What became of the first king who united the Living Lands? No one saw him depart the High Keep, not his court, not even his queen. But the fate of all the demon dragon’s victims is known: to be dreadmarked is to be damned.
~ From A History of the Living Lands
AFTER DARK, HE TOOK ME down to the palace.
I didn’t know it was nighttime—did it even matter?—until we left the obsidian spire and crossed the terraced colonnade of arched windows on the way to the library. I imagined the arches of blackness had seemed like a blessing to the little boy fleeing the demon dragon.
Looking out, I stumbled to a halt, just staring.
From his usual princely place a half-stride ahead of me, he backtracked. “What is it?”
“What is that?” I pointed.
He followed my gesture. “Dark and fog and… Ah, that.”
Eerie argent-white lights flickered through the swirling streamers of fog, like slow-breaking, silent lightning. It was almost impossible to gauge distance from where we were, but it felt like the spears of light were reaching toward the palace itself.
“Sevaare has fog and lightning,” I said. “That is neither.”
The prince leaned in the window beside me. “It is, but it’s not just fog and lightning. Sometimes there is a surge of auric residue that accumulates in the foothills, like stormwrack washing up with a high tide. I’ve never heard a reason for it, but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Without moving my head, I cast a sideways glance at him. He was so close, the heat of his body warmed that side of me, leaving my other half exposed to the night chill. The auric lightning glimmered in his scarred eyes. “I’m not sure beautiful is what I would’ve said.”
Mesmerizing, maybe. Ominous, definitely. The sort of impossible diamonde jewel no thief, no matter how bold, foolish, or desperate, would ever dream of taking.
My fingers twitched with the memory of his jaw clenched tight against my palm then softening as his lips parted under mine…
Blade to bone, there was bold, foolish, and desperate, and then there was just pure madness.
Annoyed with myself, I pulled back from the window. “Come on. I don’t want to miss my friends.”
Not complaining back that I was the reason we’d stopped, he fell into step—beside me, for a change. “It’s late. What makes you think they didn’t give up already?”
“They wouldn’t leave.” But even to my own ears, my voice wavered uncertainly. “If they aren’t there, we’ll just go to the Sevaare quarters.” We could just wander around the High Keep until we found them. I was with the prince, after all, and no one would try to stop us.
Unless we’d been marked for execution or something.
Now it was my stride carrying me ahead of the prince.
But when I burst through the library doorway, my friends were there, wilting somewhat over their books though the aroma of kavé hung heavy in the air. They all looked up at once and exclaimed in overlapping voices, though I’d only been gone a day.
And they fell silent as soon as the prince appeared behind me.
Dyania clasped her hands together. “You should have stayed in the tower.”
I frowned at her. “I would have, but I need to tell you something—”
Imbril spoke over me, “Numinlor Kalima has announced the Devouring.”
Though my mouth stayed open, nothing else emerged. The prince was the one who asked, “When?” The word was as flat and cold as a shallow grave.
Maybe Imbril heard death in that question because he didn’t reply, and it was Lisel who said, “My father realized Ormonde’s relic was missing, and though no one asked us what happened”—I could imagine it hadn’t been considered that someone might’ve swallowed that nasty old bone—“they’re afraid the dragon will run amok.”
To my surprise, and everyone else’s apparently, Aric laughed.
When we all looked at him, mouths identically agape, he shrugged. “All this and they still haven’t come to me.” He shook his head. “Is it any wonder we fight without end?”
“They fear a true end this time,” Imbril said. “Kalima thinks the Devouring, even unbalanced, will give us more time.”
“More time for what?” Amusement evaporating, Aric paced the length of the room. “To hunt down more Chosen? To wait for the dragon to challenge us? Or maybe just let this Claeve laugh himself to death while we light a hundred more candles in the grand galley and the king dances with the doomed.” He sucked in a harsh breath, as if cutting off the rest of his rant, and finished with a hoarse, “When?”
“Three nights hence,” Dyania said. “Or two more, I suppose, if you count this one.”
“According to Lor Berindo, the auguries said the last breath of the night of the hidden moon, when the pinprick of stars fade to morning’s first silver, would be most auspicious,” Imbril said. When the prince glared at him, he added defensively, “That’s what they said. And no, they didn’t ask me either.”
“It’s not right.” The declaration blurted out of Lisel, who frowned as if surprised at her own outburst. She paced a separate path on the other side of the room from the prince. “It’s wrong,” she repeated in a quieter but more intense tone. “They told us to find a new tactic, a new trick, but now they want to just return to what’s failed us.”
“They’re frightened,” Imbril said, sinking back into his seat at the corner from Dyania’s. “I’ve never seen the other lors so…unsure.”
“Maybe that’s good,” Zik said in a soft voice. “Can’t weave it right if you won’t see what’s wrong, ya.”
Dyania smiled at him. “You speak wisely. Maybe they will hear us.” She looked at the rest of us. “But only if we have something to tell them. Now, why did you rush back here, Fei?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, aware of the prince’s glower at my back. “I wanted… Nothing. Never mind. It doesn’t matter as much as the bloodfire rune, Claeve, and commanding the dragon.”
“That list keeps getting longer,” Lisel muttered. “And the pile of books and scrolls is getting smaller.”
“Then we are almost done,” Dyania said firmly.
That sounded more bleak than I thought she probably intended.
She turned her Zik-smile on the prince. “Have a seat, Your Radiance. Perhaps we can find a way that you needn’t kill me.”
Had her sister smiled at him like that? From the steely tension in his jaw, I suspected not—and that he didn’t appreciate the change now any more than he appreciated the glowing honorific. But he gave her a nod and took a seat, the farthest from her. The faintest hint of a frown furrowed her brow, but certainly she could understand why he kept some distance between them, physical and feelings wise.
And that connection between them, even inadvertent, was a reminder to me to keep my distance too.
With maybe a bit more force than I’d intended, I shoved a stack of the more decayed and esoteric scrolls his way. Might as well put that princely education to use. As soon as I thought it, I wanted to smack myself for the unkind thought. What must’ve seemed like a boon to his younger self—like Zik’s young scion from Osiroon—had become a bane, while the boy who had been his brother in everything but blood enjoyed the pleasures and profits that had seemed to belong to them both.
With a sigh, I let my strange, pointless jealousy fade. “I couldn’t read these,” I told him. “But they all seemed special or different in some way, older or prettier or…” I shrugged. “Just seems like if I was going to hide the secret to saving the Living Lands, I’d put it in one of these.”
Instead of looking at the scrolls, he tilted his face up to me. “I think you’d be clever enough not to hide it.”
I tried to hold back the strange burst of warmth, same as I’d rejected jealousy; I would not seek the favor of the Dragon Prince. “Neh, nobody asked us about that either.”
But for some reason, when I gathered my own stack of scrolls to review, I found myself in the seat next to him.
Zik slid a mug of kavé next to my elbow. “It’s better when you’re here,” he whispered. He shoved another mug with a little more force toward the prince without additional comment.
Though I thought it a sad commentary on our propositions that the presence of a petty thief was an improvement, I leaned sideways to bump my shoulder into his. “I’m delighted I have you fooled, my little Osri friend.”
He gave me a worried look. “Lor Imbril thinks that the haloria will try to use the Chosen Ones’ attendants to balance the auras.” He kept his voice soft, quieter than Imbril and Dyania who were conversing about something in one of their massive tomes.
I frowned and glanced at the prince. “Would they do that?” I asked him. “I thought the whole point of Chosen Ones was purity of the auras to balance the tattered auras the dragon takes from the demons she destroys.”
Aric sat back. “I don’t know how the haloria chooses or decides. As I told you, they’ve never asked me.” He frowned. “Sometimes I wonder if they know as much as they say, or partly they just want to hold the kingdom’s fear at bay.”
Zik nodded. “Like my da would tell me and the babes to whistle when we feared the wild things were creeping beyond the door.”
To my surprise, the prince gave him a serious nod in return. “Like that.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Wouldn’t it be better to go out and see if there really were wild things bothering your yaxen?”
The prince gave me a mildly exasperated look, but Zik explained, “The whistling was just for me and the babes while my da went out with an axe. He said the whistling was to guide him home.”
“Never mind Feinan’s opinions about whistles,” the prince said with a sidelong glance at me. “Your da must’ve welcomed the cheer.”
Zik gave him a careful little grin while I surreptitiously rolled my eyes. Really, the little herder boy could always be won with just a crumb of kindness.
As soon as the spiteful thought crossed my mind, I tsked at myself. I just wished I could be as innocent.
Emboldened, Zik leaned between our chairs. “What if the bone whistle was like that too?”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Not following you.”
“The bone relic was a guide for you and the dragon, yes? Like me and the babes whistling to my da.” Zik looked at the prince for confirmation.
Who nodded slowly. “Although considering how it was procured, I always considered it more of a curse, rather than a charm.”
“But maybe it doesn’t have to be a cruel thing,” Zik said earnestly. “Just because it started one way doesn’t mean it has to stay, ya?”
The steady illumination of the library lamps didn’t reflect in the prince’s eyes—no pyrelight or auric glitter—and I might not have his bookish education, but this close to him, I thought I could read the emotions that flickered across his face, faster than any page could turn.
Never mind the summoning whistle, could a boy who had been raised a prince only to be cast into the highest pit of the cavernous hell somehow make his way back to the light?
“That too would be a welcome change, wouldn’t it?” he murmured.
We returned to our ancient, opaque texts, searching for the answers that eluded us.
As several of the lamps guttered out, Zik traded the brighter ones to cluster closer to our tired eyes. I was just about to suggest a late-night kitchen scrounging when the prince sucked in a harsh breath. “Is this what you are looking for?”
I glanced over, wondering which of our mysteries he’d stumbled over. Since Zik had drawn out the rune for me, I recognized it at once even though the figure was faded and half erased on the flaking parchment. “That’s it,” I said excitedly. “That’s like the rune Ani used during the attack in Velderrey.”
I glanced up at the others, but they were already responding to my excitement, rising to gather around us. The press of bodies felt good to me, warmer than any heat the braziers could emit, but I saw the prince stiffen. After years alone in the tower, perhaps he’d forgotten such closeness.
But everyone was too intrigued to notice his discomfort.
“Yes,” Dyania said. “That is the rune, although that’s not the reference we had in Sevaare’s library.” She peered closer at the dusty scroll. “In fact, that’s no language I’ve seen before.”
“It’s an old Maru dialect,” the prince said. “Tells of an isle off the coast of Maru Deep that was ravaged by demons and how the survivors fled for the mainland, warding off the horde with bloodfire runes.”
“The island of Taelleroc,” Imbril interrupted. “By some accounts I’ve read, the first verge split there a thousand years ago.” He let out a derisive sniff. “Do we want to follow the findings of a people who lost to the demons?”
Lisel bristled at him. “Lady Dyania used that rune to save us in Velderrey.”
“I only distracted them,” Dyania corrected. “It was the prince who saved us.” She gave him that smile that she saved seemingly for Zik and him.
Judging by the flat look he gave her, the prince was aware of her deliberate kindness. “The text here says that the power of the rune won’t last past the decay of the bodily elements that carry the auric power.” He glanced back at the page, his mouth tightening. “It says the ships that escaped were carved with runes ‘fed to potency by the incarnate beat’ of auric flow. Once ignited, many of those burned to cinders on the crossing, all souls lost.”
“Meaning that to properly empower the runes required the heart’s blood of the caster,” Imbril said. “And even that wasn’t enough.”
I remembered teasing Ani about powering the runes with urine. But I supposed there was no way to piss oneself to death. Although maybe with enough kavé.
Neh, now I was losing focus.
Lisel scowled. “Heart’s blood or finger prick, blood from any part of the body dries eventually. Which means it would lose power.”
“Slower if there’s a lot of it,” the prince noted.
“Can it be preserved, like speridia rind?” Zik asked. “Or like yaxen milk pressed into rounds.”
I gagged. “Blood cheese?”
But the prince, who’d been reading ahead, grunted. “You might be more right than you know.” He slanted an arch glance at me. “Not about blood cheese, but there’s a suggestion here that the survivors of Taelleroc who stayed in Maru Deep kept the secret for reaping and distilling auric energy, to enhance its power.”
“There’s a distillation from Maru Deep traded via unsanctioned channels to this day, called ethrurp,” I mused. When everyone looked at me askance, I clarified, “Not called that in Maru Deep, obviously, but in the parlance of Sevaare’s alleys, it translates roughly to ‘auric valor burped from the abyss’.” I specifically looked back at the prince. “I speak some ancient languages too, actually.”
As the prince’s scarred gaze glinted at me, Imbril pulled himself upright in an official manner. “That’s neither reverent to the mysteries of auric power nor courteous to your trading partner.” After a beat, he conceded, “But perhaps it is an allusion to this historical purification ritual—and accurately conveys the potency and aftertaste of Maru rum.”
With another shudder, I sat back. “Why would anyone want to do that? Or need to? I mean, not drink ethrurp, but gather and distill auras. Auras are already preserved—in the flesh. That’s why Chosen Ones are brought here”—I gave Ani an apologetic glance for my bluntness—“like walking, talking wineskins of aura to feed the dragon.” I didn’t give the prince the same glance, since he didn’t appreciate sympathy.
He traced one finger above the lines of faded ink, hesitating around the smeared blotches where the scroll had decayed. “There is more here. The words aren’t clear, but I think it speaks of a sort of weapon.”
Dyania frowned. “Auras are a force of beauty and purity. Ormonde wove the amaranthine light into a tether for the dragon, but I can’t believe it would become a weapon.”
The prince sat back. “As you say, auras have power. And any power can become a weapon in the right hands, with the right passion.”
“Or the wrong,” I murmured.
The prince didn’t respond, just gathered the other scrolls I’d identified and swept them toward himself. “There’s too much to go through here tonight. I’ll take these with me, read through them, and we’ll reconvene. But for now, it’s late, and I don’t want to leave the dragon unwatched.”
I narrowed my eyes at his abrupt and authoritarian manner—and the way he commandeered our scrolls. But as everyone else nodded, stood, and stretched wearily, Dyania made her way to my side. “What brought you down from the tower, Fei? What did you need to tell me?”
I was aware of the prince’s hard stare above the spiraling ends of the scrolls. Was telling her a kindness or a blow? My earlier confidence was crumbling like old parchment. “Which would you rather,” I asked, “a cruel truth or a tender lie?”
She was quiet long enough that I knew she was giving it careful thought. But finally she gave me a wry smile. “Maybe it would be wiser to say the lie,” she said. “But why do I feel that your uncommon seriousness suggests that perhaps bravery will serve me better than wisdom.”
Since I knew she didn’t necessarily appreciate unwarranted physical contact, I forced myself not to reach out for her since it would’ve only comforted me. “Come to the prince’s tower tomorrow.” I hesitated. She might not want physical consolation, but she’d need something. “Bring Zik.”
“Feinan,” the prince growled.
I shot a furious glare at him. “You won’t need to be there.” My tone must’ve been harsher than I really meant, because the lady clicked her tongue in disapproval. I pursed my lips. “I just meant that I don’t mean to entangle you in my bad decisions.”
“As I’ve ensnared others?” His question was a furious whisper.
“That’s not what I—”
“Carry the rest of those scrolls,” he snapped. He gentled his voice, not much but a little, when he turned to give the lady a short bow. “I will send my retainer to fetch you in the morning. Rest well.” He lifted his head to take in the others with that slightly foreboding farewell.
Glum and resentful, I grabbed the scrolls, cradling them awkwardly against my chest as I followed him out.
He kept that punishing silence and three-quarters of a stride ahead, leaving me to wrestle with the scrolls that seemed to want to suddenly unspool themselves after centuries bound up, the stupid things, until we were at the obsidian archway to the black spire.
There he finally took pity on me and half the scrolls. “You’re going to hurt her,” he said harshly.
So much for pity. “I don’t want to,” I said helplessly.
“That won’t matter,” he snarled. “Every time she sees you from now on, she’ll remember that the pain and horror were inflicted at your hand.”
I wanted to argue, but he of all people would know. “Then they can look at us both that way.”
For a heartbeat he just stared at me before his lip curled in a jeer. “You think that’s what I want? For you to join me in reviled exile?”
I swallowed. “Obviously not,” I said, even though I heard my voice waver. I lifted my chin. “I would never dream of sneaking in to steal what you’ve hoarded here in the shadows.” The fear, the anger, the sorrow—but for all the times I’d let my tongue run away with me, I left that part unsaid.
He glared at me. “Just know that the lady’s heartache will be worsened by your doing, not mine.”
And that was the truth I’d have to live with—however long that was.