CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning, Orion awoke from a thankfully dreamless doze. Sunshine bled through the shutters of the room’s single window, casting a ladder of pale white light through the slats and onto his bed. He rolled out from beneath the covers and got dressed, his thoughts still lingering on Rose’s words while he packed up his things. Wondering what the inn might serve for breakfast, he stepped into the hallway just as the door across from him opened and out shuffled Quinlan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a little smile on his face.

Orion nearly dropped his pack onto the garish red-gold carpeting. “Were you in Asterin’s room the whole night?”

Quinlan jumped so high that he smashed the top of his head into the lamp jutting out from the wall. He massaged the injury and shot Orion a pained glare. “Maybe.”

Orion threw his pack down and rushed forward, shoving Quinlan against Asterin’s door with a thud. “I swear to the Immortals, if you—”

“If I what?” he challenged, eyes blazing. “Took advantage of her?”

Orion’s hand latched around the Eradorian’s throat. “Did you?”

Quinlan’s mouth thinned. “Of course not. Do you actually think I would do that?” At Orion’s silence, something almost like hurt flashed across his face. “You … you still don’t trust me. At all.”

Orion’s grip slackened. Learn to give people a chance, Orion. “Well, I mean, you kind of suggested it first—”

Quinlan smacked his hand away, expression closing off, and shouldered past. “We just talked about stuff,” he said, voice cold. “Promise.”

“What sort of stuff?”

Before Quinlan could retort, the door creaked open and Asterin nudged her head outside, stifling a yawn. “What’s all the noise about?”

Orion jerked his chin at the Eradorian. “Beat it.”

Quinlan just shook his head and stalked off toward Rose’s room, shoulders hunched.

“Orion?” said Asterin. “What’s wrong?”

There were so many things Orion wanted to say, but then he remembered the hurt in Quinlan’s expression and his voice died in his throat. “Nothing,” he finally managed. “Just get ready to leave.”

He found Luna and Eadric outside, sitting on the steps to the inn and sharing a cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen. He tried to imagine Asterin and Quinlan in their place, and nearly stormed over to kick the mug out of Eadric’s hand.

Before long, their horses were stirring up a cloud of dust, putting the town of Aldville behind them. They continued along the main road until it diverged southeast, toward Corinthe. They kicked into a gallop, the road soon giving way to worn dirt. It was a perfect day, warm and fresh, the early spring scenery passing in a vivid blur of lush green fields and sparkling aquamarine lakes as they flew across miles and miles of land. The sky stretched endlessly on, unblemished by even the slightest wisp of white, so bright and piercing that it hurt Orion’s eyes to look at it. Wind whistled through his hair, and the drumming of hooves against the dirt road filled his head like thunder. They stopped only once to rest and water their horses, and so the sun hovered high overhead with afternoon heat when they at last arrived in the village of Corinthe.

Or at least, what remained of it.

Orion swung off Buttercup. “Immortals above.”

The others followed suit, speechless.

Dust and debris hung around them in a veil, drifting aimlessly. Shapes emerged with each step along the road leading into the village—scraps of wood, skeletal carcasses of furniture, shattered glass littering the cracked cobblestones. Ruined houses loomed over them, ceilings caved in and doors missing from their hinges. The ground crunched underfoot, and it was all Orion could do not to check for bones.

It smelled like death.

They passed a water well that appeared untouched, save for the fraying rope dangling from the winch. The bucket lay upside down a few feet away, and when Luna nudged it over, she found a tattered doll trapped beneath. She bent down to pick it up. Stuffing weeped out of a rip across its face, one button-eye dangling from a lone thread.

“The demon did this,” Asterin said, voice thick with rage and grief. “It must have.”

Not a single being stirred the arid breeze as they led their horses farther into the village, all their senses on high alert. Orion kept a careful eye on Asterin’s back, his stride quickening to match hers, one hand on Orondite’s pommel. He wouldn’t let Aldville happen again.

“There were at least three hundred people living here,” Eadric said hoarsely. “But—”

“Where did they go?” Quinlan murmured. “There’s blood, but … no bodies.”

“Immortals,” said Luna suddenly, looking sick. “You don’t think the demon could have eaten them, do you?”

“Please stop,” said Asterin quietly.

Soon they turned onto a lane of destroyed houses. At its end rose an enormous pile of earth, stretching twenty feet across and double that in height.

Asterin gave Lux a pat and started up the hill of dirt. “I’m going to get a better look at everything.” The horse watched her go, swishing his tail back and forth and pawing at the ground.

Orion tugged Buttercup forward, but the mare planted her hooves in the ground and refused to budge. He handed her reins to Eadric and clambered up the slope after Asterin, stomach clenching with growing unease. Twice he nearly slipped, the loose dirt giving way beneath his boots.

Ahead, Asterin had already reached the peak.

“What do you see?” called Eadric.

Asterin failed to answer.

Orion finally managed to scrabble to the top of the hill. “What is …” His voice died in his throat as he looked down. Overwhelming denial washed over him, but there was no mistaking the horrid stench wafting upward.

“Orion?” hollered Eadric. “What’s below the hill?”

“It’s not a hill,” he said. Everything seemed to slow as he turned and told the others. “It’s … a grave.”

Luna pressed a hand to her mouth, the doll hanging limp at her side. The Eradorians’ eyes widened in shock. Eadric could only stare, expression utterly blank.

Quinlan was the first to spring into action, starting for the hill when Asterin thrust out an arm to halt him. “Don’t,” she commanded, her voice breaking on the end of the word. “These are not your people.”

“Asterin,” said Orion, reaching forward to grasp her wrist. She flinched, but he held firm and eventually she gave him a small nod.

Together, they looked back into the pit.

Heaps and heaps of corpses of all sizes were sprawled within the pit, some naked, others missing arms and legs. A strange black fluid oozed from their wounds, out of their mouths and ears. Nearly all of them were missing patches of skin from their faces, like the doll Luna still clutched to her chest, as if something had clawed their flesh right off.

Orion couldn’t stand the sight for more than a few seconds, but Asterin kept on staring at the bodies for what seemed like an eternity, her expression unreadable.

“Asterin,” he said to her softly, desperately, but she had gone mute. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook gently. “Asterin. Say something. Please.”

She clenched her fists so hard that they trembled. Then she opened her mouth, and at last, like a dam bursting open, the tears came, shaking her entire body with hysterical sobs.

Orion pulled her roughly into his arms, holding her close as if his life depended on it.

She buried her face into his chest, muffling her enraged howls.

“Don’t cry,” he breathed without thinking, but she drowned him out and he didn’t repeat it.

A memory forced itself to the surface of his mind. The one memory that he couldn’t bear to talk about, the one he had struggled to lock away all his life. But now …

Seven. He had only been seven at the time, growing up in a small town dotted with quaint little houses stacked one atop the other like books thrown together in a haphazard pile. There had been a central square with a large fountain, where the townsfolk gathered for holidays. Where his family had gathered, too. It was the only home he had ever known.

Orion remembered the weather. Rolling clouds of cinder flocked the horizon, bleak and dismal, the taste of a storm hanging over the town and the air sticky with humidity—perfect for fishing. On any other day, the streets would have cleared quickly—mothers calling their children inside from their games, vendors squinting upward as they packed away their goods and scurried for shelter.

But that day, the streets had already stood empty when the heavens opened up. The rain plummeted in cold, fat drops onto cobblestones slick with red.

Waiting alone in the central square, he had gazed up at the fountain, carved with the faces of the Council of Immortals. Lord Conrye stared down at him through the curtain of rain—a little boy, drenched from head to toe, golden hair plastered to his forehead and his face upturned to embrace the storm. But even with the storm and the scent it brought of something beginning anew, the stench of vomit and human waste still lingered. He wondered where the Immortals were, if they even existed. He wondered why they weren’t here. Why they hadn’t been here, when so many people had needed them so badly.

The rain cooled his burning cheeks, dripping past his lashes, but he ignored the sting in his eyes and the ache in his tired feet. He simply stood there, alive and whole, when he knew that he was supposed to be dead.

“I just wanted to go fishing,” Orion had whispered up to Lord Conrye. A drop of rain trickled from the god’s eye.

Though his gaze was fixed on the faces of the Immortals, they were not the faces he saw in his mind. No, he saw the faces of his friends from school. His neighbors. The man who sold roasted peanuts on the corner beneath the big oak tree with the branches perfect for climbing, the woman who sold jars of pitted peaches and apricots. The shoemaker. His son, who polished the shoes his father made from morning until evening. The bellmaker. The priest and his acolytes. The friendly baker who snuck him a fresh-baked cookie every time his mother sent him to buy bread.

Mother.

And Sophie, too.

Hirelings—those willing to commit any crime for the right price—had invaded their town to intercept a convoy containing a priceless nebula diamond heading for Axaris. The diamond, an affinity stone that could multiply one’s powers a hundredfold, was a secret kept so close that only King Tristan and a few trusted advisors, including his Royal Guardian—Orion’s father, Theodore Galashiels—knew of its existence.

But one of those advisors had betrayed him.

And when the hirelings came, they didn’t just steal the diamond. They ransacked the entire town, taking everything they could possibly sell and cutting down anyone who tried to stop them. The best of King Tristan’s soldiers had arrived to eliminate the hirelings, but by then, it had already been too late.

That day, Orion’s street, bordering the edge of the town, had been the first to be attacked.

That day, his mother and baby sister had stayed home while he went to the lake to go fishing.

His fingers twitched, itching to lift the hem of his shirt so he could glimpse the smooth, unbroken skin that had been marred by a deep gouge just hours ago. His father had healed it with nothing more than a word and a touch.

Stupidly, he had dropped his fishing rod into the lake. When he climbed down the dock to retrieve it, he had slipped and impaled himself on a wooden spike sticking out of the shallows.

Managing to flounder onto a rotting, overturned boat beneath the dock’s underbelly, he had curled up, trembling from shock and pain. Only minutes had passed when he heard the first screams shatter the air. And after that, the screams just hadn’t stopped.

Maybe an hour later, the thud of hooves and boots. Shouting. The clang of swords.

When the fighting ceased, leaving behind a silence that almost felt worse, Orion had closed his eyes, too weak to cry for help, too scared that the wrong people would find him. A cruel, vicious wind bit at him. The blood loss and pain left him feeble, shaking like a leaf.

He had begun to drift off, wondering if he would bleed out before anyone would even find him.

And what if you do? a voice had asked. His eyes snapped open. He didn’t want to die. Hold on, another voice whispered, far away and lovely, soothing his pain. Just a little longer.

“Orion?” yet another called, growing louder. “Orion!”

Only when he was being heaved out from underneath the dock by a pair of strong, warm arms did he realize the voice was not in his head. “Papa?”

“Orion,” his father had rasped into his hair, hugging him so tightly that it became hard to breathe. “Yes, I’ve got you now. I’m here.”

Another voice. “He’s bleeding.”

“Stay still,” his father coaxed, placing a palm on Orion’s torso. “It hurts, love, I know, but you have to stay still,” he murmured as Orion hissed and squirmed. “Haelein.” Orion’s shivers died away as his wound closed up. He buried his face into his father’s neck, too numb to do anything but breathe. “I saw your fishing rod floating in the lake. The Immortals were kind,” his father whispered before tipping his head skyward. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“Theodore,” a severe, female voice called out. “Did you find a survivor?”

His father clutched Orion tighter. “My son.”

“Let’s see him.”

The slightest of hesitations from his father caused Orion to peek out from his little nook. He found himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar woman, her mouth pressed into a hard line. “Orion, this is Carlotta Garringsford, General of the Royal Axarian Army.”

Garringsford’s eyes narrowed. Then softened. “No tears.”

“I don’t cry,” Orion declared tremulously.

A hint of a smile ghosted the woman’s lips. “You must be very brave.” She considered him, then looked at his father. “There’s nothing and no one left for him here.” Orion bristled, but his father remained expressionless. “We’re regrouping in the square. Bring him along.”

His father’s jaw dropped. “Now?”

The general’s nostrils flared. “Yes, now.”

At that, his father’s mask cracked. Since the last time he had visited, Orion now noticed the new lines wrinkling his brow. “But they’re gathering the dead—you can’t possibly mean to say that you … you want him to see … Carlotta, he’s merely a child—”

“Papa?” Orion had interrupted in a whisper. “Where are Mama and Sophie?”

“Your mother protected Sophie with her life,” his father growled. “She would have protected you with her life, too, because she loved you with everything she had. Do you understand, Orion?” His voice cracked. “She loved you with everything she had.”

Orion bit his lip. “They’re gone. Forever. Aren’t they?”

His father nodded, eyes glistening. “But,” he went on, placing a finger on Orion’s heart and tapping it, “they will always be here.”

General Garringsford put a hand on his head, surprisingly gentle. “What do you stand for, Orion Galashiels?” she asked him softly. He blinked up at her, uncomprehending, clinging tighter onto his father. “Do you want to protect the ones you love?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m going to be a Guardian one day. Just like Papa.”

“Do you know what happens if you fail? If you make a mistake? If you trust the wrong people?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “Then you must be shown.”

Orion hugged his father’s neck as Garringsford led them into the square. He heard the wailing and the sobbing before he saw the crowds of hysterical survivors gathered around the bodies.

His father knelt beside two bodies draped in a single white sheet, laid out side by side. The outline of one was so tiny compared to the other. Orion wasn’t naive. He knew that the bodies belonged to his mother and Sophie.

And then his father had lifted the sheet.

All thought flew out of Orion’s head as he stared and stared. He realized in that moment that knowing and seeing were two very different things. He saw everything in flashes—Mother’s crooked neck, Sophie’s little necklace of blood, and above all, their stillness. Orion had heard that death could look like sleep, but he couldn’t believe anyone would make that mistake.

He had still been staring when a horse thundered into the square, nearly trampling him. A distraught soldier leapt off its back and ran straight for Garringsford.

“General,” the soldier panted, her eyes wide. The general raised her brow in question. “The four recruits, ma’am. They’ve disappeared. We’ve been looking for over an hour and we can’t find them—”

The color drained from Garringsford’s face. “What do you mean?” she snapped.

“We can’t find them—”

“Simmons,” Garringsford ordered, voice like the crack of a whip. A soldier standing by the fountain rushed to her side. “Take your squad and search the north quarter for the boys.” Simmons whistled and signaled to her squad. They took off at a run. “Knoll, take east quarter—”

“General, ma’am,” the soldier who had brought the message cried, “we already looked, we couldn’t—”

“Then you didn’t look hard enough!” Garringsford exploded, eyes blazing with rage. The soldier flinched and nodded. “Your squad has south quarter. Go, damn it!” she shouted. “Theodore, you’re with me.”

Orion’s father stiffened. “But my son—”

“At least you know your son is alive!”

Her outburst echoed like a cannon shot in the abrupt silence of the square. Something passed over his father’s face, and he placed Orion on the ground. “Orion,” he said, crouching down eye-level to speak to him. “You stay here, okay? With Marc and Jan and the other soldiers. They’ll look after you until I come back.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Did both Alex and Micah come?” Orion heard his father ask as he and the general broke into a run.

“Yes, Immortals help me,” came Garringsford’s hoarse answer. “Along with those two others—Leila and Silas. Not one of them is older than fifteen. I told Tristan they weren’t ready, damn it all to hell—”

They found them an hour later.

But only one still lived.

Two had been stabbed, and two had been drowned—though the soldiers managed to resuscitate Silas after dragging him out of the water.

When Garringsford knelt beside the corpses in the square, all the emotion had vanished from her face. Orion stood across from her, holding his father’s hand. The light had gone out of the general’s eyes, leaving them as lifeless as the bodies of her two sons.

Then something much darker manifested in her empty gaze.

“This is all Tristan’s fault,” the general whispered, fixated on the blossoms of red scattered across Micah’s body, one hand gripping Alex’s limp fingers.

“Watch your words,” Theodore warned quietly. “The fault belongs to the hirelings, and the hirelings alone.”

“No,” Garringsford had said, tears streaming down her face. “This is on Tristan. He killed your wife. Your daughter. My sons. All of these people.” She dropped Alex’s hand and stood. “And he will pay the price.”

Orion never did find out what price Garringsford had made Tristan pay, if she had followed through on her promise at all. And yes, the general would certainly make all of their lives back at the palace a little more hellish those next few years, but the two of them had shared their own hell that day, and neither would ever forget it.

“Orion. Orion. Let’s go.”

Orion blinked, surfacing from the memory to find Asterin looking up at him expectantly. She and the others were waiting below. He cast a final glance at the corpses and slid down the hill to join them.

“How did the bodies get here?” Rose asked in a hush. “Did the demon gather them in a grave for a reason? Maybe—”

“It’s a killing pit,” said Asterin brusquely. Rose fell silent. “The demon brought them here for execution.” Her back was straight and her movements sure and steady when she took out the omnistone and held her palms up toward the dirt.

Nothing happened.

Orion’s heart cracked. Asterin put up such a strong front, but something inside her had broken.

Then the earth started to move, mounds of dirt easing forward into the pit. Asterin turned, hands falling back to her sides as Quinlan took over the task of burying her people when she could not.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His only answer was a small nod.

Orion sent a prayer to the Immortals once the grave had filled, a small part of him wondering why he bothered, in the face of this slaughter—just as he had wondered all those years ago. Twice now, the Immortals had failed. Had chosen not to act.

“What now?” Rose asked.

Asterin stared into the shadowed thicket of trees rising on the other side of the grave. “We find Harry.”

Luna shifted nervously. “Do you think he’s even still alive?”

“We have to hope,” Asterin said.

“Is it really safe?” Eadric asked.

“Well, given that those stains are still wet,” Rose said grimly, pointing at a black smear along the ground, “the demon likely struck in broad daylight. I don’t think we’ll be safe until it’s dead. We’d better find this Harry before dark.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Quinlan said, shaking his head. “What if we run into the demon?”

Asterin swung Amoux savagely, the steel whistling through the air. “Isn’t that the idea?”

“Asterin,” Quinlan warned. “No.”

She stared at him. And then she breezed past him toward the thickening gloom. “Fine. We’ll just go without you then.”

Quinlan’s fists clenched. “Asterin! Get back here!”

Orion felt her anger spike, as tangible as fire.

The princess whirled around. “You do not have the right to tell me what I can and cannot do, Quinlan Holloway. This is my duty. I will not let anything or anyone stop me from defeating the demon that took the lives of hundreds of innocent people—my people. And if I fail to avenge them, I do not deserve the throne.”

Quinlan faltered. “I didn’t … I just meant that—”

“And furthermore, let me remind you that you’re here officially as a soldier serving my kingdom, and therefore under my command, prince or no. You will obey my word or return to the palace. The choice is yours. But you do not, under any circumstance, rule me.” With that, Asterin spun on her heel and strode away. The dense foliage of the forest swallowed her in darkness in less than a second.

Orion didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat before following her.