But everything had changed when King Bain had suddenly sent an army across the border and attacked the city of Ristra when they were eight.
Evelayn was in the middle of describing the look on Lord Tanvir’s and General Kelwyn’s faces after she hit the target on her third try, when the door opened and Tyne bustled in.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ceren.” Tyne nodded toward her and then turned to Evelayn. “I apologize for intruding, Your Highness, but I must get to work if I’m to have you ready in time for tonight.”
Evelayn sighed, most of the happiness and exuberance draining from her face to be replaced by the polite mask she wore in public—when she was concealing her true emotions. “Of course. Ceren, if you’ll excuse us.”
Ceren nodded and stood up. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Of course,” Evelayn repeated with a half smile.
Ceren curtsied, conscious of Tyne’s presence, and left her friend behind to be transformed into a royal princess ready to attend her coming-of-age ball.
AUNT RYLESE HADN’T LEFT EVELAYN’S SIDE ON THE dais even though the princess had already been presented to the glittering mass of Draíolon and had eaten the first piece of the five-tiered cake, as was tradition to start the celebration. The cake had been as light as air and the buttercream frosting was perfection, decorated with beautiful fruits that were so vibrant in color they’d almost looked like jewels, but it had turned to ash in Evelayn’s mouth and lead in her belly as she looked out over the gathered crowd and forced a smile. The earlier exhilaration of training had long since left her and what remained was an aching hollowness. A strange sensation of being completely alone even though she was surrounded by hundreds of younglings and adults, males and females, including Aunt Rylese, who had been kind enough to lecture her for only five minutes about what was expected of her, rather than the usual fifteen or more.
But Evelayn’s last hope that her mother would somehow make it back in time had died when she’d had to take Aunt Rylese’s elbow and allow her to escort Evelayn onto the dais to the cheers of the royal court and all the other Draíolon who had come for the ball, while her senses were assaulted by all the scents and sounds and colors of so many gathered in one room.
The dancing had begun an hour ago and the cake was now down to the last layer, but still Aunt Rylese stood there, glaring at anyone who dared try to approach the princess. Her idea of decorum seemed to amount to Evelayn’s becoming an ornament of sorts—an object to be viewed, not a living being to be included in her own party. Her mother would have made sure she was dancing, eating, enjoying herself.
“Sighing will make you seem bored, Evelayn. You don’t want your subjects to be concerned that you aren’t having a good time,” Aunt Rylese scolded. “This is your special night!”
“I’m not having a good time,” Evelayn retorted, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice any longer. “Honestly, I’m quite miserable. I will stay for another fifteen minutes and then I will retire to my rooms for the night. I have a headache.”
She didn’t have to look at her aunt to know that her earth-colored eyes—the same color that her father’s had been—were probably wide with astonishment. “You can’t possibly leave that early, what will your subjects think—”
“I don’t know that I care what they think at this point. It’s my ‘special night’ as you said, shouldn’t someone care what I think—or how I feel?”
Aunt Rylese put a hand on her arm, probably meaning to be soothing, but it only irritated Evelayn further. “Of course we care, darling, but you must consider what’s proper. You are not like the other females in Éadrolan, be they noble or not. You are a princess. The only princess, and you must act in accordance with—”
“Do you think I’m not aware of that?” Evelayn cut her off yet again, this time glancing over to see her aunt blanch at her audacity. Part of her felt guilty for causing Rylese distress; though she was annoying, she meant well enough. But the other part, the part of her that had responded with exhilaration earlier today at the sudden increase in her power, felt only the need to escape—to leave behind the limitations and restraints of her position, at least until the morning. The dress the seamstresses had designed for her special night had been inspired by a butterfly, made of layers of iridescent lavender, white, and palest blue fabrics that hugged her curves and swooped up to attach to her arms—giving the appearance of wings if she stretched them. How she wished to be a butterfly right then. Or even better, to have mastered the ability to shift into her swan form, so she could fly away from the crowd and the emptiness inside that hollowed her out.
It was her birthday, and Evelayn was going to spend the last hour or two as she wished, where she wished, not trapped at a party held in her honor that apparently had nothing to do with her.
“If you’ll excuse me—” She was turning away even as she spoke, hurrying down the stairs toward the crowded Great Hall before her aunt could stop her. Suddenly, she was enveloped in noise and sound and heat and life. All around her Draíolon danced and laughed and ate and danced some more. Dresses and evening clothes of every color filled her vision, along with the many varied hair and skin tones that distinguished her people—colors of the earth and all living things that were a part of spring and summer. Their scents combined in a heady blend that was almost overwhelming. But all too soon her subjects noticed the princess there among them, and the dancing and laughing and joviality slowly ground to an uncomfortable halt, as if they weren’t sure what to do with her standing there.
“Please don’t stop.” She signaled the musicians to continue, and tried to smile despite the sudden harsh pulse of her blood in her ears. A vein at her temple throbbed against the jewels and glitter Tyne had so painstakingly applied to create a swirling masterpiece down either side of her face earlier that night. But though the music started again, only a couple of Draíolon resumed dancing. Everyone else stood in small clumps and groups, watching her, some whispering, some silent. Evelayn wasn’t prone to blushing, but she could feel her neck growing hot as the awkwardness continued to build. Where was Ceren? She would know what to do. Evelayn turned around, searching the crowd for her friend’s vibrant red hair, but she was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Aunt Rylese had been correct after all—perhaps her place really was just to watch, to adorn her own party from afar.
The scent of citrus and spice tickled her nose a moment before a voice asked, “If I may be so bold, would you care to dance, Your Highness?”
Evelayn spun around to see Lord Tanvir bowing low, his hand extended. Her relief was instantaneous. “I would be honored, my lord.” She placed her hand in his and his fingers closed around hers, his skin warm and slightly rougher than her own.
“The honor is all mine, I assure you.” He straightened and there was that glint again in his striking amber eyes as their gazes met and he pulled her in toward his body so he could circle her waist with his other arm, placing his hand on the small of her back. Her breath caught as he expertly guided her across the floor in time to the music, her feet following his automatically. Within moments the other Draíolon apparently decided it was acceptable to continue celebrating, and Evelayn and Lord Tanvir were soon surrounded by other dancing couples.
“Thank you,” she finally said when it seemed that everything had returned to normal.
Lord Tanvir lifted one eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I believe you know.”
He gave her a little smile, his hand flexing against her back. “My gallant attempt to assist you in the forest this morning?” Evelayn just gave him a look and he laughed. “No, that definitely is not what you meant. I take it that you have no desire to explain what happened to that poor tree before I arrived, either?”
“None,” she agreed.
“Well, then I am left to assume that you are thanking me for asking you to dance. To which my reply is that any time I can come to the aid of a fellow despiser of the formal conventions of our society is an opportunity I?
??d be loath to miss.”
Despite herself, Evelayn smiled back at him. “Ah yes, I forgot. I was supposed to be setting an example for you, so that you might come to see the error of your uncouth ways, Lord Tanvir.”
“A task at which you have failed miserably, because you look much happier right now than you have the entire evening, Your Highness. Flaunting the proper decorum for a princess seems to suit you.”
Evelayn wasn’t sure if she should laugh or chastise him, but when their eyes met and she saw the teasing glint in his, the laughter won, taking her by surprise.
“My aunt would be mortified to hear that.”
“Then we won’t tell her. Besides, she looks imperious enough for the both of you.”
Evelayn laughed again as she snuck a glance up at the dais. She wasn’t surprised to see Aunt Rylese’s hands clenched in her skirts, her expression a strange cross between irritation and what she probably meant to be a pleasant, proper smile.
“She means well,” Evelayn felt compelled to explain.
“As do many interfering and opinionated people. That doesn’t mean you must listen to them or do as they bid.” He spun her deeper into the crowd, farther away from the dais.
“She’s my aunt.”
“And you are the crown princess of Éadrolan. I think your authority supersedes hers.”
Evelayn fell quiet for a moment, uncomfortable with the reminder of who she was—the reminder of the fact that of course he saw her that way. She was amusing and powerful to him, that was all. It had been silly to think for even a moment that perhaps he could truly understand her.
When the music ended, Lord Tanvir didn’t let her go right away.
“Have I offended you in some way, Your Highness?” He was only a few inches taller than she; their eyes were nearly on the same level, but she wouldn’t let herself meet his searching gaze.
“Of course not, Lord Tanvir. Thank you again for the dance.” She gently pulled back and he immediately let go, as if only then realizing the song had finished. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He bent forward into a deep bow, looking up at her from that position, and seemed about to say something else, but she turned and pushed through the crowd toward the doors that would let her escape the Great Hall.
THE MEETING, WHICH WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN “quick,” had long since become interminable. Lorcan was sure he’d been sitting in the same chair listening to the same arguments for the better part of the entire afternoon. Only the members of his father’s closest circle of advisors and generals were included. This was the meeting that no one else was supposed to know about. The plan King Bain had presented was both daring and dangerous. Only the handful of Draíolon gathered could know about it if they wanted to pull it off. But if it worked …
“It’s just too great a risk for you, Your Majesty,” General Maedre insisted, the same thing he’d been insisting all day. He had been a part of the inner circle for less than a year. “Yes, it’s unexpected. But it leaves you open to attack—or worse. If you manage to make it through the Undead Forest unscathed, you might succeed in killing her, but then you would be susceptible—you’d be trapped in the midst of their army!”
“You forget that if he succeeds and kills Queen Ilaria, her people will be rendered powerless immediately. They won’t be able to hurt him,” Lorcan’s mother, Queen Abarrane, pointed out.
“What say you, Caedmon? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.” King Bain turned to the newest general to be promoted to his inner circle after General Virlin was killed in battle a few weeks prior.
Caedmon looked up at the king, his eyes going to the blood-red conduit stone in the king’s forehead—the exact same oval, ruby stone that Lorcan and Lothar had been born with, though theirs were cold and powerless for now—and then to Bain’s questioning gaze.
Lorcan studied Caedmon as he considered the king’s query. The general had a special affinity for snow and had taken on many characteristics of it—skin so white it practically glittered and irises so pale the only true color visible in his eyes were his pupils. Though all Dark Draíolon smelled of fall or winter, Caedmon’s scent was sharper than most; a blast of ice assaulted Lorcan’s nose whenever the other male walked into the room. He was known to be intelligent and lethal, but Lorcan always felt a little bit uncomfortable when Caedmon turned his disconcerting gaze to him.
“I believe that it is a great risk,” Caedmon finally responded, slowly, thoughtfully, “but has the chance of great victory. If you are willing to take such a risk, and if everything goes according to the plan, it has a good likelihood of success because it would be so unexpected. You should consider that though the Light Draíolon will be powerless should you succeed, they will still have strength in numbers. Even you cannot hope to defeat them with only the few Dark Draíolon you will have with you.”
Everyone was silent for a long while, digesting his response.
“So I will retreat immediately, gather my army, and then lead one final attack before her daughter can regain the power for her people. I’d have three days, which is more than enough time.”
Everyone around the table nodded, except for Maedre and Caedmon.
“You disagree, Maedre?”
Lorcan stiffened at the latent fury in his father’s voice and the sudden acrid scent of his anger. Bain was notorious for his mood swings—going from seemingly calm to a raging inferno in moments. But General Maedre didn’t back down.
“If you consider time to retreat and gather your army and then the time it would take to reach Solas, it would be longer than three days to lead a full attack on Éadrolan and seize control of their kingdom.”
King Bain’s eyes narrowed, and Lorcan noticed his brother, Lothar, flinching in preparation for the anger that was sure to come. Instead, Bain merely asked, “How old is the young princess again?”
“I believe she just turned eighteen today,” Lothar supplied, which wasn’t surprising, since he was forever reading and studying, rather than spending every spare moment training as Lorcan did.
King Bain barked out a laugh. “So she barely came into her full power today and you think she could possibly complete the ceremony to reclaim the Light Power in time? Pardon me if I don’t share your concern.” He laughed again and everyone else nervously joined him—everyone except General Maedre.
“Still,” he persisted, “it would be foolish not to take into account the possibility that she could succeed, even though it would be quite remarkable—”
“Are you calling me foolish?” King Bain roared, cutting him off. This time even Lorcan flinched.
Before General Maedre could respond, Bain lifted his hand and shot a blast of dark-flame at him, tearing a hole through his chest. The general’s eyes widened in disbelief for a split second before he slumped over in his chair, dead.
“Anyone else here believe me to be foolish?”
Everyone was silent, shocked at the sudden violence—everyone except Bain’s queen and sons, who had seen him lose his temper many times and knew how unwise it was to push him.
“Good. Abarrane, call for someone to come dispose of that.” King Bain stood up, the signal that he was dismissing the meeting. “What a nuisance. Now I will have to find a replacement for him before I can proceed with my plan.”
“I have a few suggestions, if I may, sire.” Obrecht, Bain’s most trusted and longest-surviving general, spoke as he rose.
“Excellent. Let’s hope you choose more wisely this time.” King Bain didn’t even glance at the body as he exited the room.
THE FOREST WAS QUIET AND DARK AS EVELAYN carefully walked along the trail leading to the lake where her swans lived. Behind her the noise of the party faded until there was nothing to hear except the soft shoosh of her breathing, the swish of her skirts as she walked, the cadence of insects’ nighttime songs … and the almost-silent footfalls of the sentries who were discreetly following her.
They were always there, though not always seen. But she’d never b
een able to hear them as clearly as she could now.
She’d waited all day to come, hoping her mother would show up so they could go together. But her birthday would be over in less than an hour; Queen Ilaria wasn’t coming. Only something terrible would have kept her away, and it was all Evelayn could do not to let the fear of what that terrible thing might be overwhelm her. She’d come to the lake—the place where she had always found solace—to distract herself by attempting to shift, though the thought of doing it by herself the first time was daunting, to say the least.
There was no one else who could instruct her how to do it. Only true royals—those with conduit stones and who could claim the power of their kingdom—had the ability to shift. Which meant only Queen Ilaria was capable of it in Éadrolan. Even if she’d had a brother, Evelayn would still be the only other, because the power passed through the female line in Éadrolan. In Dorjhalon the royal males were the ones born with conduit stones, so the king and his two sons were the only Draíolon in their kingdom capable of shifting.
Evelayn didn’t have to be near the swans to shift, but she wanted to do it there, on the banks of the lake, where she’d come so many times before. Where she’d first imprinted, and realized the swans she loved so much were to be her destiny once she came into her full power.
Normally, she would have had to summon light to be able to safely make the trek through the forest, but with her sharpened eyesight, Evelayn could see almost perfectly in the dark. She carefully picked her way down the path until suddenly the trees opened up to the night sky above and the lake below. And there on the glass-like water glided the flock of swans, their white feathers a beacon in the darkness.
Evelayn walked over to the log she thought of as hers, where she’d spent countless hours with her father, her mother, and by herself. Carefully gathering the exquisite gown into her arms, she sat down and took a deep breath, inhaling the sultry night air, more fragrant than it had ever been before, with the perfume of summer flowers, the freshness of the thriving greenery, and the musk of the rich soil beneath it all. Though they had kept their distance, Evelayn could scent the sentries as well—one of clove and fig, and the other of sunflowers and rain—and something else, beneath the surface, nuances that she’d never experienced before. She knew from what others had told her that they were emotions, feelings, and that she would soon learn how to recognize what they meant.