was frozen into place as red fog trapped us, streaming around us like a river, one with no end. I heard Lakkis’s scream, her cry of horror. I heard a cacophony of voices rise up into the air, the panic and confusion and then the despair of realization. Of swords unsheathing, metal ringing, like they had a chance against this.

We hadn’t known what power these Karag possessed…and now we did.

The Elthika could create the red fog that had nearly destroyed our entire race two hundred years ago. The red fog my own ancestors had fought to defeat…and it had nearly killed them in the process.

All I saw was bloodred around me. I’d often wondered what it felt like, what it had been like. It was just as horrifying as I’d imagined.

Dannik was calling for me…but it was like another realm. I was lost. I could wander for centuries and never be found here. But the fog was weaving into my lungs. A poison.

Then behind me, his voice came.

“Are you afraid, aralye?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good,” he said, stepping in front of me. I could make out his face in the mist, the only face I could see, and suddenly he felt like an unyielding pillar as chaos erupted around us. “Since your father will not answer, I will give you the same choice I gave him.”

“Please stop this,” I pleaded, thinking about Dannik. My sisters. No one knew how long the red fog took to poison the body. Some succumbed to it in moments, others days. I didn’t want to take the risk. “Please!”

“The heartstone or you. Make your choice.”

“Me,” I cried out immediately. “I will go with you! Stop this!”

Sarkin called out, “Faryn.”

Another gust came. I blinked and before my eyes, the red fog disappeared in an instant. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the loose swords hanging from the guards’ grip, I saw my father slowly rising from the ground and Dannik with rage in his eyes, pinned on Sarkin. Lakkis’s sobs filled the quiet as her mother tried to calm her. My stepmother’s jaw was set tight though she seemed less shaken than anyone. I’d always admired that about her—her ability to weather any storm and still remain steadfast. It was one of the reasons my father had made her his queen, though he’d loved another at the time.