Claire was afraid to get to know the guards after what had happened with Hamza and his men. Not that she had the time to interact with them much anyway. They rode the entirety of the first night and slept only a few hours before they were on the road once again. Breaks were few and far between and exhaustion hung over the party like a dark cloud. More than a few times Claire found herself sleeping atop a horse, either hers or Farron’s, as they made their way north to Isailo.

She had thought that the name sounded vaguely familiar and had wondered why the king had found it so amusing when he’d heard it. Farron had a similar reaction, though there was a touch of sadness in his expression. Isailo was where he’d grown up, spent his formative years honing his skills, learning to fight, to kill, so he could become a tool for kings. Claire didn’t know much about that part of his life; he still was hesitant to talk about it and she didn’t want to push until he was ready, if he ever really would be.

The party stuck to backroads, occasionally avoiding roads altogether, bypassing towns and villages, to avoid raising any suspicion. The Council had eyes everywhere, according to Farron and the men. Everyone wore dark cloaks pulled down low over their faces, a foreboding and intimidating sight, scaring the few farmers they happened to come across.

Five days passed before they ran into trouble.

A day’s ride outside of the last town, in the middle of the forest, plumes of smoke rose up into the sky, too many to be ordinary travelers.

“An army,” Farron whispered, after he and a few men returned from scouting.

The party had stopped in a clearing far from any roads, out of sight.

“Whose?” Claire asked.

Farron glanced around at the gathered men and then his gaze rested on her. “I don’t know.”

Claire’s stomach sunk a little. If Farron didn’t know, then it couldn’t be good.

“There’s no standard to identify them or who they serve. Based on their armor and state of their weapons, they look to be made up of mercenaries,” said a gruff, middle-aged man with dark blonde hair, Isak, who was the leader of the group of men as far as Claire could tell.

“Is there a way to find out?” Claire asked.

“Does it matter?” chimed in a dark-haired man—Timor, if she remembered correctly. “We should just move on, avoid them.”

Claire didn’t exactly hate the idea. Their time was limited and they couldn’t use the delay. But still, it was a little concerning to come across an army of mercenaries in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s up to you, Claire,” Farron said, and everyone’s attention settled on her.

She shifted uncomfortably. Why did she have to make the decision? “Although I am curious, we can’t risk getting caught.” A few of the men nodded silently. “But,” she said, almost regretting the word as it left her mouth, “this army… it could mean trouble. If we could find out who they are working for and what their purpose is, we could warn the king. If you don’t know who they are, then they aren’t his, and if they aren’t his, then that could be a problem.”

Claire didn’t know why she cared so much. Kings, councils, politics, the struggle for power, it was too much for her to keep up with. If they wanted to fight, then let them. Only, innocent people were the ones that always suffered the most.

“It’s decided then,” Farron said, looking at the men, his expression hard. “Nightfall isn’t too far off. We will wait until then and do some reconnaissance. In the meantime, rest up, but stay alert. They could have scouts.”

The men nodded, some mumbling, as they shuffled off to their horses. Farron remained behind.

Claire took a deep breath. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

Farron shrugged. “I don’t like stopping for so long when there are more important matters at hand.” His eyes wandered down to her neck where the mark grew ever wilder. “However, a mysterious army is not a good sign. If I were to go by my instincts, I would say that the Council is up to something.”

“You don’t think…?”

Farron nodded. “Who else has the gold and the motivation? Líadan has been suspicious about them for quite some time now. Perhaps they are finally acting.” He was silent for a moment. “But then again, it could just be a territory dispute between some northern lords. We can’t know for sure until we find out more.” He touched her chin and tilted it up. “Get some rest, Claire. There’s still a long road ahead.”

Long indeed. But the closer she got to the cave, the more she could feel its pull. It was calling to her. A siren luring a ship to crash among the rocks. Deep down inside, she didn’t mind the delay, maybe even wanted it. The old elf’s warning played constantly in her head. The shadow of impending death grew larger with each passing day. But still, she marched on, because she had little other choice. A slight chance was better than none at all.

 

The sun was just setting when Farron suddenly perked up.

“What is it?” Claire asked. She and a few of the men had gathered close to play a card game to pass the time while the others patrolled the woods. Farron had stood watch over their small clearing like a silent sentinel for the past several hours.

Farron didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head up to search the skies.

Claire’s pulse quickened. What was it now? She didn’t like when he remained quiet like that.

Without a word, Farron raced to a tree and began to climb it, the men staring after him in confusion. Farron ascended swiftly, only stopping when he nearly reached the top. The trunk swayed slightly under his weight. He knelt on the branch and steadied his balance before quickly drawing his bow and arrow. He aimed at an unseen target, tracking it through the sky. Then Claire heard it, the distant cawing of a bird. A moment later Farron loosed his arrow. The bird cried out, followed by silence. Farron descended the tree at a dizzying pace.

“With me,” he said as he strode past the men, not stopping before disappearing into the woods.

The two men across from Claire jumped up to follow after the elf. Their fear of him was evident in the quickness of their pace. No one dared to anger the infamous Sin de Reine.

About twenty minutes later they emerged from the trees once again. Farron held a large black bird in his grip, an arrow still protruding from its lifeless form. A small leather pouch was tied to the bird’s leg.

Everyone gathered around as Farron laid the bird down and removed the pouch. From it, he took out a rolled parchment with a wax seal. Farron drew a blade and carefully slipped it under the seal to break it and unroll the paper. His eyes quickly scanned the contents.

“What does it say?” Claire asked.

“It’s coded,” he said, handing the paper to the man next to him. “But the seal looks vaguely familiar, I just can’t place it…”

“I believe it may be the symbol of the Pylen mercenary group,” one of the men said. “I worked with them a few years ago before entering the palace guard.”

“Can you make sense of the code?” Farron asked him.

The dark blond man shrugged. “I can try, but I was never high enough rank to be privy to the secrets of the group.”

“I can help, perhaps,” chimed in a dark haired man. “I always was good with riddles.”

Farron sighed and nodded as the men shuffled off with the paper.

“That was very impressive,” Isak said. He looked Farron up and down. “That bird was quite far off. My men are right to be cautious of you.”

A slight grin tilted Farron’s mouth. “I’ve faced mightier foes than a bird.”

Isak laughed. “Well, perhaps you could teach these fools how to aim.” He nodded toward his men.

Farron looked over his shoulder at them and turned back to Isak. “I think I could teach them a lot more than that.”

Isak grunted a laugh. “I may just take you up on that offer one of these days. Though, I have to admit you’re not as terrifying as the stories make you out to be.”

“I must be slipping then,” Farron said, a frown replacing the grin.

Isak laughed again and walked over to join his men that were trying to break the coded message.

“You certainly are slipping,” Claire said, sidling up close to him. “But, I don’t mind.”

“Yes, but I don’t want them to know that.” He tilted his head toward the men. “A little bit of fear is good sometimes.”

Claire fought not to roll her eyes, but he might have had a point. A little bit of intimidation was a good motivator.

“Do you think they can figure it out?” she asked him, lowering her voice.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on it, but who knows?” He lowered his voice even further. “After dark I can sneak in, do a little snooping on my own.”

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 

The night was too cold to not build a fire. Claire huddled around it under her cloak, the warmth outweighing the risk. The men took turns patrolling and standing guard. Farron had left about an hour earlier, when full darkness had settled in, with Isak and the dark haired man to scope out the mercenary camp. Claire’s only company since then were two sleeping men she didn’t want to disturb. She wished she could get some herself but her worry kept her weary eyes open.

Claire sighed and reached for the small scroll of paper the bird had carried. The men hadn’t been able to figure it out. The mystery made her even more curious. She unrolled the stiff, yellowed parchment and angled it so she could see in the flickering flames. Dark ink formed foreign letters in a rushed, scribbled manner. Claire furrowed her brows. What could it say? She had never been good at figuring out puzzles or riddles.

She leaned back and drew her knees up, her mind returning to Farron and the men. She didn’t like just waiting around. Her hands played idly with the paper, the fire illuminating it from behind. And that’s when she saw it. It took her mind a few moments to comprehend what she was seeing. It was faint, but it was there. The letters were now complete, and best of all, understandable. Claire perked up, her pulse racing as her eyes gobbled up the message.

Most of it might as well have been gibberish, talking about troop movements and mentioning names she’d never heard of. It was only the last few sentences that made her breath leave her.

“They plan to overthrow the king…” she whispered.

Goosebumps spread over her skin. The king had been right to be suspicious of the Council. Their thirst for power was too great to ignore. Was that the reason the king was so eager to restore magic to the land? Sure, he had other motives, to save his people and the land, but he also stood to gain an immense amount of power, and just like the forest king, King Líadan wouldn’t hesitate to use it to help secure his rule. But to overthrow the sitting king…

Movement caught the corner of her eye. Claire glanced up and froze. Across the fire from her, the blond-haired man that had been sleeping now stared at her. They locked eyes for several moments. The look in his gaze not entirely friendly. She didn’t know what to do. She slowly lowered the paper and set it aside. The man watched her every move like a hawk.

Definitely not a good sign. Claire swallowed hard, wishing Farron was there. If they had a traitor in their group, then the Council knew of their little mission. Was this all some sort of trap? The army camped so conveniently on the way to their destination?

The man sat up and stretched. “You were the last person I expected to figure it out. The elf maybe, but not you.”

Claire’s hand went to the dagger hilt at her side. “What was the cost of your loyalty?”

The man shrugged. “More gold than the king was willing to pay. The promise of a better world not ruled by those fae bastards,” he sneered. He slowly got to his feet. “What you want to do is a betrayal of every human that had to die for our freedom.”

Claire’s stomach twisted. How much did he know?

“We can’t regress to those times again.” His voice grew more fiery.

“If we don’t restore magic, then no one will have a chance. The land is dying.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” he said. “But have you seen it with your own eyes? Or just took their word for it?”

“I—” Claire thought for a moment. Had she? Besides the refugees in the city, she hadn’t seen much. There was the mountain town, but that could have been abandoned for different reasons. Razi had the motivation to back up the king’s claims now that he was no longer a friend of the Council. Had she been played this entire time? She had been so caught up in her own reasons for restoring magic and doing the right thing, she hadn’t stopped to think about the possibility that she was being used to further the ambitions of a different king. Lianna trusted him, but was that enough? She had her own aspirations for power.

Her mind swam with all of the possibilities. She didn’t know who or what to trust. There was one thing that she knew at the moment. The man standing in front of her meant her harm. She glanced down at the other sleeping man, who hadn’t stirred. Would he help her? Or was he another traitor?

The dark blond man scoffed. “He won’t be joining us anytime soon.”

Claire’s body went cold. “What did you do?”

“I just slipped him something to help take the long dark sleep.” He shrugged, his nonchalance sending chills down Claire’s spine.

Claire stood and drew her dagger. She didn’t want to have to use her small supply of magic on him, but if it couldn’t be helped…

The man clicked his tongue. “Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.” He started toward her. “I know all about your fighting prowess… or lack thereof.”

“Stay back!” she shouted, holding the blade up in front of her.

The man grinned, his pace unfaltering. Claire’s pulse jumped. He thought she was helpless. A mistake. Farron’s lessons were becoming more and more invaluable.

The man lunged at her and Claire jumped back just out of reach. She slashed at him, but he ducked under her attack. He came for her again and Claire was just able to dodge him. He was quick. She wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. If she wanted to end this fast, she needed to use magic. She reached within herself, searching for the threads of her power. The pendant around her neck grew warm, but the power faded and eluded her grasp.

“What’s wrong?” the man sneered.

Claire searched inside again for her power, for the magic residing in the pendant. But the same thing happened. The flame snuffed out before it could catch.

“You won’t be doing any of that,” he said, and drew the short sword at his waist. Symbols etched into the blade pulsed with a dull indigo glow. “There was a reason Illanor was able to succeed when so many others had failed.” He admired the blade in his hands. It looked old, nicked and worn along the edges, but still sharp enough to do harm. The intricate symbols clashed with the simple, utilitarian design of the hilt and pommel. “A gift from human sympathizers. It absorbs any nearby magic. King Líadan isn’t the only one with an eye for relics of the past.”

Well, that wasn’t good. Claire’s panic rose sharply. It was only her and her dagger. Without her powers, she felt too defenseless, weak. Something she hadn’t missed one bit.

The man approached her again, his pace slow and deliberate, the blade hanging in his right hand by his side. “By order of the Council,” he said, “you, Claire Tanith, are to be taken into custody and be judged for your attempted betrayal of all of humanity.”

“And what about your treasonous lords? Are they to face judgment, too?”

The man laughed. “We are only taking what is rightfully ours, what was rightfully won all those years ago in the Great War. We have already paid the price, in blood and flesh, for the right to rule ourselves.”

Though he had a point, Claire couldn’t just let him take her. She would rot in the prisons under the palace for the rest of her life if the Council had any say. Unless she agreed to become their new pet. They were too conniving to not try and use her magical gifts for their own gain. Not that she would live long enough to see that come to pass.

“You don’t want to do this,” Claire pleaded, taking another few steps back. “The Council, they’re using you. They won’t be any better than the current king. Besides, you don’t want the wrath of the Sin de Reine upon you. If you take me now, he will never stop hunting you.”

His expression faltered, his eyes flashing with fear. “I believe the others are taking care of him as we speak.”

“What do you mean?”

“Their little reconnaissance mission is nothing but a trap. Isak has probably alerted the men already. A squadron will circle this camp soon enough. There will be no escape for you this time.”

So, Isak was a traitor as well. King Líadan really needed to assess the loyalty of his soldiers. How deep did the Council’s talons penetrate?

Claire glanced around at the woods, the dark shadows dancing in the firelight. How true were his words? Were they surrounded? Was Farron all right? In any case, if she were to stand any chance, she had to get away from the magic sealing sword. Running into the dark woods, though not ideal, was her best bet. She’d done it before. Successfully avoided a centaur. What were a few human mercenaries?

After a few more steps backward, Claire turned and sprinted into the woods as fast as her feet could carry her. The light from the fire faded too quickly and she had trouble dodging the dark forms of the trees, her hands hitting and scraping along the rough bark of their trunks. She stumbled a few times over roots and rocks and uneven ground, but she rebounded quickly, her life and freedom depending on her escape. Total darkness soon surrounded her. The moon was only a sliver in the star-filled sky. With her hands splayed out around her, Claire felt for the nearest tree and ducked behind it, kneeling on the ground. Her ragged breathing was the only sound in her ears besides the rapid beating of her heart. She closed her eyes to focus her hearing, trying to even out her breaths. A slight rustling sounded several paces away, coming in her general direction. Another rustle made her freeze, only this one came from the opposite direction. She held her breath, her body protesting, and heard yet more footsteps.

The man hadn’t lied. She was surrounded.

Her hands starting to shake, she slowly turned in place, trying to count how many she heard, wishing she had Farron’s exceptional hearing. She guessed about twelve men, though she couldn’t be sure. Should she remain still? Her clumsy footsteps would only give her away. They were just as blind out here as she was. But she could evade them for a little bit if she went up.

Claire spun toward the tree and stood. Her hands felt around the trunk, but she couldn’t find any good branches. She let out an exasperated breath and scurried to the next dark blob she hoped was a tree. After four frustrating tries, Claire finally found a tree that she could climb. The sounds of the mercenaries had come closer, urging her up the tree faster.

The man with the sword called out in the distance, though he was still too close for comfort. “You can’t hide forever!” Then, in a lower voice, “Spread out and find her.”

Claire climbed higher, trying her best not to make too much noise, glad that she couldn’t see the ground beneath her in the darkness. She only stopped when she could feel the sway of the tree in the breeze and see the stars above her. If this had worked for a herd of centaurs, then it could work for a few men, right? Although the centaurs hadn’t been hunting for her at the time.

The footsteps came closer and closer, the crunching of dead leaves under boots. Claire held her breath and became motionless as one passed directly beneath her. When he didn’t pause, she let out a quiet sigh of relief as he faded away back into the forest. Their haste made them sloppy. Claire used her moment of reprieve to search inside for her magic once more. And again it was snuffed out. The sword was still too close.

She had to come up with a plan. Night wouldn’t last forever and with winter, the tree’s foliage was too scant to provide enough cover in the light. They would discover her for sure. That is, if the cold didn’t kill her first. Her panic had masked the plummeting temperature. Her body shivered, but she wasn’t sure if it was from her nerves or the cold.

Waiting for her body to recover a bit from the climb, Claire looked up at the sky. Dark gray columns of smoke obscured the stars not too far off. Was that the mercenary camp?

She climbed up further to get a better look, but the forest blocked any good view of the camp. There was only the faint glow of several fires and their smoke plumes rising up into the night sky, deceptively peaceful.

Bright orange caught the peripheral of her vision. Claire carefully turned on the thin branch she perched on. Through the trees she saw the fire, catching the dead brush and leaves, spreading fast. Shouts from men all around her were followed by more fires being set. They were trying to lure her out. She either faced them or risked being burned up in a tree. Neither option seemed all too thrilling.

It only took a few minutes for the first drifts of smoke to reach her nose, the air already warming. The fire had formed a perimeter around her and was closing in fast. There was only one gap in the burning wall of flames, a trap for her with the men surely awaiting her on the other side. Not wanting to be a roasted piece of meat, Claire began her descent. Even if they captured her, at least she would live to see another day. Another day was another chance to escape.

She dropped down to the ground with a heavy grunt, her bones and muscles aching already. There was no escaping the light of the fire now, its heat. The men had surely spotted her. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand to guard against the smoke and began to walk. She wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get captured.

“There you are,” said the man with the enchanted sword, the traitor. “I told you there was no escape. Now, come with us like a good girl before we have to burn down the entire forest.”

Armed mercenaries surrounded her, the fire casting harsh shadows across their faces, making them seem more intimidating than they probably were. Claire remained silent as they disarmed her, even taking the stiletto blade from her boot. She was too outnumbered to do anything now. She had to plan, wait for an opening. Something she wasn’t very fond of.

The man with the sword approached her and touched the pendant around her neck.

“What should I call you, traitor?” she asked him.

The man grunted a laugh and cut the chain of the pendant with the sword and held it up to the flames to admire it. “Does it matter?”

“I would like to know who to get revenge against in the future.”

The man laughed and pocketed the pendant. “You may call me traitor all you want, but I think history will remember me a little differently.” He turned and motioned to his men.

A few came forward to grab ahold of her. Again, she didn’t struggle. She needed to preserve what little energy she had.

The coldness seeped back into her bones as they drew further from the flames and into the dark shadows of the night. She tried not to think about her future, trapped in the dank dungeons at the mercy of the Council. It was still too early to resign herself to that fate. She would find a way out of this. She had to.

The men formed a column in front of and behind her as they trekked through the forest toward their camp. Darkness had almost completely surrounded them, the distant fires like mere candlelight. Claire opened her senses, her hearing, though she would never hear him coming. If he would…

No, she couldn’t think like that. She had to believe Farron was out there. Even without magic, he was the most formidable warrior she’d ever met. There was a reason tales were told of him. He was the king’s shadow. He’d faced a Beast of Old, an army of centaurs, and a whole fortress of the Syndicate’s men. A mere mercenary army was nothing. She hoped. These men had tricks up their sleeves she had never expected. The Council was a resourceful bunch, it seemed.

When she came back to the present, she didn’t immediately notice that the footsteps of the mercenaries seemed fewer. She held her breath for a moment. A few seconds later a muffled grunt sounded from the back of the line. The mercenaries came to an abrupt halt and drew their weapons. Claire could barely make out their shadows in the dim light. The group of men surrounded her, the two holding her tightened their grips, their fingers bruising.

“What is it?” whispered one of the men.

Claire smiled in the darkness. This was his domain now.

One by one, grunts and shouts sounded from the men around her as they fell. The mercenaries closed in around her, their fear emanating off of them.

“It’s not too late to run,” she said. “Am I really worth dying over?”

One man took her advice and laid down his weapon before sprinting off into the trees.

“Tray, you coward!” a man shouted out. “You better ru—”

Tray’s muffled scream in the distance shut the other man up.

“I know you’re out there, Shadow,” the traitor shouted. “Impressive that you were able to escape a whole army of mercenaries. Without magic.”

Farron’s deep laughter echoed through the forest. “I don’t need magic to kill such dismal warriors.”

Claire’s body and mind eased a little just hearing his voice. He was all right. Good news for her, not so much for the men around her.

A man next to her shouted and doubled over before falling limp to the ground. The mercenaries shifted, murmuring and gasping. She could practically taste their terror.

“We need light!” the traitor shouted.

The men pulled her back toward the blazing fire. Only about half of them remained. The light might give them a chance against Farron, but only barely.

Claire savored the warmth of the roaring flames as they drew near. The mercenaries stopped in the harsh light, the shadows seemed even darker than before, forming a foreboding ring around them. Especially knowing what they contained.

Their backs to the fire, the mercenaries held their weapons up at the ready toward the darkness as if facing the night itself. Claire took the opportunity to writhe carefully out of the men’s grips. They were so focused on the line of trees that they paid her no attention anymore. They were prey being hunted, the rabbit caught in the wolf’s sight. Their minds were too frantic to think clearly. Not that she could blame them. She’d been in their shoes more than she’d liked in the past.

“Come face us in the light,” the traitor said.

A moment of silence fell over the area, the cracking of the fire the only sound.

“If that’s what you wish,” Farron said, emerging from the darkness. The shadows seemed to cling to him. He had his bow in his hand, a grin on his lips. Smears of blood stained his clothes and pale skin. Claire didn’t want to know if it was his, or not…

The mercenaries dropped into fighting stances. Claire backed away toward the fire. Without weapons or magic, she would just get in the way, or worse, serve as leverage for a desperate man. Six men remained, hardly a challenge for the elf.

Farron stopped a few paces away. Tension hung heavy in the small clearing, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

With a shout, the man to her left lunged at Farron, his sword in hand, ready to strike. Farron dropped his bow and drew both of his daggers. He dodged the man’s attack and stabbed him, felling him in mere moments. Farron stepped over the limp man toward the others. They backed away from him.

“Stand your ground!” the traitor shouted.

“We don’t get paid enough for this!” the man in front of Claire said, before running off into the trees.

A moment later, another man quietly joined him.

Farron advanced on the remaining three who bravely—or foolishly—stood their ground.

The traitor made a motion with his hand and the other two circled around Farron. Farron stopped, his daggers hanging limply at his sides, his eyes focused solely on the treacherous man before him. With the same terrifying display of skill she’d seen before, Farron dispatched the two mercenaries as they advanced on him simultaneously. Their dying groans were sure to haunt her dreams. But even after all that, the traitor still held his ground, magic sword at the ready. Unless it had other hidden abilities, it would do nothing to protect him.

“What you’re doing, your mission, it’s wrong,” the man said.

Farron shrugged. “She’s the only thing I care about,” he said. “The world can burn, for all I care.”

“It will do just that if you return magic to the land.”

“Then so be it,” Farron said, lunging at the man.

The man barely managed to avoid the attack, but Farron was too quick for him to keep up. Farron’s dagger drove into his chest, hilt deep, and the man sunk to his knees.

Farron kept his grip on his blade and bent over the dying man, his face an emotionless mask, the Ice Prince returned. “As long as she’s in it, I don’t care what happens.”

Claire swallowed hard as the man fell to the ground, lifeless. Farron stood over his body, his daggers dripping blood, the fire casting a sinister dancing light upon him—the Sin de Reine in all his terrifying glory.

Her breath hitched for a moment. No wonder tales were told of him, and men quaked in their boots, lords slept with one eye open. The elf standing before her was like a force of nature, full of deadly skill. Claire was just glad he was on her side.

When he looked at her, the icy façade melted away, replaced with the Fare she knew.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hesitant. He still worried, even now, about scaring her away.

She nodded, though she’d be lying if she said he didn’t intimidate her even more now. She knew of his skills but was always left in awe when face to face with them.

Farron knelt and took the sword from the traitor’s hands. He held it up to examine it. “Illanor’s blade,” he said. “I thought it was just a myth. But I guess even myths have basis in truth.” He looked at her.

“What a troublesome thing,” Claire said, reluctantly approaching—not because of him, but the dead still unsettled her. She knelt next to Farron to search for her necklace, finding it in the man’s breast pocket. She had to tie the chain together where it was cut, and slipped it back over her head. It would have to do for now. She quickly stood again, not wanting to be so close to death more than necessary. “What of the others?”

“They’ve been dealt with,” he said, standing, the finality of his voice halting her questions.

Claire only nodded. She didn’t need to know the details. “Should we warn the others? The Council, they plan to overthrow your brother. I doubt that this was their only move.”

Farron was quiet for a moment. “As much as I don’t like to involve myself in courtly schemes, I hate the Council more. They will destroy the kingdom, magic or no, if they get total power.” He stabbed the sword into the dirt by the man’s head. The symbols were dormant, as lifeless as the traitor. “But first, let’s leave this place.”

Claire couldn’t agree more. She wanted nothing more at the moment than to leave this nightmare behind.