Evelayn laughed as she finished braiding her hair and bent to pull on the soft leather boots she preferred to run in. “It wasn’t that important … but your sacrifice is duly noted.”
Ceren sat back up, her flame-red hair sticking out on one side, wearing only her nightgown with a navy blue dressing gown hastily tied over it. If her mother knew she’d snuck through the castle at dawn looking such a mess, she would have probably dragged her daughter all the way back to her room to beat her soundly. “Not important?” She gave Evelayn a knowing look. “Well, then I guess I’ll just go back to—”
“He’s coming again this morning.” The words burst out before Ceren could finish her sentence.
Her friend smiled fiendishly. “Of course he is. Oh, he is truly smitten if he’s willing to keep chasing you through the forest every morning.”
Hope sprang up, but Evelayn shook her head. “He claims it is good conditioning. To keep him in shape for when he must return to the warfront, after he puts the Delsachts’ holdings and affairs all in order.”
“He’s only saying that because he’s afraid if he moves too quickly, he’ll scare you off,” Ceren disagreed. “Everyone knows how hard it is for you to open up. Well, to anyone besides me.” She grinned again, smug in her position as the princess’s only true friend.
“Everyone?” Evelayn echoed, the hope turning cold in her breast.
“Trust me.” Ceren stood up and walked forward to take Evelayn’s shoulders in her hands. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you—the way he constantly finds ways to be near you. Now go, before he wonders where you are.” She pulled Evelayn in for a quick hug and then pushed her toward the door.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No.” Ceren turned and crawled under the sheets. “Your bed is far more comfortable than mine. I’m going to go back to sleep until you return and tell me how right I am.”
“But your mother … ”
Ceren just closed her eyes, ignoring Evelayn, who shook her head with a little laugh and shut the door quietly, leaving Ceren to rest while she hurried through the quiet castle to meet Lord Tanvir.
“Are you certain? You said they never found her body … maybe she survived?”
Tanvir grimaced, his gaze on the ground, making Evelayn wish she hadn’t asked. They sat side by side on a mossy boulder, the breeze that wafted through the trees already turning warm with the heat of the rising sun. His hairline was still damp, even though they’d been resting for a few minutes, catching their breath before they made the long run back to the castle. They’d gone farther than ever this morning. Another few minutes and they would have reached Diasla, a small city between the castle and the Sliabán Mountains.
She hadn’t expected him to continue running with her after his week was up, but on the morning of the eighth day, he’d shown up again. And then the next. And now it had been almost two weeks, and he still met her every morning, just as dawn broke, to dash through the trees and paths of Éadrolan, letting the cool morning air fill their lungs and their feet fly over the earth. She hardly dared let herself think of Ceren’s claim—that it was because he truly cared about her. Her, not just her crown.
“Yes, it’s certain. It was … a bloodbath. She was on the right flank and that entire division was hewn down so viciously, it was impossible to identify many of the bodies.” Tanvir gripped his knees so hard, his knuckles were white. “She never showed up after we retreated. And the Dark Draíolon don’t take prisoners.”
The bright sunshine breaking through the treetops above them seemed at odds with the horrors of Tanvir’s memories. She didn’t say anything, because I’m sorry wasn’t enough. Instead, with Ceren’s words ringing in her mind, Evelayn hesitantly reached out, her pulse a flutter against the thin skin of her throat, letting her hand hover for just a moment before placing it over his. Aunt Rylese would be shocked at her daring, but Aunt Rylese wasn’t here, and she didn’t know what else to do. She’d never known the love of a sibling, but she understood the devastation that etched deep lines in Tanvir’s face as he spoke of the day his sister died—only a few months before his father also passed away and he was suddenly called back from the warfront to become High Lord of the Delsachts.
He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.
She wanted to reassure him that her mother would triumph, that soon the war would end, but she knew he’d see through the lie, as he saw through nearly everything she said or did. Even if Ilaria somehow managed to defeat Bain, what would happen next? He couldn’t be trusted to continue to lead the Dorjhalon kingdom; he would have to be executed so that the power could transfer to one of his sons. But would either of them rule in peace—or had they been poisoned by their father’s greed and shortsightedness?
“How old were you when your father died?”
Evelayn kept her eyes on their intertwined fingers. “I was eight.”
“Your mother had only been queen for a few years, hadn’t she?”
She nodded. “My grandmother Odessa ruled for over three hundred years and finally passed away when I was five. I don’t remember her very well, but they say I am a lot like her—strong-willed and outspoken. She was a force to be reckoned with, at least according to my instructors.”
“I’ve heard the stories. But I’m not sure that you are like her, at least not that much.”
“Well, I’m certainly not as soft-spoken as my mother.”
Tanvir shrugged. “You’ve got me there.”
Evelayn raised her eyebrows.
“I’m just agreeing with you.” He lifted his free hand up in supplication. “So,” he continued quickly, “your mother had only been queen for a few years when Bain attacked for the first time.”
“Yes. No one truly believed that Bain was behind the attack though. It seemed beyond comprehension that a king would risk destroying the balance of our two kingdoms.”
“I remember my father talking about the same thing with his men. I was only fourteen so he wouldn’t allow me in the meetings, but I would sit outside the door and eavesdrop. He said it was history repeating itself, because no one believed in the legend of Drystan anymore.”
Drystan.
The name was a two-sided jolt. Her father’s name and the name from the rhyme younglings were told at bedtime to frighten them into behaving.
The original Drystan had supposedly been the first to shed blood on the soil of Lachalonia—cursing the Draíolon to lose their immortality—and had then been banished with his followers. Supposedly, he’d only been sixteen, and that was why the Draíolon, both Light and Dark, had sworn an oath to bind their youngling’s power until they were eighteen ever since, to keep them from making such huge mistakes while they were still too immature to handle their abilities. Her father hadn’t believed it—claiming that it was just a story to keep them in line. And possibly because he shared the same name.
But her mother believed. Evelayn had always wondered which one was right. Peace had existed for so long, it seemed unimaginable that anyone would ever kill another Draíolon. Until the day of the initial attack.
“I remember feeling frightened for the first time in my life after word reached the castle, and I remember my parents telling me there was nothing to worry about. They tucked me into bed and promised they’d be back in a few days.” Evelayn paused, the memory of pain rising up, still sharp when summoned. “My mother came back alive. My father didn’t.”
Tanvir’s hand tightened on hers.
They sat in silence for a long moment, until the caw of a raven in a nearby tree shattered the quiet.
“We should head back,” Tanvir suddenly said, letting go of her hand and standing up. “We’ll be late for breakfast and training, and then you’ll be forced to run with the sentries again.”
Evelayn glanced up and saw that the sun had risen much higher than she’d realized, protected as they were in the shade of the trees. Tanvir had already begun to run away, and she hurried to catch up. She was still fas
ter than he was if she pushed herself, but not by much anymore. The forest blurred around them as they sped back to the castle.
They were almost halfway there when Tanvir suddenly stopped, throwing out his arm so that Evelayn crashed into it and skidded to a halt as well. And then she noticed it, too—the brisk scent of snow, of winter, even though the early-summer morning had already grown hot.
A Dark Draíolon was nearby.
Evelayn’s body went cold. How was that even possible? Half the priestesses were at the warfront on the border of the two kingdoms, maintaining the wards that kept the Dark Draíolon from being able to enter Éadrolan.
“He’s to our left, upwind. He might not know we’re here yet, since he’s positioned badly,” Tanvir murmured so quietly she could hear him only because they were standing so close together. “If we veer right and then cut back, we could avoid him and warn General Kelwyn.”
“If he doesn’t know we’re here, we should circle around and see if we can follow him. Find out how he made it in to Éadrolan,” Evelayn argued in a whisper.
“My first duty is to keep you safe. We’re going back to the castle.” Tanvir’s voice had gone cold, as firm as steel.
“I’m the crown princess, and I order you—”
Before she could finish, Tanvir suddenly tackled her. They crashed into the ground, his full weight on top of her. Pain exploded across the back of her head and her elbows where she landed hard against the rocks and dirt. A blast of shadowflame detonated against the tree right next to them, tearing a massive, smoking hole through the trunk.
“It’s an ambush.” Tanvir’s lips brushed her ear as he continued to press her into the ground, using his body to shield her. His words sent a fission of terror down Evelayn’s spine. “Get behind me, and when I say so, you run like hellfire back to the castle.”
He rolled off her into a crouch and sent a blast of lightning in the direction of the second Draíolon they hadn’t scented. He straightened to his full height when Evelayn jumped to her feet.
“I’m not leaving you here alone!”
She felt a surge of magic from behind and this time she shoved Tanvir forward, out of the way of yet another blast of shadowflame. It barely missed them, singeing a black mark across the arm of Tanvir’s tunic.
“Back to back!” she shouted, whirling so that he was behind her. Tension limned Tanvir’s body, but he did as she commanded, turning so that their spines pressed together. She summoned her sun-sword, sparking with lightning and writhing with white-flame, and readied herself, staring into the forest, searching for any sign of movement, scenting the air for the hint of snow and ice that didn’t belong.
She felt Tanvir move, and a surge of magic, and then there was a cry of pain from somewhere off in the forest. He truly had excellent aim, just as Kel had said.
There.
Evelayn’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t give any sign that she’d seen the Draíolon slip from one tree to the next a few hundred paces to her right. Her heart thumped in her chest as she gripped her sword, preparing herself. Sweat slipped down her spine, but a strange kind of calm descended over her—similar to when she was running. Her mind cleared and all her focus honed in on her enemy, stalking silently toward them.
When he spun out from the tree he’d been hiding behind and shot a blast of shadowflame at her, it seemed like time slowed to a crawl. She felt the power surging toward her, saw the jet of blackness slicing through the air with blinding speed, but she easily lifted her sword and deflected it with a deafening crash of light meeting shadow that reverberated all the way up both of her arms.
The Draíolon’s eyes met hers for the space of a breath. Then he turned and ran.
Evelayn hesitated for only a moment.
And then she sprinted after him.
TANVIR’S PULSE POUNDED IN HIS EARS, BUT THE FAMILIAR battle-stillness he’d honed on the warfront made his hands steady as he took careful aim and blasted the Dark Draíolon hiding directly ahead of him in the forest. He rarely missed, and this was no exception. The male was flung through the air to land in a bed of ferns and vibrant scarlet flowers. He didn’t get up.
The forest was eerily quiet as Tanvir stretched out his senses, searching for any hint of the others before they could attack again and hurt him or the princess. If she died now—
He cut off the thought viciously. He wouldn’t let that happen.
And then she suddenly stiffened. A split second later there was a deafening boom that vibrated through her into him—a massive collision of power. Tanvir forced himself to keep his back to the princess, knowing he’d leave them both vulnerable if he turned.
But then she was gone.
Heedless of the danger, he whirled about, to see the princess sprinting into the forest, brandishing a sun-sword made of flame and lightning, rushing after a retreating male.
“Evelayn!” he shouted in horror. She didn’t even pause. Tanvir took off after them, summoning his own sun-sword. Somewhere nearby there was at least one other Draíolon who could now attack from behind. But he couldn’t just let her go tearing after the enemy alone. The princess was still untried, untrained.
Though his blood thundered through his veins, Tanvir’s body felt strangely cold as he bolted through the forest, dodging tree branches and bushes, trying to keep Evelayn and the male in his sights. She was quickly gaining on the Dark Draíolon. By the Light, she was just so fast. Though he tried not to show it, it took every ounce of his strength and willpower to keep up with her each morning.
With a cry that sent a shiver down his spine, and without breaking stride, Evelayn suddenly swiped her sun-sword at the male, sending a lash of lightning at his legs. He screamed in pain and tumbled to the forest floor, the princess crashing to a halt so that her sword was pointed at his chest.
Tanvir scented the third Dark Draíolon an instant before the jet of shadowflame exploded from behind a tree to his left. He twisted to face his attacker as he threw himself to the ground, bringing his sword up out of pure instinct. Pain seared across his shoulder and left arm, and the scent of burned flesh filled his nose as the female Draíolon leapt at him, swinging a sword made of writhing darkness and black flame. Tanvir barely brought his own sword up in time to deflect the hit. The two weapons clashed with a thunderous boom that shook the forest floor. Tanvir used his free hand to blast a jet of light at the Dark Draíolon, and in the moment it took her to dodge the attack, he’d launched himself back to his feet, simultaneously slashing his sword through the air.
She tried to dodge him again, but he was too fast—the sword sliced through flesh and bone, nearly cutting her arm off. With a howl of agony, her shadow-sword disappeared and she fell to her knees. Tanvir shot another blast, but this time she didn’t try to avoid it, welcoming the release from the suffering. The bolt of light struck her in the chest, tearing through her body, and she crumpled into a heap.
Tanvir whirled to see Evelayn still holding the sword to the male’s throat. Her emotions were thick on the air—triumph mixed with a lingering tang of fear. But the male wasn’t someone who had been defeated. Tanvir could scent the foul musk of his smugness—as well as the lust rushing through his blood—and he bared his teeth with a low growl.
“—through the wards?”
He caught the end of her question as he raced toward them. The male noticed him one beat too late. The Dark Draíolon lifted his hand—to do what, Tanvir didn’t know and didn’t care. Again he leapt the final few feet, driving his sword down through the male’s chest.
“Tanvir!”
Evelayn’s shocked exclamation shook some of the red haze from his eyes. He turned to her, his heart slamming against his ribs. “Are you hurt?”
“I wanted him alive,” was her tight response.
Tanvir stiffened. “Could you not scent his intentions? He was just biding his time. I saved you.”
She stared down at the Dark Draíolon, his ice-blue eyes open and staring, his pale-blue hair and frost-white ski
n speckled with his own blood from the death wound Tanvir had inflicted.
“The others?” she asked without looking up.
Tanvir remained quiet.
Evelayn sighed heavily and her sun-sword winked out. “I guess we’ll never find out how they got here or what they were doing.” She finally lifted her head, but he couldn’t read the expression on her face or in her violet eyes. She was upwind from him, so he couldn’t scent her emotions, either. But when she wiped her hands on her leather pants, he noticed they were trembling.
“Evelayn, I’m—”
Ignoring the pain in his already-healing shoulder, he reached out, but she jerked away before he could touch her. “We’d better hurry back and report this. I’m sure General Kelwyn will want to investigate the bodies at least.”
Without another word or glance in his direction, the princess turned and sprinted away from the body—and, he was afraid, from him.
EVELAYN PUSHED HERSELF AS HARD AS SHE COULD, thinking that perhaps if she ran fast enough she could somehow outrun the memory of Tanvir killing that Draíolon. That maybe the pounding of her feet could force away the trembling in her hands and the nausea that twisted her gut. She knew he’d only been protecting her—she’d also scented the male’s disgusting intentions. And all three Draíolon had tried to kill them. But she’d never seen anyone cut down in front of her before. She’d never seen someone alive one moment and dead the next, his eyes open, unseeing, his mouth twisted in a scream that never escaped.
She’d hobbled him when she’d used her power to cut through his legs—that alone had been enough to make her sick. She’d planned on having him questioned at the castle. She was mad that now there was no possible way to know why they’d come, how they’d found her and Tanvir, and how they’d managed to get past the wards and travel so far into Éadrolan without being detected.