Chapter Thirty-Eight

“What,” King Jakob growled, “do you mean when you say that you lost her?”

Killian leaned against a pillar in Throne Hall and examined her nails, the picture of nonchalance when she was everything but.

Everything had gone to shit in Orielle, and Luna . . . Luna . . .

The eclipse had occurred sooner than Killian had told Jakob, sooner than even she had expected. They had been on the road back to Ibresis when it had cloaked the land in night. Eoin had come and gone, claiming the princess in one fell swoop.

It killed Killian to think of Luna at the King of Immortal’s mercy, helpless and alone.

There was nothing you could have done, Killian tried to reassure herself, kicking up one foot against the pillar. Absolutely nothing. Of course, as soon as this was over, she planned to pay a visit to the Immortal Realm, but for now she had to face the harsh reality that Luna was simply out of reach.

If only Asterin hadn’t escaped North Yard. If only the queen’s ice hadn’t rendered Kane useless even after it had melted. If only it hadn’t left him drenched and half frozen and unable to do anything but curl into a ball on the floor and shiver violently.

Back in Orielle, he had tried to tell Killian something. She recounted the events in her head, trying to imagine what they could have done differently. She remembered how his teeth had chattered so fiercely that he couldn’t even manage a single intelligible word. Killian’s healing abilities were strictly bound to herself, and Kane, already magically weak, was certainly in no state to revive himself. She’d had no choice but to drag him into the sunshine to dry.

And then she’d run off to find Rivaille.

She had hoped to encounter the hireling locked in battle with the captain and the female Elite, but his targets were nowhere in sight, and Rivaille—

Well, she discovered Rivaille squashed like an insect beneath a massive shipping container.

Squashed, and most definitely dead.

By the time she returned to Kane, he had finally warmed up enough to speak. “I saw a man,” he hissed, rubbing his palms up and down the sides of his arms. “He just . . . popped out of the shadows, looked around the container, saw me, and disappeared again. Melted right into the darkness.”

Dread coursed through Killian. “What did he look like?”

“He was tall, with dark-brown hair and copper skin, and he—”

Killian cursed aloud. “Harry. What’s he doing here?” The last she’d heard of her fellow anygné, he had been on leave. But if he had shadow jumped . . . then maybe she could track his signature. “Get up, Kane. We have a job to finish.”

If Harry considered himself to be a lousy shadow jumper, Killian was absolute trash. The first time she had tried it, she had dismembered herself from the waist down. Even Eoin hadn’t known what to do. So instead of shadow jumping, Killian and Kane settled for running, no severed body parts involved—because even though Killian could eventually heal from incapacitation, Kane most certainly could not.

In the end, though, it hadn’t mattered. Killian managed to pinpoint Harry’s location to a grimy tavern called the Boar’s Head, but by the time they busted through the trapdoor and into the secret lair beneath, he had shadow jumped again, most likely taking Asterin with him. And this time, he had jumped far, far away—too remote for Killian to detect.

Her only consolation was that she could sense that Harry had only jumped once—meaning that the captain and the remaining Elite were either dead or still loose in Orielle, since he only had the ability to shadow travel with one other person at a time.

King Jakob pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “Please tell me that the captain, at the very least, was taken care of.”

Killian played with the hem of her sleeve. They had stuck around Orielle for a while before sulking back to Ibresis, trying—unsuccessfully—to catch any hints of the presence of either the captain or the Elite. “Maybe?”

The king practically leapt out of his throne. “Maybe? ”

Kane cleared his throat. “Wherever he is, Your Majesty, we can assure you that he did not sail Orielle’s waters.”

King Jakob zeroed in on him. “How can you be certain?”

The hireling shifted his weight from side to side, keeping his gaze averted. “Well, Lady Killian took the liberty to bar all boats from departing Horn’s Bay entirely.”

King Jakob went dangerously still. In a slightly mocking voice, he asked, “And how, in the name of ever-loving hell, did Lady Killian manage that?”

Killian saved Kane the burden of answering. “I destroyed Horn’s Bay. Or, rather, the Three Bridges. Completely. Unequivocally. No ships going in. No ships going out.”

A moment of dead silence passed and King Jakob slowly sank back into his throne. So apparently the news hadn’t reached Ibresis yet. For a long minute, no one moved a muscle, not even Killian.

When the king finally spoke, his voice had gone flat and calm as a dead sea. “So those ridiculous rumors were true.” Killian almost wished he would go back to shouting. “What delusions prompted you to do such a thing?”

“Well, Your Majesty,” Killian began slowly. “In your exact words, you ordered us to keep Queen Asterin from leaving Orielle’s port.”

King Jakob’s index finger twitched against his armrest. “I also ordered you to assassinate the captain, did I not?”

How petty. “You know,” Killian said, her tone icy, “you really ought to have gotten to know your precious daughter a little better before Eoin snatched her away for good.”

The king’s glare faltered slightly. “Pardon me?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that murdering your daughter’s beloved might not be the best idea?” She threw a hand across her brow. “Stone cold, Your Majesty, even for you.”

Jakob regarded her for a moment. “Her beloved? I . . . I was never made aware of this,” he grudgingly replied, as if he couldn’t be blamed. “However, if you really did destroy the Three Bridges—”

“Definitely did,” Killian muttered.

“Do not interrupt me! ” Jakob roared, deafening as thunder. “You insolent pest. Did it ever cross your mind that your actions could potentially cripple the entire continent’s economy? You trapped hundreds of cargo ships inside and outside the bay. Trade will cease for months. I can’t expect someone like you to understand the consequences of this catastrophe, but . . .” The king exhaled through gritted teeth and leveled Killian with an unforgiving iron stare. “I know what this is. I’m no fool, Eirene.” A low growl rose in her throat at that name on his lips, but he went on, unnoticing, lowering his voice to a low, scornful murmur. “You count all of these little rebellions as victories against me, but they only prove how pathetic you are. How worthless.”

Her fury transformed her. She lunged for the king, the shadows of the hall racing up to swathe her in a cocoon of darkness, and when she emerged in her demon form, snarling, she pinned the king down by the throat with claws like scythes. She could imagine what he saw—wiry limbs too long to be human, rippling with power beneath skin blacker than night. Millions of silver veins as thin as gossamer, webbing up her torso. Her white robes, hanging from her frame in tatters, shredded by the tiny jagged barbs covering her entire body. Seven-pronged ebony antlers extending from both sides of her head like cruel spears born from violence.

And of course, her killing mask.

“Do I look worthless to you now? ” Killian hissed.

Jakob wheezed, his neck straining and the whites of his eyes bulging out. “Treason.” Trickles of scarlet wept from where her claws pricked his soft mortal skin. “Get . . . off . . . me.”

Killian spat curses as her claws began retracting one by one, against her every will. Her shoulders trembled with effort, muscles coiling tight with rage, but her body betrayed her and bent away from the king. She bared her fangs at him as her feet touched the floor, still struggling to free herself from his command—

“Stop,” a voice rang out, capturing the cool authority that only Immortals had the time to master.

They all froze. From atop the dais, Killian turned slowly to find a figure standing at the other end of Throne Hall.

Kane gaped. He had retreated to the back of the hall to get as far away as possible from the danger. “Luna . . . ?”

Killian stared. There’s no way . . . but there she was. The Princess of Ibreseos. In the flesh—or rather, from what Killian could tell, in her second skin.

King Jakob’s eyes shone with wonder. “How is this possible?”

As Luna strode toward them, black fabric tumbled forth from empty air to wrap around her slight body, clothing her in a gown adorned with shattered crystals. Pure magic radiated from the newly forged anygné, a gravity that sucked everything around her inward. Like a star, Killian thought to herself numbly. Or a dark sun among moons. Luna reached up with both hands to smooth the loose tendrils of hair from her face. When her hands fell away, a crown of black diamonds and delicate filigree feathers glittered atop her head.

“Lady Killian,” Luna greeted with an acknowledging nod. “Kane.” Then she turned her gaze upon King Jakob. “Father.”

“Luna, my dear,” Jakob began with a tentative smile. He spread his arms wide and welcoming, all traces of hostility evaporating on the spot. “I’m so very glad that you’re all right. How . . . how did you—how did you manage to escape back to the Mortal Realm?”

“King Eoin and I made a few negotiations,” said Luna, and Killian could hardly believe her ears. “He allowed me to return on a few conditions.”

Her father’s brow furrowed. “Such as . . . ?”

Luna smiled. “Well, the first one was that I become Queen of Aspea.”

“Qu-queen of Aspea?” Jakob spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

“On the contrary,” Luna replied, her affable tone at odds with her expression, her predatory stalk toward the throne. She ascended the dais and halted at Killian’s side to look down at her father, the razored tips of her crown catching the light.

“Queen. Of the entire continent,” Jakob said weakly.

“Four kingdoms,” Luna agreed. “Two thrones to claim and two thrones to conquer. Cyeji and Axaria will be the hardest, of course, but Oprehvar . . . well, Mother was the Duchess of Oprehvar. Queen Belinda has yet to sire an heir and has no siblings. Should some unfortunate fate befall her and cut her reign short, Adrianna would be the first in line to rule . . . but I’m sure I could persuade my dear aunt to turn down such an onerous position. With no heir of her own, I would be the next choice.” The princess brushed her fingers along her self-made crown. “And then, of course, there is the matter of Ibreseos.”

The king paled. “Ah.” Perspiration glistening along his hairline. Killian could see his pulse jumping at his throat, smell his fear dripping down his back.

She watched him suffer, and she did so with savage glee.

“As your only heir,” said Luna, that sweet little smile playing on her lips, “you could very easily abdicate the throne to me.”

“I couldn’t . . . couldn’t possibly—” Jakob began stammering. “Just think of my responsibilities as king! I can’t simply abandon my duties, throw them all willy-nilly out the window.” His voice grew frenzied. “You understand, Luna, don’t you?”

Killian bit down hard on a grin when Luna’s eyes widened with false innocence. “Oh!” the princess exclaimed. “I would never ask you to shirk such vital responsibilities! And certainly not rid yourself of them ‘all willy-nilly,’ as you so eloquently put it. In fact . . . I insist that you don’t.” Her smile turned serpentine. “I have other kingdoms to conquer in the meanwhile, after all.”

Jakob seemed at a total loss for words.

Luna tilted her head angelically. “Well, Father?” she asked. “Will you make me Queen of Ibreseos?” Then, right before their eyes, a glorious pair of wings burst from her shoulder blades, engulfing Jakob and his throne in its monstrous shadow. “Or . . .” The sharp tang of the king’s terror pierced the air, but his cowering only made Luna’s smile widen. “Will I have to conquer you, too?”