There was only one place he could have learned what he claimed. “You’ve been to the Village of Night?” She pulled her hands back. “You’ve been lying about not knowing how to get there?”
“I have been to the Village of the Night, the place of the seers, but last time I came from the north and I came with a guide. I could not be certain I could find my way from the east in the time you needed. But,” he continued quickly, “my time there was well spent. I learned you must give yourself entirely to your emotions. The more you feel, the more power the wind will have when it strikes.”
She remembered the surge of joy that ran through her when the man was torn apart by the wind. The whispers grew louder—yearning for her to release them again. Looking into Garret’s face, with his eyes shining with excitement, she realized a small, terrible part of her wanted to give in. She wanted to feel that power, to let the world see the hurt she could inflict on those who wished her harm.
The trees around her rustled.
Fear and anger and bitterness and desire for revenge churned. The wind swirled in her mind. She saw the Hall of Virtues—her brother seated upon the throne. The air gusted in the Hall. The crown flew from her brother’s head as his neck snapped.
“No. I can’t.” She shook her head. This wasn’t what she wanted.
Was it?
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Garret insisted. “I am here to guide you. Together we will reclaim your throne and you will become the most powerful Queen Eden has known.”
His voice rang with conviction that spoke to something deep inside her. The Council would listen to Garret. He would help her pave the way to taking back her kingdom. He would help her destroy her enemies.
“Andreus betrayed you, but I never will.” Garret reached out his hand. “There is power in being needed by someone who appears to need no one. That is the power that I have sought all my life. You will stand for the kingdom and I will stand for you.”
The wind swirled as she stepped forward and reached out to take Garret’s hand in hers. The Council would accept her with Garret at her side. He’d help her push the limits of her power and together . . .
Errik’s smile flashed in her mind and the air went still as she pulled back her hand. “I can’t.”
Garret’s eyes narrowed. “Is it because of him?” he demanded. “Errik? Because you have feelings for him?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.
“Errik betrayed you. He took Larkin—your closest friend. Right now, he could be using her against you, and when he and the Bastians are done, they will kill her. And yet you still trust him over me?”
“No.” She didn’t. Garret was right. Errik had betrayed her. He had taken Larkin in the middle of the night with no explanation. He didn’t deserve her trust. But Garret seemed to. His eyes were hot on hers as she said, “I am trying. I simply need time.”
Garret looked off in the distance, beyond the trees and nodded. “We will ride to the Village of Night. We will get the information you seek, and I promise that by the time we get back to the Palace of Winds, you will trust me.” He held up the book. “And then, we will be unstoppable.”
Unstoppable.
She didn’t need his assistance, but Garret held her horse steady as she mounted, and stayed close to her side as they rode through the trees to the southwest. Garret’s final words echoed in her mind, mixing with the ever-present whispers of the wind and the emotions that were so quick to bubble to the surface now.
The Tears of Midnight had dampened her emotions. Now, each time anger flared, Carys wanted to lose herself in her rage’s white-hot embrace. Just as she used to lose herself in the Tears of Midnight. Perhaps that was the reason she could not trust herself to surrender to the emotions inside her and to Garret’s need for her trust.
Trust Garret? Trust Errik? After her brother’s betrayal, trusting anyone seemed a fool’s errand.
She thought of Andreus, and the murmur of the wind grew inside her head. He had needed her. He had taken her entire life and she had given it to him because his life was just as important to her as her own.
Had he ever felt the same?
She had believed he had. Each time he teased her from a bad mood or stood up for her when their mother was harsh, Carys had felt the tie between them strengthen. Yet at the first real test of his love, Andreus snapped the connection between them. They were no longer reflections of each other. He wanted to shine on his own.
The wind howled around her. The anger that always seemed to be smoldering burst into flame. The wind called for her to unleash everything she’d always had to keep buried inside.
Garret wanted her to give in to that anger—to be a weapon.
But her mother had said she was meant to be a shield.
Deep inside, she feared that without her twin she was nothing.
She refused to be nothing.
They reached the stream the blacksmith had directed Garret to look for and headed west toward what had for hundreds of years been the home and training grounds for the Guild of the seers. Carys could feel Garret’s resolve strengthen as they rode toward a small hill in the distance. It grew taller with each step the horses took. Anxiety and anticipation churned—the wind grew louder with every passing league.
They reached and rode around a tall stone wall that circled the hill. Another wall like the one around Garden City.
“The blacksmith said if we follow the wall, we will eventually come to the entryway,” Garret said.
A bell chimed from somewhere in the dark. It sounded as if it was coming from atop the hill.
They were here. Finally she would get the answers about Imogen she craved, and those about herself that she feared.
Carys thought she could hear muted voices as they rode through the night. Finally, she spotted a stone archway emerging from the shadows and pointed. Garret nodded and they walked their horses toward it. Carys pulled her hood up and sank into the folds of her cloak. There were no torches to light the way or mark the entrance, but as soon as they rode under the arch, several people dressed all in white stepped out of the shadows.
“My Lords, welcome to the Village of Night.” A dark-haired woman in a white cloak walked toward them, the bottom of her dress fluttering in the chilled breeze. “All who seek are welcome, but weapons are not allowed beyond this point. If you wish to enter, you must leave your steel and bows here along with your horses where the guardians will see they are safe and well-tended until your time of seeking has come to an end.”
Garret looked at her, his eyebrow raised in question. Surrendering their weapons was the last thing she wanted to do, but she also could not protest without revealing that she was not a lord, but a lady. Nodding to Garret, Carys pulled the bow and quiver of arrows from her pack, slid down to the ground, and silently handed them to the woman. Garret sighed, dismounted, and followed suit by passing over his long sword with a frown. The small man who took the weapon seemed unfazed by the weight.
Carys reached into her pack and pulled out a knife she took from the deserting soldiers but did not reach for her stilettos.
“Without our weapons, we will not be able to defend ourselves if there is an attack,” Garret said.
“If you do not intend harm, harm will not befall you,” a broad-shouldered man said. “What do you seek inside these gates?”
“Understanding,” Garret said smoothly so Carys would not have to answer.
“Understanding is not easily come by. It can only be found when the heart and the mind are willing to surrender to truth.” The woman smiled. “The calling ceremony has just ended. If you follow the path up the hill to the stone circle at the top you will find food and maybe, my Lords . . .” She paused and turned to Carys. “You will also find the understanding that you seek.”
She knew. How long before everyone realized exactly who she was? The seers were supposed to see the future in the stars. Had they seen her arrival? Did they know what was still to come? Could th
ey really help her defeat those who would tear her brother and the rest of Eden down?
They followed the dirt path as it wound through what appeared to be small, squat, lifeless dwellings until they reached the base of the hillside. There the path began to glow with a pale, ghostly green light.
“Fungus,” Carys whispered. The entire path was lined with mushrooms that gave off the faint, otherworldly glow. The light cast by the mushrooms wasn’t bright, but enough to help guide her steps as they climbed the path to the stone circle atop the hill.
Several villagers dressed in white cloaks were coming out of the circle as they reached the top and stepped through the archway into what looked to be a feast. Mushrooms glowed here in the large stone space. Stars winked from the sky above, and everywhere there were men and women dressed in white eating food from the tables in the center of the circle and talking in hushed voices.
Heads turned their way. One by one conversation in the circle stopped and everything went quiet. Carys looked for Larkin, hoping her friend had made it here. She saw someone move near the side of the wall. Thought she saw a flash of Larkin’s dark hair before a man with a beard approached. He lowered his hood, and the moonlight gleamed off his scalp as he nodded to her and Garret. “Welcome to the Village of Night. We have been expecting you.”
“Did you see our arrival in the stars?” Carys asked.
“The stars didn’t tell them you would be coming,” a voice snapped from behind her.
Carys spun around.
Several men wearing mail shirts and the familiar blue-and-yellow cloaks that marked them as members of Eden’s guard had come to stand in the archway blocking any escape. Captain Monteros, head of Eden’s guard, strode through the crowd in front of them.
Smiling at Carys, he placed his hand on the pommel of his sword—a sword he wasn’t supposed to be carrying in the Village of Night. “The stars had no idea you were coming. But I did.”
10
Andreus closed the door to his rooms behind him, stumbled, and fell to his knees. Without the inadvertent support of his female companions who were currently waiting for him in the Hall of Virtues, he had barely made it on his injured leg back to his rooms.
Max jumped out of a chair near the fire and bolted toward Andreus. “The Xhelozi! Did they attack? Should I get Madame Jillian? I know you don’t want me to be in the palace halls, but I can be quick. I promise.”
For the past several days since Max had been thrown over the battlements, Andreus had insisted that Max stay confined to these rooms. Something Max had complained about before Andreus went on the tour of the lights.
“No, Max,” Andreus said between clenched teeth. He sat on the ground and stretched his injured leg out in front of him. He forced himself to take several low breaths to ease the tightening of his chest. “The lights are all working. I put too much stress on my leg before it was healed,” he said, careful not to mention how he had stressed it. Max was spirited and loyal, but he couldn’t keep a secret no matter how hard he tried. “And let’s not bother Madame Jillian. You know how she gets when she learns one of her patients has disobeyed her instructions.”
Max nodded with vigor. “When Madame Jillian is mad, she’s the doom.”
“After dealing with the Council, I’ve had enough doom for one day.” Andreus forced a smile. Sweat dripped down his back. His heart beat hard. He needed time alone, but the thought of sending Max out of his rooms to roam the palace halls gripped Andreus’s stomach.
Andreus was almost certain Max was attacked as a diversion. Someone had simply needed to escape the battlements without anyone learning of his identity, and Max had gotten in his way.
He looked at the boy—his large brown eyes. His unruly curls that had grown long and tangled since the time Andreus had found him—dying on a patch of dirt. He’d seen himself in the boy, and what he might have been had his sister not done everything to shield his own curse from the world.
Unfortunately, Andreus didn’t have the luxury of shielding Max the way Carys had shielded him. Not anymore. As King, he had to allow those who served him to take the risks he could not, and Max was one ally that Andreus was certain could be trusted.
Pulling the knife from his belt, Andreus held it out to Max and said, “I need you to go to the Queen’s rooms and speak to Chamberlain Oben. Ask him for some of my mother’s special tea.” It would relax Andreus’s muscles and dull a bit of the pain. “Bring it back here. Once you have done that, I want you to find Graylem. He said he was assigned to the stables tonight. Show my seal to his captain then bring Graylem back here with you. Keep to the servants’ hallways whenever possible, and do not hesitate to use this knife if you think you are in danger.”
“Yes, King Andreus!” With wide, excited eyes, Max took the dagger from Andreus, gave a hasty bow, and bolted toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
Andreus was counting on that.
As soon as the door closed behind the boy, Andreus gritted his teeth. He pushed himself up to his feet, taking care to keep most of the weight off his leg. He limped to the washbasin in the bedroom, unfastened his pants, and sat down to study how badly he had reinjured the wound.
The cagelike brace Madame Jillian had directed the castle blacksmith to fashion for him had broken in several places. It must have happened when he jumped from the wall into the cart of hay. Two metal strips that were supposed to help provide support when Andreus walked had snapped and scraped deep gashes beneath his knee.
The good news was that only one of the healing wounds made by the Xhelozi claws had reopened. Blood and a milky-white ooze were weeping from the injury.
He removed the brace and tossed it into the corner. Then he carefully cleaned away the blood from his leg and tightly wound a cloth bandage around the wounds. His leg still throbbed, but it was better, and with the cane Madame Jillian had instructed him to use just after the end of the Trials, he was able to wash. He changed into fitted brown trousers and a deep blue shirt with gold embroidery on the high collar and tight cuffs. By the time Max returned with the pot of the Queen’s tea and Graylem, Andreus had firmed up the plan he’d concocted on the ride back to the Palace of Winds.
“There are clothes laid out for you. Change into them and leave your uniform on the wooden chest at the foot of the bed,” Andreus instructed Graylem. The guard’s face looked pale and his eyes fearful as he hovered near the door as still as a statue.
“Did you hear me?” Andreus asked.
Graylem swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Then he hurried across the room, tripping twice on the carpet.
“Max,” Andreus said, taking the pot of his mother’s brew from the boy. “Could you help him before he hurts himself?”
Max grinned and bolted across the room to where Graylem was struggling to unfasten his breastplate. The guard’s actions weren’t exactly inspiring confidence in his abilities to help carry out Andreus’s plan. But Andreus only had to look at Max to remember the guard’s quick reflexes and strong grip on the battlements. They had saved the boy’s life.
The guard might be untried, but underneath the shaking hands and freckled face were nerves of steel. Andreus just hoped they would show themselves again tonight.
As Max helped the guard into black trousers that were an inch too short in the legs and a bit baggy in the waist, Andreus limped to the serving table and poured his mother’s tea into an ale stein. The familiar brew smelled of mint and lemon and tasted flowery with a hint of bitterness. He downed the entire mug and poured himself another. The drink would dull his reflexes a bit, but it was a risk he was going to shoulder since it was the only way to take advantage of the events of the day. And it was unlikely that those who killed his brother and father would wait for him to feel better before striking again.
The more time that passed, the more he was certain his enemies would strike soon. Unless he struck them first.
He downed the last of his mother’s tea, rolled out his shou
lders, and bent his knees. From experience he knew the tea would continue to work its magic for the next hour or two, smoothing the edges off his pain and the anger that was simmering deep in his gut.
“You have to let me brush your hair,” Max complained, and Andreus turned to see the boy standing on the four-poster bed attacking Graylem’s golden, almost orange hair with fervor.
“He looks fine,” Andreus said, gaining a weak smile of gratitude from his unwitting ally. In the crisp white silk shirt and velvet, midnight blue vest, Graylem looked like a member of the court. “No one will mistake him for a guardsman in his current attire. You did a great job, Max.”
Max frowned at the brush, then shrugged and gave Andreus a grin. “Can I have an apple tart?”
“You can have one after Graylem and I finish entertaining our guests for the night,” Andreus agreed. “I want you to run one errand for me once we leave and then you need to stay out of sight until I return.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Max sighed, but he paid rapt attention to Andreus’s instructions before asking, “If I do well, can I have two apple tarts?”
“Graylem,” Andreus said, flexing his knees. “Let’s go.”
Andreus led Graylem into a narrow servants’ hallway lit by only a single torch and quietly said, “I am counting on the loyalty you spoke of.”
“Of course I’m loyal, Your Majesty,” Graylem stammered. “I have taken an oath to protect . . .”
“Oaths are easily broken,” Andreus said. “All members of the Council of Elders had taken an oath of fealty to my father and look how well that worked out. You claimed to be loyal to my sister.”
Graylem straightened his spine. “I was loyal to her, Your Majesty. Just as she was loyal to you.”