Nickoli
“I would like for you to see your father.”
The door separating me from the dungeon—from my traitor father—loomed before me. If not for Skye, I would have let him rot, not giving him the satisfaction of ever laying eyes on me again.
Two days had passed since Xander asked me to make this visit. He did not ask again, but the request pressed upon me nonetheless.
“What would you do to protect Skye?”
Two days since Kerra explained the past.
My fingers tugged at the hair on the back of my head. We needed answers and McClintock had them—for a price. The price was me.
Reaching forward, the lock clicked and I shoved the door open before I changed my mind.
“Hello, son,” he said the moment he saw me.
I remained in the open doorway. “McClintock.”
The air in his lungs rattled his chest as he sighed and heaved his body into a sitting position on the edge of his cot. “I am not an evil man, Nickoli.”
Numerous replies battled for the privilege of being spoken, but I clenched my jaw shut until my teeth ached. He did not deserve my words. Besides, what could he say that I might ever understand?
He drew another shallow breath, his eyes finding mine across his cell and through the dim antechamber as he spoke, “I loved a woman.”
I left the belly of the castle and went looking for Xander. He was alone, hunched over the massive table in the center of the cabinet room surrounded by books and maps, his back toward the door.
Stepping inside, I cleared my throat to make my presence known and drew the door closed behind me.
Xander peeked over his shoulder, then turned, his jaw set grimly. He had cleaned up from his afternoon in the field training farmers and blacksmiths to fight like soldiers. A training he had yet to ask me to join. We were not that different, he and I. Close in age, similar height and build, identical tempers. And we were both impossibly in love with the same woman. I wanted to hate him, but I’d just learned what my father did all those years ago. The Guardian before me could look upon me with contempt. I was my father’s son.
“You spoke with him?” he asked not politely, but without the annoyance that normally fed his words when he spoke to me.
I tempered my own tone. “I did.”
“And?”
“And he attempted justifying his actions. He had hoped for my understanding.”
Xander returned his focus to the table, his palms pressed into the wood as he gazed at the mess before him. Scrolls scattered the worn mahogany and Xander brushed two aside to reveal a map of Tyalbrook. I crossed the room for a closer look. Four weights made of blackened wood anchored the corners in place while more dotted various positions along the map. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Xander’s head tilt my way. Our gazes held, then he jerked his chin toward the map as his face relaxed.
“We marked the villages we know were hit.” He pointed out the blocks. “There is no pattern.”
I leaned closer. Florin, far to the west in the mountain foothills. Fairby, due south of Montibello, Emall, and Elendriel and The Glade. They were random—some small farming villages, others larger and more prosperous—their only commonality was they now lay in ruins.
“What is Tabor doing?” I massaged the back of my neck.
Xander released a defeated sigh. “I’d hoped your father could tell you.”
He spoke without the bitterness we had shared since his arrival at Montibello. So, once again, I duplicated his tone. “He does not know.”
“And you believe him? You believe Tabor controlled his actions?”
I swallowed and considered the question, weighing my father’s explanations and actions.
“I think he has some complicity in this. His jealousy gave Tabor a way in, but I would also like to think that he acted on his own, apart from Tabor’s poisonous mind control, some of the past seventeen years.” Or was everything he ever said fueled by Tabor’s goal? Was my father a true madman?
“Is he innocent? No. Do I think he killed Skye’s father? I am unsure, but the circumstances of his relationship with Kerra make it likely. Would he have gone after Skye, killed your family, or used the Semvon? I want to believe those things were due to Tabor. I could be wrong, but from what McClintock said, he wanted Kerra. He did not covet the crown.”
Xander scoffed. “He did not covet the crown?”
I shook my head. “As I said, I could be wrong. Perhaps his blinding rage at being set aside for the King of Tyalbrook made him covet the crown, but it was not his original intent. Had Kerra married him as she was promised to do, he never would have planned an attack on Montibello.” That I was relatively sure of. And that deepened my guilt. Kerra ran because I was conceived.
Xander’s brow furrowed. “Did he speak of Valeyah?”
The old kingdom? “No.”
Xander sifted through a stack of books and shoved a tan leather-bound tome across the map. The binding was faded and older. The dark cording strung through the gathered pages with less precision than the other books I had studied in this room through the years.
“How much do you know of it? About what happened there?” he asked.
My fingers hovered over the book. “About what happened in Valeyah? Valeyah is a myth. No one knows. It is not taught by tutors.”
“I’d wondered why I never heard of it until recently.” Xander’s gaze flicked to the book, silently urging me to look.
I held my breath, as if opening these pages would release a magical spell. The script was discolored, many of the words indecipherable. I looked at Xander, who watched me, then back to the book. Unsure of what he expected me to look for, my fingers turned the brittle pages one by one, then stopped.
“Seem familiar?” he asked.
My gaze went to his.
“Your mouth is open.” His brows lifted.
I snapped my jaw closed.
“Don’t worry, I had the same look.” The humor in his tone eased my embarrassment at being caught in awe.
My focus returned to the page. To the artwork. A cloud hovered over a mass of people. Some knelt, others pointed, eyes were wide and mouths were open in fear. Others had black eyes and looks of horror plastered on their faces. Plumes of black crisscrossed the sky and surrounded the people with the dark eyes.
The caption read: Drakoon.
My ears rang. “It was real?”
Turning, Xander moved to the far end of the room and planted his feet before the tapestry-covered stone wall. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, then spoke. “The Lord of Mist and Darkness. A nightmare. I thought my father shared the name to scare me.”
“Where did you find this book?” I flipped another page. And another.
“It was in plain sight.”
I followed his gaze toward walls covered in book-filled shelves. Many were used for my education through the years, but there were plenty I’d never touched. Books bored me. I grew up wanting to fight, to be strong like a soldier. The child I was wanted to protect my future kingdom the way King Mercier had not. If only I had known the truth.
“These pictures, this was a war”—my muscles tightened at the scene depicted on the next page—“between all races.”
“Nations will rise up,” Xander said, his voice low.
My throat constricted. “Power fuels an army of darkness,” I added.
“That”—Xander returned to the table—“is what comes for us. For Skye.”
We stared at the pictures. A black nothingness hung above the people depicted.
“Take her back.” The suggestion, made from my own lips, shook me, and Xander’s eyes narrowed. “Take her home, to the Earth realm. Protect her,” I pressed on adamantly.
The vision this book painted had me terrified for her.
The edges of Xander’s mouth curled. “Do you not think I’ve considered that? Every instinct I have tells me to get her as far away from here as possible. She wouldn’t leave if I asked her to, and even if she would, I could not take her. I’m a Guardian.”
“Yes, a Guardian to the Queen. Save her.” Xander’s head jerked, ready to refuse my request, and I pounded my fist against the table. “If you loved her, you would.”
Xander
An hour ago I had the same reaction to those drawings that Nickoli had now. I was torn between grabbing Skye and running or grabbing my weapons and our makeshift army and hunting Tabor down. Rational thought had won out. Thus far.
I studied the fuming man before me. He’d gone to McClintock like I’d asked. He’d suggested I run with Skye to protect her. She trusted him and I had no choice but to trust him too.
“We can’t run.”
His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling. “I know. Is the history written in there?”
“In the book? No.”
“That was Valeyah?”
“Yes.”
Nickoli snatched the book from the table and flipped back over the pictures. “It was wiped out?”
“It was thought to be,” I said as I recalled Vonnedenia’s explanation.
“Thought to be?”
“The Three, they said, something … though they were vague.” I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms.
Nickoli arched a brow, clearly thinking the same thoughts. When were the fae not vague?
Vonnedenia’s words before she left came back to me. Her ice eyes had settled on Skye as she told us Griffin needed to call upon his homeland to fight. She explained how, unlike the fae, the elves could not be turned by Tabor’s magic.
Kerra gasped at the mention of the Elf Prince.
Vonnedenia turned to her, her smile soft as she said, “He would for you, Kerra.”
Intrigued by Vonnedenia’s oddly placed comment, Skye asked the fae, “Can you read everyone’s thoughts?”
“Not yours, milady,” the white fae replied. She took hold of Skye’s shoulders and pulled her near. Her lips hovered by Skye’s ear and she’d whispered words the rest of us could not hear. Whatever she said had Skye’s gaze meeting mine, her brows dipped in thought.
“We will meet again,” Vonnedenia promised as The Three left, with Thomas and Cillian accompanying them.
I arched a brow, wordlessly asking Skye what she’d been told, but our silent communication was interrupted.
“Xander?” Kerra said my name like she was looking to me for our next move. It was Skye who gave it.
“We build an army and send word to the elves,” she said firmly.
That was four days ago. What was I waiting for?
“We need to contact the elves,” I told Nickoli. It was time.
“Has Skye still not heard from Griffin?”
Of course he knew of Griffin. “No, nothing.”
“Perhaps the wards the fae—”
“No. Vonnedenia assured me the wards would protect us from dark magic and harm but would not prevent the fae or elves from contacting us.”
Nickoli's finger traced over a page from the book before he raised his head. “I will gather a group of men and ride for the Enchanted Forest.”
“I’m not asking that of you.”
“I am not doing it for you, Guardian.”
His scowl brought a grin to my face. “Griffin and the elves know me, Nickoli. They trust me.” His scowl deepened and I huffed. “I didn’t mean that the way you think.”
“No? The son of the traitor. That is what you called me, is it not?”
“It is,” I admit. “Prove you are more. That you are better. Help Cillian train the men here, and protect Skye while I’m gone.”
Nickoli returned the book to the table and paced a small circle. “You are needed here,” he said as his eyes scanned the map as though he were mentally plotting out the ride to Edendawin.
“She might care for me, but she needs you. She won’t let you go again,” he said.
“I can’t ask this of you.”
Nickoli laughed lightly. “You are the leader of the Queen’s guard. You can order me to do anything.”
He had a point. “Very well, take all the men you need. Your former personal guard?”
“I will take Smith, and two or three others. Stealth and speed are important. A smaller group will do. We can stick to the forest and river and stay undercover most of the way.”
“He cannot control you or your men. The fae said his magic does not work that way.”
“He controlled my father.”
I’d wondered the same thing. “Yes, he poisoned McClintock’s mind. He could try and work his way into any of our minds, but it seems like the power he exhibited over McClintock came over years. He can’t maintain control of us physically like he does the fae. Honestly, we don’t know how his power works. My best advice?”
Nickoli’s brows raised.
“Don’t get close enough to find out.”
Nickoli sighed and jerked his head toward the map. “Tell me everything you know and what I need to do once I get there.”
We went over his route and plotted the course of action we hoped Griffin would agree to once Nickoli and his men arrived in Edendawin.
“One more thing,” Nickoli said as he stretched and rolled a map for his journey. “I would ask that you not tell Skye until after I have left.”
I closed the books on the table and bit my tongue.
“You know she would argue against this trip.”
“And I assume you do not wish to go against her orders?” My tone was laced with sarcasm, and perhaps a bit of egging him on.
He smirked. “No, I have no desire to anger our Queen and end up locked in the dungeon.”
I laughed and, after a moment, so did he. He took an enormous risk, riding to Griffin with Tabor and his followers lurking who knew where. It was the least I could do. She’d be furious, but I agreed.
“How do you think Tabor figures into this?” Nickoli asked on our way to the door.
“I wish I knew.” I closed my eyes and saw the smoke and fear of those pictures like they were etched into my eyelids. “If this is what we think it is—”
“The Semvon?” he asked.
My eyes snapped opened.
Recognition flashed across Nickoli’s face. “I always wondered how Tabor controlled his demon army.”
The Semvon. I cursed. Smoke-like demons of unknown origin controlled by magic. Coincidence, or were they connected with Drakoon? Was Tabor? If he possessed this kind of power, why didn’t he make a move years ago? The obvious answer was Skye, but if that was the case, why didn’t he act the moment she returned to Tyalbrook?