Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Sixty-Six

Ashort time later, I have my arm folded over and I’m leaning back in the chair by the fire. My head is spinning and I’m dizzy, but there’s a comforting edge to it because I know it’s from my potion, the very last dose I had. I don’t know what we’re going to do tomorrow, but I suppose that’s tomorrow’s problem. Nearby, Nemeth fusses with the small cook-pot over the fire. We found some spices in the kitchen, along with salt, and I have to admit that even though I’m not excited about eating horse, it smells utterly divine. My mouth waters constantly and I watch my mate with sleepy, blurry eyes.

He looks so good. I could stare at him all day and all night, just admiring the strong lines of his back. His kilt is water-stained and the leather distorted, the decorative straps no longer lying flat. They part across his backside, revealing the short stump of a tail that he’s so prudish over. His wings are folded up neat, the wing-points framing his head, and he just looks so familiar and cozy that I want to stay in this moment forever. Just me, drowsy with a hit of medication, and Nemeth fussing over a delicious-smelling meal and sneaking glances back at me while rain patters away on the roof.

“How did you find us?” I ask him when he dips a wooden spoon into the pot and tastes the stew. “Was it magic?”

Nemeth glances back at me. “I told you, Candra. I never lost you. I’ve been following this entire time.”

The words don’t make sense to me, no matter how many times I turn them over in my head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean you were following?”

“We were talking, remember? In the cottage?” He licks the spoon, then dips it into the pot once more, and then blows on the steaming contents to cool them. He holds it out to me, an offering, his other hand underneath. Reluctantly, I lean forward to eat and the meat is tough, but it’s delicious. My stomach cramps hard with hunger and I nod at him. He takes the spoon back and then stirs the pot once more. “Not too much longer. We’ll let it cook down a bit more, soften the meat.”

“Nemeth,” I chide. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. But feeding you is first and foremost in my mind.” He turns his head and gives me a wry smile. “Everything about you is first and foremost in my mind.” He stirs the meat again, then lets the spoon rest against the side of the pot. “Something broke my perimeter spell, and I gathered shadows to investigate.”

“Perimeter spell?” I frown. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing. What is it?”

“Magic, of course. It’s a type of enchantment that allows me to watch over the periphery of an object. You know the old battle saying that you can never sneak up on a Fellian?”

“No.” I give my lover an amused look. “I’m not up to date on my battle sayings, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” He rubs one ear, looking embarrassed. “Well, we like humans to think it’s because of our shadow magic, but it’s truly due to enchantments. You can never sneak up on a Fellian because most of us have a perimeter ward upon our belt buckle.” And he gives his a pat. “The moment someone comes close, it makes a strident noise that only I can hear and alerts me that there’s an intruder. I cast another perimeter spell upon my food stores back in the tower, too. You’ll recall I caught you sniffing around?”

“I never stole from you!”

“Aye, I know you didn’t, love. But at the time I didn’t know you well. So…a perimeter spell. We were in the cottage, and I heard the noise of someone approaching, and I slipped into shadows to see who it was. When I saw it was the humans, I kept to the shadows, ready to attack…and then I saw that they had horses.”

My stomach gives a funny, uncomfortable little flip.

Nemeth’s expression is uneasy. He won’t look me fully in the eye as he continues. “And I saw those horses, and it made me pause. Because we weren’t going to reach the human settlement before you ran out of medicine. I knew I couldn’t fly you there, and so I made a choice.”

“Nemeth, no.” I’m horrified. He left me with those men deliberately?

“I couldn’t let you die, Candra.”

“You left me with those vile men? Let me worry over you? I thought you were hurt! Or worse! I thought you were dead, Nemeth, and that I’d never see you again.” I shudder. “They ate all of our food and drank two of my potions before they knew what they were, and you left me with them?” I feel betrayed.

“It was a choice I agonized over,” he confesses, his rich, velvety voice aching with sorrow. “And I watched from the shadows. If they tried to hurt you, I would slaughter them where they stood. But as long as they were traveling towards your city, and as long as they had the horses, they were moving faster than I could go with you, and so I left you with them. I’m sorry. I thought you might be safer with them than with a Fellian who can barely fly.”

I’m stiff with anger. On some level, his words make sense. The humans were moving faster than we could. Nemeth can’t fly me, and we’re low on supplies. But the last few days of sheer agony—of bitter worry over his absence, of distress over the situation—make it impossible for me to easily forgive. “You could have said something.”

“When? They didn’t leave you alone for a second, Candra.” He shakes his head and nudges the spoon in the pot, as if he can somehow will our dinner to cook faster. “When was I supposed to come in and warn you?”

“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. “All I know is that you let those men eat our food and take my potion. You let me worry that you were dead—” My voice catches and I can’t speak. I shake my head, weary and hurt beyond all capacity to reason. I hate that we left the tower and brought this on the world. I hate that Nemeth abandoned me. I hate that the world I used to know no longer exists, and I’m trapped in this rainy, deserted hellscape.

More than anything, I’m worried. My last potion is gone. We’re down to eating horse…and every time I turn around, I feel like I’m learning something new about my mate. I stare down at the bite on my hand, and I think about the happiness I felt on that day.

It feels like a very long time ago.

“You’re upset,” Nemeth says, voice soft.

“I am.” Upset doesn’t even begin to cover the emotions I’m feeling right now.

He moves to my side and crouches low in front of the chair, gazing up at me. Nemeth takes my hands in his, and I’m reminded of how enormous his hands are in comparison to mine. Like all Fellians, he has the oversized grip…a grip that squeezes my heart between his fingers and is in danger of breaking it. “I am thinking of you and our child, Candra. I know you’re hurt. You have every right to be. But if I have to choose between watching you die at my side or letting some humans drag you to their city on horseback, I’m going to pick the humans.” He strokes his thumb over my knuckles. “Even if it means you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, aching. “I just hate everything about this situation.”

He lifts my hand to his cheek, the hard planes of his face familiar under my touch. “I’ve been following ever since they broke into the cottage,” he tells me. “I’ve agonized over every moment. I haven’t slept, knowing that you were with them and vulnerable. Ten thousand times I wanted to slaughter them all and take the horses, but I cannot ride, either. At least this way you could cling to one of them.” He turns his face, brushing his lips against my palm, grazing the bite mark there. “I hated them. I hated them so much, and every time I nearly stole you away again, a new settlement would be on the horizon, and I was convinced that this would be the one that would have people. This would be the one where they would welcome you like the princess you are and feed you. They could give you more than a Fellian, and so I watched from the shadows and held back my rage.” He bares his teeth, his green eyes glinting. “I hated that they stole the food. If I had anything to slip you, I would have left it in your path. But there is nothing. The rain is washing everything away.”

The goddess is furious with humanity. Not with myself and Nemeth, but that bit of knowledge doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s difficult for me to see Nemeth so stern and not try to make him smile. So I manage a weak grin and stroke his strong chin. “You miscalculated, I’m afraid. We’re still at least a day out from the city and we’ve eaten the horse. If your plan was for them to take me to the gates of Lios, you’ve failed, my love.”

His teeth scrape over my bite, and it sends a shiver up my spine. “I couldn’t wait a moment longer. They were going to hurt you. Touch you.” He bares his teeth, his lips curling back with fury. “I’d destroy every human alive before I’d let them harm one hair on your head.”

My eyes go wide.

“You belong to me.” He places his teeth over the plump part of my palm, fitting against the bite mark. “My Candra. My mate. Do you know how feral it makes me to think that they might have touched you? Do you know how much I wanted to tear them limb from limb for the way they were looking at you?” Nemeth growls, his nostrils flaring as he gazes at me. “Do you know how much effort it’s taking me not to drag you to this floor and give you my knot because I need to claim you?”

My breath catches in my lungs. “Nemeth.”

“I know what I did was wrong. I know, and I hated every moment of it. But I would do anything for you, Candra.” The look he gives me is full of longing, full of emotion, and I’m right back there in the tower, listening to him confess his love for me. “You are everything to me.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him. “And if I didn’t feel like death warmed over at this moment, I’d ask you for that knot after all.”

That brings a smile to his hard, unforgiving mouth. He kisses the mark on my palm and gets to his feet. “I may not be able to knot you, but I can feed you. Right now, that’s almost as good.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

He pauses. “Well, no.” His wings flutter with shy agitation. “But it will have to do.”

Chapter

Sixty-Seven

We stay that night in the manor house. Nemeth makes me eat no less than three bowls of horse soup, staggered over two hours, and then I’m so tired that I doze in front of the fire while he sets up magical wards and more perimeter spells. I want to watch him to see what the spells entail, but I’m so groggy after both medicine and food that my eyes won’t stay open. I’m vaguely aware of the fire dying down, of Nemeth carrying me to bed.

I wake up, rested and no longer hungry, curled up against Nemeth’s side. His big, warm hand is palming one of my breasts through my chemise (I’m not sure how he got my outer dress off of me) as if it belongs to him. He snores, content, and I remember how he said he didn’t sleep a wink while we were apart. My heart fills with love for him and I tuck his hand closer around me, relaxing in bed. I’ll lay here and let him sleep peacefully, I decide. I’ll be a good, benevolent, unselfish mate and let him sleep.

But I can’t fall back asleep. Instead, I think about last night, and the vicious, feral look in his eyes as he checked me all over. Did they touch you? he’d asked, over and over again, as if he’d lose every bit of his sanity if they had. My Nemeth, who claims to be a scholar, had almost been a feral beast.

It makes me unbearably aroused.

I wait for that to go away, too. Lately it seems that if I’m awake, my stomach wants to vomit everything back out, and then I feel normal. So I wait for that wave of nausea, but there’s nothing. I just feel good. I feel warm. I feel aroused. Really, really aroused.

Hm.

I wriggle backward against Nemeth’s groin, hoping to find him hard and erect. He snores on, oblivious to my need, and I have to decide if I’m going to be selfish or if I’m going to let him sleep. I ponder this, even as his hand weighs heavy on my breast, and I absently shift back and forth, hoping for friction from his hand.

Stuff it, I decide. I’m going to be somewhat unselfish. I’ll wake him…but I’ll wake him my favorite way.

Decided upon my course of action, I wriggle, intending to slip out of Nemeth’s grasp, when his hand tightens on my breast. His heavy thigh clamps down over mine, and he gives my breast a light squeeze. “And where are you going, princess?”

His voice is throaty with sleep, and it does something to my insides. I quiver with need. “I was going to wake you up,” I pant, unbearably aware of his hand on my breast. His thumb is stroking over the thin material of my chemise, and he teases my nipple into a point. “With my mouth on your knot.”

“Mmm. I’ve a better idea.”

“Oh?” I prickle all over with anticipation.

He just keeps rubbing my nipple, teasing it to a point between his fingers and stroking it until I’m writhing against him. “How are you feeling this morning, my mate?”

“Needy,” I pant. “So needy.”

His big hand leaves my breast and slides down to my hip, and he tugs on my chemise. “Any sickness? Dizziness?”

“If you’re asking if it’s okay to fuck me, the answer is yes,” I tell him, grabbing my skirts and hitching them up before his hand can. “Please, please yes. I’ve missed you so much.”

Nemeth’s hand moves between my thighs. He cups my pussy and finds me wet, and a low growl echoes in his throat. “You have missed me, haven’t you?” He pushes my gown up even further, until it’s bunched at my waist, and then I feel his cock pressing into me from behind.

I gasp, arching back against him.

“You can take it,” he whispers against the pillows. “I’ll make you wet enough that you can take all of me.” His fingers dance over my clit, even as he nudges my thighs apart with his big one and the head of his cock sinks into me.

Whimpering, I cover his hand with mine as he works my clit. Not because I’m trying to push him away, but just because I desperately need to hold on to something.

“Candra,” he breathes against my hair as he pushes deeper. “My sweet, perfect mate. You’re so tight.”

My lips part and I cling to him, desperate, as he pushes me toward a hot, frantic orgasm. “Nemeth.”

“Your Nemeth,” he says, and then thrusts into me with shallow, rapid strokes. I cry out, because it feels too good. He drives into me, his hand continuing to tease my clit until I’m coming, squeezing him tight. A sob chokes in my throat at the ferocity of my orgasm, leaving me dazed and breathless. He spanks my pussy as he pounds into me from behind, making me gasp. “I’m not done with you.”

I moan. Gods, I love it when he gets all ferociously possessive. “Knot,” I manage, when I can catch my breath again. “Give me your knot.”

Part of me expects him to roll me forward onto my belly and just pound into me from behind, until his knot is seated inside me, stretching me tight. Just the mental image of that makes me shiver. Instead, he spanks my pussy again, making me gasp. “I’ll give it to you soon enough, my greedy mate.”

“Me, greedy?” I gasp. “You’re the one hogging the bed. You’re the one that’s trying to make me last—” I choke off when he thrusts deep, sending another ripple of pleasure through my body. “I’m the one doing all the giving and you’re withholding your knot.”

“You want my knot?” His hand slides up to my throat, clasping me against him as he drives into me harder. His other hand slides in under my waist, pushing towards the vee of my legs, where he has me wide open and split with his cock. “You want this, then?” He presses into me again, this time harder than before, and I can feel it now, the bulge of his knot at the base of his shaft. It always feels like too much, but I always, always take it.

“Don’t be selfish,” I pant, and a whine escapes my throat when his fingers find my clit again. He hammers into me, rutting into me as he holds me in place, and I feel so protected even as he uses me for his needs. Another orgasm sweeps through me and I clench around him, even as he drives harder into me.

Then, with one last hard thrust and a pinch of welcome pain, his knot is inside me and I’m stuffed full, so full that my pelvis aches. It’s a good sort of ache, though, one that I’ve come to crave, and I reach back towards Nemeth, my hand skimming over his face as he growls and fills me with his seed, his release ripping through him. He bites down on my thumb even as I push it into his mouth, and I’m gasping and filled as he holds me tightly in place.

When Nemeth’s hands loosen on me, he lets out a gusty sigh. His hand moves away from my throat and trails down to my heavy breasts, then to my belly. It feels tight there, stretched full of his cock and his seed, and I let out a noise of contentment. “That was lovely.”

“Was it?” He thumps my pussy with his hand again, making me squeak. “Because I’m still knotted inside you. Neither one of us is going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” I tell him lazily. I lean back against him, loving this moment. The world outside might be a big pile of dragon shite, but here in Nemeth’s arms, I can forget about everything for a time. This is what I’ve chosen. This is what I’m abandoning my people for, and I’m pleased with my choice. I feel loved and needed and warm. I’m pregnant with my mate’s child, even though I’m not supposed to be able to carry a baby at all. I’m supposed to be barren. I still haven’t figured out why things have changed, but maybe my knife…

Shite.

“The human that left last night,” I tell Nemeth. “The one that left with the horse. He stole my knife.”

“Because it was magic?” His hand strokes my belly again, and then the curve of my hip.

“No, just because it looked expensive. I don’t think he knows it’s magic. Should we go after him? Did you see where he was headed?”

“It’s lost, Candra.” Nemeth’s tone is easy. Relaxed. Of course, the male did just come inside me, but still. “You don’t need it.”

“It’s magic,” I protest. “My sister gave it to me. It can help us⁠—”

“If he’s fleeing the two I killed, he’s heading the opposite direction of the castle. I won’t spend precious time hunting him down for a blade. You don’t need it.”

I probably don’t, but I still feel vulnerable without it. I miss the reassurance that it provided me, not for its sharp edge but for the questions I could ask. It’s always been there. “I didn’t get a chance to ask it much about the baby.”

“Are you worried?” His fingers strum over my clit again.

I’m too sensitive, having come twice already, and I squirm in place. As I’m still locked against his knot, this only makes me pant harder, deeply aware of the press of him inside me. “Of course I’m worried. I’m not supposed to be pregnant. I’m the one with the cursed blood.”

“Maybe that’s why,” he muses, even as he ignores my attempts to wriggle away from his hand. This is part of the game, and I love it as much as it makes me absolutely crazy. He locks me onto his knot, and as we wait for it to go down, he continues to toy with my body, making me come over and over again. It always feels like too much.

It always makes me come so damned hard.

“Maybe your blood isn’t cursed,” Nemeth says lazily. “Maybe you’ve just got too much Fellian in you.”

I moan at the double entendre.

“What do you think, milettahn?” he murmurs even as he rubs the pad of one finger against the side of my clit again. “Do you have too much Fellian inside you right now?”

My body squeezes around him again and I decide that I both hate him and want to kiss him forever as he wrings yet another orgasm out of me.

I do, however, forget all about my knife.

Chapter

Sixty-Eight

The walls of Lios are legendary.

I’ve seen them more or less every day of my life. Even when we’d travel, the Vestalins inevitably return to Castle Lios. It’s where we belong, in the beating heart of our country. We belong behind its tall white walls, nestled high on the cliffs above the sea. Winding roads lead up to it, surrounded by rolling farmlands and fields of all kinds of crops on one side, the blue, endless ocean on the other. The walls of Lios are tall and impenetrable, as old and venerable as Lios itself. Legend says that Ravendor Vestalin had the walls built when she took the throne. The walls were there when I was born, and I always assumed I’d die behind the walls, sheltered like a bird in its nest.

But a day later, at sunset, I see the massive hole punched through Lios’s endless walls, and it feels like a hole punched through my chest.

I stare at it, numb, half-expecting to see people spilling forth from the crevasse in the walls, like blood flowing from a wound. But it’s empty.

Everything is just…empty.

It’s been a miserable day and a half since we left the manor house. We spent half the day in bed, eating horse meat and gathering our strength. Then, when everything was cooked and we could delay no longer, we stepped back out into the endless rain and continued on our way to Lios.

It feels like the gods themselves are crying as the rain washes over me.

My city is gone.

I thought Lios would always be here. That even though the world has gone to pieces around us, surely Lios would remain. Lios would be safe, and we’d push in with all of the other refugees hungry for food. We’d collect my potion, enough to last us as we traveled to Darkfell, and I’d see my sister again. I’d say a mental goodbye to my people.

I’d be prepared to leave them behind.

I’m not prepared for this. Nothing could prepare me for this.

I’ve ignored all the signs up until now. That every village and city deserted and empty meant nothing. That the wreckage that dots the shoreline and covers the beaches is irrelevant to the war and the fleet of mighty ships commanded by King Lionel. That the rain won’t be affecting my home like it is the outlying towns and people. Lios would be fine. Lios would be there.

I cling to the wet horse, feeling drained and hopeless, and I stare at the enormous hole to the left of Lios’s thick gates. “What makes a hole like that?” I ask Nemeth, my voice unsteady.

“A ballista. One with enchantments upon it.”

Of course. Fellians do love their enchantments. “You could have just flown over the walls,” I point out, numb, as the horse plods ever forward, up the muddy road. “Why destroy the walls?”

“Because the way to win a battle is to give the enemy nowhere to hide.”

Ah. Of course. And thus they must destroy the walls so the humans can’t huddle behind them. I think of Lionel, how smug he was when he forced me into the tower. So impatient, as if I was the only thing holding him back from his Great War, a war that would let him fill Lios’s coffers with Fellian riches. It was a pissing stupid war. No one in Lios needs Fellian land. No one wants to live under a mountain.

Lionel just wanted to fight. He wanted a battle. Glory.

And now my home, my beautiful city, is empty. Everyone is gone. No one comes out to see a Fellian and a human on a horse limping up the mud-slicked roads.

I suspect Lios is as empty as everywhere else. Empty…and everyone is gone.

At least the other places were just deserted. It was easy to assume everyone had simply fled in search of food or safety. As we approach the broken wall of Lios, a different story unfolds. The signs of war are everywhere. The grasses have been trampled and are gone. With nothing to anchor to, the horse slips and slides up the muddy path towards the city. Alongside the road I see discarded bits of armor and used arrows. There’s a helm here, with a massive hole upon the back, and over here a broken shield. A pretty altar to the gods has been destroyed and knocked over, the bushes uprooted and cast aside. As we head up the cliffs to Lios itself, I can look down in the harbor and see the broken remnants of a ship bobbing in the bay, and another one farther down.

The road leading to my beautiful city is covered in the detritus of war, and I suspect it’s not a war we won. If we’d won, someone would be here, right? There would be flags of victory. There would be people. There would be something other than this painful emptiness.

“You don’t burn your dead, do you?” Nemeth says suddenly, breaking the silence.

“No. We bury them so they can return to the earth that we were made from. We wait for the Absent God to return and call our spirits forth. Why?”

He gazes at what is left of the walls. “We have not seen graves. Perhaps that is a good sign?”

“If there are dead, they would be buried at the far end of the city,” I say. “On the sacred grounds behind the temple.”

“We can head there first, if you like? To see if there’s a reason no one is here?”

I shake my head. “I want to go to the palace first.”

The only inhabitants of Castle Lios are rats.

They scurry across the detritus-covered floors, bold and unworried, as we step into the halls of the castle. The banners here that hung showing the proud bloodlines of the nobility have been torn from the walls, and the tapestries are cut to ribbons. Lionel’s golden throne is gone entirely, and my sister’s elegant wooden one has been chopped to pieces and left on the dais. The massive feasting tables in the dining hall are broken, the benches scattered, the fragile dishware a thousand pieces upon the ground. They crunch under my feet as I instinctively head towards the kitchens.

They, too, are empty, though there’s a foul smell here. It’s a smell of something dead, and I cover my nose with my wet sleeve even as Nemeth strides towards the root cellar. He opens the hatch and peers inside, then shakes his head. “Two bodies, and they’ve been there a long time. You don’t want to look.”

I swallow hard. “My sister always said the cook would defend her kitchen into death. I guess that’s true.” I think of my sister—and of Riza and Nurse—and I desperately hate that my knife is gone. I want to ask if they’re all right. I want to ask if they’re alive. I hate that I squandered the opportunity back when I had my knife, simply because I hated knowing the answers.

Not knowing is so much worse.

“I need to go upstairs,” I tell Nemeth, feeling faint. “I want to see my sister’s quarters. My quarters.”

“Are you all right?” He gestures to the door, to the horse we left outside. “Should I get our packs⁠—”

I shake my head, trembling. I’m not all right. Not by a long shot, but I still need to know. “I just need to see.” Because if I see Riza or Nurse’s dead body in my rooms, I might lose my fragile hold on sanity. It’s one thing to know that the goddess will be unhappy if we leave the tower. It’s another to see the realization of it and know we’re to blame to some extent.

Nemeth moves to my side, and I think at first that he’s going to stop me, or force me to sit down and rest. Instead, he snags me under the arms and flares his wings outward. He flies out of the great hall and down another corridor of the massive, empty palace. His flight isn’t even and I can tell he strains, but we’re in the air and soaring through the empty halls. I point out directions. To turn that way, to go up that flight of stairs. To head down another hall.

And then I see the double doors that used to be mine. One is smashed, as if kicked in, the gilt design on the wood smeared with mud and broken away. A terrified sound escapes my throat.

Nemeth sets me down on the floor. Even here, there are discarded pieces of armor and torn fabrics. Shattered furniture and pieces of wood are everywhere, as if someone hacked the beautiful palace apart. The carpet under my feet that runs down the long hall is dark with stains, and I remember its bright red color. It’s been destroyed, just like everything else. Even the ceiling—once dotted with beautiful stained glass—is now broken and rain drips down from above, as if the world around us is crying.

It feels appropriate.

I take a few steps towards my apartments, and then I’m running at a frantic speed, ignoring the squish of the wet carpets under my near-destroyed shoes. I want to go inside and see that this portion of my world hasn’t changed. I want to see my bed with its beautiful draperies and elegant pillows. I want to see the thick rugs and the cozy chairs I have near the fire. I want to see my trunks and dressers full of my gowns. Here, there should be something, shouldn’t there?

So I burst through the doors and skid to a halt, drinking in the sight of my once-bedroom.

It’s worse here than below. There’s a hole in the ceiling, the beams collapsed, and the rain floods in directly over my bed. The canopies are collapsed and ripped, and my mattress has been torn apart and shredded, the innards cast across the flooring and soaked. Every chest is opened, the contents destroyed. The chairs near the fire are gone; one is broken, and there’s a familiar-looking charred chair leg hanging out of the hearth that tells me the other was probably burned. All my beautiful things are destroyed, and there’s no trace of me here, nothing left that speaks of my old life.

Beyond numb, I race back out of the room and down the hall, towards Erynne’s rooms. I know she won’t be there. I know there won’t be anyone there, but I still have to see it for myself. I have to know.

The doors here have fallen from their hinges, blocking the way into the room. I rip one away, tossing it aside. The interior of Erynne’s room is just as wrecked as mine, the colorful glass in the big window broken and shattered, rain pouring inside. Ripped fabric is soaked and covered in mold, and the large imperial bed looks as if it was destroyed with an axe or three. I turn, looking for signs of my sister. Yes, she has betrayed me. Yes, she thinks of the kingdom before me.

But she’s still my family, and knowing that something has happened to her has made me frantic.

I find the wreckage of a child’s bed in one corner of the room, the pale blankets covered in mud and footprints. I pick up one corner, and as I do, I see rusty-colored splatters on it. Hastily, I drop it again and back away. The air in Erynne’s room doesn’t feel like enough. I can’t breathe. Frantic, I race to the window and stare out at the view. Erynne always had one of the best views in the castle, with the sea crashing onto the cliffs below. Now there’s nothing to see but more wreckage and the broken hull of a ship on the rocks.