Evelayn inhaled slowly through her nose, trying to control her building anxiety by filling her lungs and then, as she exhaled through her mouth, she nodded. There was no point delaying. They had to complete the ceremony quickly or the time would run out and she would have to journey to the Immortal Tree and try to reclaim the power by herself, without the aid of her priestesses.
If Bain didn’t slaughter them all first.
High Priestess Teca and the other six priestesses chosen for the ceremony immediately took their places around the circle. The priestesses all joined hands and began to intone something in the old language, quietly at first, but gradually becoming louder and louder. Evelayn stared down at her mother’s shrouded figure as their voices rose up to the sky, filled the still air, and plunged deep into the earth.
At first there was nothing but their words and the silent forest. When Evelayn reached for her power, there was only emptiness.
But then she felt it. Something growing, building around them—humming through the grass beneath their feet, flying toward them on the wind, rising from her mother’s body beneath the white sheet. The priestesses’ voices grew strained, and Evelayn looked up to see Teca staring at her, her normally petal-pink eyes almost completely white. The power was flowing back into them, filling the priestesses’ bodies. They had to send it to her so it could be channeled through her conduit stone now. But rather than taking the next step, they were all frozen, staring at her, repeating the same phrase over and over.
Panic bubbled through Evelayn’s body, a rush of terror that slicked her hands with sweat. Something was wrong. She was supposed to do something to transfer the power, but she couldn’t remember what. Teca’s eyes widened—she looked like she was in pain.
“What should I do? What’s happening?” Evelayn stared in horror as a few of the priestesses began to tremble, their entire bodies shivering violently from the force of the power they had drawn upon. But, still, they didn’t let go of each other.
Out of sheer desperation, Evelayn seized the hands of the two priestesses closest to her—one on each side. The surge of power was instantaneous—and excruciating. Her entire body hummed with it, burned with it, expanded until she felt as though she would explode from the fire in her veins, in her bones and muscles and skin.
The conduit stone, some voice of reason whispered beneath the agony. Force it to the conduit stone.
But how? There was nothing but pain and blinding, all-consuming power. With this amount of power she could do anything. The world was hers to command—except that there was no controlling it. Instead, she would die. They would all die …
Bend it to your control. Force it to the conduit stone.
Evelayn couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink. But she could still think—she still had a will of her own, even though the unblocked flow of Light Power was threatening to take that from her as well, to erase her beneath its unimaginable force.
No. She fought back, visualizing her conduit stone, the oval diamond she’d been born with, embedded in her breastbone. Go, she pleaded as the pain escalated yet again. Go to the stone. That was what was supposed to happen. Why wasn’t it happening?
The two priestesses gripping her hands were shaking so hard they nearly threatened to toss her to the ground. If she couldn’t succeed soon, the power would burn them all up from the inside out. And it wasn’t working.
Terror raced through Evelayn’s veins alongside the unadulterated power. The voices from the Great Hall came back, and she realized they were right. She was too young, too inexperienced. She was going to fail.
You weren’t born to fail, my daughter. You were born to do what I couldn’t: to restore peace to Éadrolan—and to all of Lachalonia.
Her mother’s voice seemed to come from everywhere all at once. It was on the air, it echoed in her mind, it beat in her heart. It filled her, wrapping around Evelayn like the soft touch of morning sunshine, reaching her from beyond the separation of death, somehow, through the magic.
I know you can do this, Evie. I know it.
Only her mother had ever called her Evie. And just as she always had, Evelayn believed her. With every last ounce of strength and will she possessed, she concentrated on forcing the Light Power to the conduit stone. She managed to squeeze her eyes shut and clench her jaw against the irrepressible tide of power washing over and through her.
You are mine to command, and you will go to the stone! She spoke to the power as though it were a living thing, and suddenly, the stone in her breastbone burned white-hot against her skin as the power drained out of her body and began to flow through the conduit stone as it was supposed to.
With a cry that was half relief and half agony, Evelayn’s eyes flew open and she stumbled back a step, breaking her hold on the two priestesses’ hands. One crumpled to her knees on the ground, but the others remained standing, visibly shaken but still alive.
“You did it,” Teca spoke, her voice trembling, though her eyes had returned to their normal rose pink.
Evelayn couldn’t respond, letting her gaze drop to the white sheet on the ground instead. She still had one last task to complete to finalize the transfer of power to her stone. She had to call down the power of the sun to consume her mother’s body. Had she truly heard her voice a moment ago, or had it all been in her mind—a desperate subconscious effort not to fail?
“Quickly now, Your Majesty. The time is nearly up to complete the ceremony,” High Priestess Teca urged as she moved toward the priestess still on the ground, grabbing her elbow and assisting her back to her feet. They all backed away, leaving Evelayn plenty of space. “Remember, it will respond to your will, to your very thoughts, just as it always has. But now you have access to the entirety of the Light Power that exists in Lachalonia. You must be very careful not to draw too much or …”
Teca trailed off, but she didn’t have to finish her thought. Evelayn knew the consequences if she called upon too much power—she had just experienced the incomprehensible amount of magic she had access to and had nearly died trying to harness it into her stone. But she needed enough to make sure she finished the ceremony correctly. Oh why hadn’t they made her practice this, rather than shooting blasts of light at targets?
But then, she already knew the answer. Because only the queen of Éadrolan had access to this much power.
Evelayn closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, to the sunshine that warmed the earth and heated the breeze that ruffled her hair. She lifted her hands high above her head and took a deep breath.
Then she called down the sun.
There was a breathless pause when nothing happened … until, with a flash of heat, the power flowed out of the stone, up her raised arms, and out into the sky. There was so much. With a sound like the crack of thunder, a thick beam of blinding, scorching light exploded toward the earth, completely filling the circle of stones, taking her mother’s shrouded body from view.
Evelayn’s arms began to tremble from the force of holding the beam there without letting any more power come through the stone. But she didn’t want to let it go—not yet. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at the glowing white stones. The heat was almost unbearable. Evelayn could feel her hair singeing, and the wetness on her cheeks dried almost instantaneously.
“Your Highness, that’s enough!” She could vaguely hear Teca’s shout through the roaring of her blood in her ears and the thundering of the beam of sunshine she controlled. Evelayn wanted to ignore her, didn’t want to face what came after this, but she knew the High Priestess was right.
“Good-bye, Mama.” Evelayn whispered, even as her entire body began to shake from the effort of simultaneously holding on to the magic and holding it at bay. And then she released the power.
The beam immediately disappeared, revealing charred grass and nothing else. It was done. The Light Power had been reclaimed and was now entirely under Evelayn’s control.
And Queen Ilaria—her mother—was gone.
ANOTHER
GOBLET SHATTERED AGAINST THE STONES around the massive fireplace of the manor Bain had commandeered near the border of Éadrolan, but Lorcan didn’t so much as flinch. Blood-red wine dripped down to the floor, pooling where ashes of previous fires remained.
“How did this happen?” Bain roared.
A trio of servants huddled nervously in the corner of the room. Lorcan could scent their terror like fetid meat. Abarrane and Lothar were seated beside Lorcan at the table, where only a few pieces of their cutlery and one goblet remained. The rest of the dishes, along with their meal, were scattered around the room, broken into pieces.
They’d been midluncheon when they’d felt it. The flare of heat and the diminished force of their magic—Evelayn had apparently succeeded in reclaiming her power.
“It’s not possible.” His father spun and faced them, his stone flashing crimson in his forehead.
The blast of shadowflame came so suddenly that Lorcan barely managed to throw up a shield in time to deflect it, jumping out of his chair to face his father.
“Bain!” his mother shrieked, also jumping to her feet.
“You failed me.” Bain bared his teeth, his lip curling in a sneer.
“I did exactly as you instructed. You succeeded in killing Queen Ilaria. The plan succeeded.” Lorcan’s fingers twitched, his muscles tight in anticipation of his father’s next attack.
“She reclaimed her power! That is not success!” Another blast of shadowflame, but this time it exploded into the table, blasting it apart. Lorcan threw up another shield to protect himself from the debris.
The far door flung open, and Bain’s council hurried in, responding to the summons he’d immediately sent out. General Rednon, Maedre’s replacement, was first, followed by the others, General Caedmon entering last. Bain immediately went still, his fury masked—for the moment. But Lorcan saw Rednon’s eyes widen as he took in the destruction in the room.
“Do you feel that?” Bain asked, his voice deceptively calm. When no one answered, he barked, “General Rednon, I asked if you feel that!”
The general startled, his fire-orange eyes flying up to meet his king’s.
Run, Lorcan wanted to warn him. But there was no point. Running wouldn’t save him—it would just prolong what was coming. So instead, he watched silently as Rednon took a hesitant step forward.
“I’m not sure if I—”
“It got hotter a minute ago, wouldn’t you agree? And yet, there is no fire in the room. Why, exactly, do you think the temperature just rose … and my power waned?”
Rednon blanched.
“You said you would take care of her. You were supposed to keep this from happening.” Bain’s voice was a mere whisper, but it cut through the room like a sword.
Faster than the blink of an eye, the king shot writhing black cords of shadow to encircle Rednon’s body.
“Sire, I—”
The bindings tightened to cut off his words—and his air—so that his mouth merely opened and closed but no further sound came out.
“You failed me,” Bain snarled.
Lorcan watched with everyone else as Rednon turned red and then purple as he silently suffocated in front of them. The food Lorcan had managed to eat before the king’s outburst curdled in his stomach, but he stood stoically as his father murdered yet another Draíolon.
Finally, Bain released the cords and Rednon crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
“And now what?” The king looked past the dead general to the rest of his council. “Éadrolan has regained their power. The wards will be back up within the hour.”
There was only silence for a long moment, but then General Caedmon stepped forward. Lorcan barely hid his surprise. Caedmon had seemed smart enough to stay out of the focus as much as possible up until that point.
“Sire, if I may. I have an idea.”
Bain lifted his cold gaze to Caedmon’s disconcertingly pale eyes. “Indeed. Well, let’s hear it. And hope that you don’t join poor Rednon in his fate after failing me.”
Tanvir stood by the window until his legs cramped and his back ached, waiting and watching. The priestesses had returned and those gathered to mourn had already finished the feast prepared for them and begun to leave the castle to return to their homes in Solas or elsewhere. And still Evelayn had not returned.
He heard Lady Ceren approaching, but didn’t turn to acknowledge her.
“She still hasn’t come back?” Her question was quiet, hesitant.
“No.”
He hazarded a glance to see her watching him, her light blue eyes red-rimmed. This was Evelayn’s closest friend, her confidante, and really all that was left that could constitute family. “She’s been through a lot. Give her time.”
Tanvir’s eyebrows lifted. Did she know what had happened on the battlements? Of course she did; if there was anyone Evelayn would talk to, it would be Ceren.
“For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to try to protect her that way, even if she can’t see that yet.”
“Thank you,” Tanvir murmured as his gut twisted with guilt.
Ceren drew up beside him and turned to face the window, and he resumed his vigil. They were silent for a long time, watching the Draíolon come and go. But still no sign of the queen.
“I knew she could do it,” he finally spoke. “I knew she was strong enough to reclaim the power.”
“I believed in her, too,” Ceren agreed.
Tanvir’s gaze traveled over the thinning stream of Draíolon. Most who didn’t live at the castle had left, hurrying to beat the charcoal clouds that had formed on the horizon and now tumbled toward them from the west, heavy with rain. “I think her people were sad she didn’t come back to celebrate regaining their power with them.”
“Would you have felt like celebrating today—even if you had brought back power to your kingdom?” Ceren glanced up at him again.
“No.”
“If I had to guess, I would say she’s probably at the Lake of Swans. That’s where she usually goes when she wants to be alone or when she’s upset.”
“She’ll be soaked if she stays out in this storm. It’s not safe.”
Ceren turned toward him and waited until he looked down at her once more. “She’ll come to us when she’s ready.” She placed one hand on his arm, a gentle touch to let him know she understood. And then, with a final glance out the window, Ceren curtsied to him. “Good evening, Lord Tanvir. And remember, be patient.”
He bowed and watched her go before turning back to the window, just as the first few droplets of rain splattered against the glass, running down the pane like tears.
CEREN ABSENTLY CUT UP THE MANGO SLICES ON HER plate, but the majority of her focus was on Evelayn, sitting at the head of the table, her dinner untouched. Ceren still wasn’t used to seeing her closest friend’s white-blonde hair intricately woven around the diamond-studded diadem Queen Ilaria had always worn. Her mourning dress was gauzy, silver and white, symbolizing the deceased’s entrance into eternal rest in the world beyond this, a place of light and beauty. Evelayn was stunning—even pale and grieving, with dark bruises beneath her violet eyes. In fact, every time Ceren glanced across the table at Lord Tanvir, his gaze was on the new queen, his expression a mix of longing, regret, and concern. But Evelayn was oblivious, staring down at her plate, pushing the fruit and delicate pastries around her plate with her fork, never taking a bite.
“What is she going to do?” the Draíolon with mulberry-colored hair seated next to Ceren whispered to her, pulling Ceren’s attention away from Tanvir and Evelayn. “King Bain won’t wait much longer to launch a full-scale attack against us—mark my words.”
“He wouldn’t dare—his army sustained heavy losses before Queen Ilaria was killed and it’s the middle of summer. He knows that even with a new monarch, we are in the height of our power right now. She completed the ceremony, didn’t she? We got our magic back. Maybe she’ll surprise us,” the man argued, his
voice similarly hushed.
But Ceren could hear them perfectly from her seat, and she was sure others could as well. Evelayn was too far away, but Ceren knew the new queen was aware of the murmurs, the fears and concerns swirling around the Light court. It had only been a handful of days since Evelayn had completed the ceremony, but already her people were restless, wanting to know what was next. Wanting reassurance that their new queen was going to be able to defend them from the threat to the north.
“You’ve barely touched your food, Lady Ceren.”
Ceren started and turned to look at the Draíolon on her left side. He had pale blond hair—not quite as white as Evelayn’s, but close—and eyes the emerald green of grass in the full lushness of summer. “Have we met?” Why did he know her name? If she’d seen him before, she could have sworn she’d remember.
“I’m afraid not. I’ve been on the front lines of the war for five years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged. “It was my duty. I’m just grateful to have made it back home, especially when I find myself in such lovely company.”
Ceren hoped he didn’t notice the rising color in her cheeks, even though she thrilled at his compliment. How old was he, anyway? He had no lines on his face yet, so he was definitely still in his early prime—most likely under a hundred. But his eyes were haunted, not those of a youngling, either. Whoever he was, as soon as he realized she had only reached maturity six months ago, he would probably bid her a quick farewell and never seek out her conversation again. So she might as well enjoy it now, she reasoned. “Do you have a name? Or do you wish me to guess it?”
“Though it might prove entertaining indeed to have you try and guess, I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am Quinlen, of the House of Teslar. Perhaps you have heard of my father, Lord Teslar?”