And my half-brother, Ansar, the Archduke of Kilivel, is one of them. He might be Valdon Duthriss’s son, but he’s also consort Leticia Talavarra’s firstborn. If Ansar’s learned anything at all, he’ll be trying to seize power in whatever way he can.
In addition to being the emperor’s son, through his mother he’s a descendant of one of the most powerful families in Rahava—the Talavarras.
It’s a significant advantage to hold.
Ansar has the full weight of the Talavarras behind him. As soon as my father shows the first sign of weakness, they’ll make their move.
If I were a betting man, I'd wager half my fortune that Ansar and the Talavarras are connected to these attacks on my castle. A ploy is afoot. They're trying to weaken me; distract me. I've already renounced my claim to the throne, but I know that many in the court still feel threatened by my existence.
After all, they think I'm mad.
I could return to Lukiria at any time, right? I could change my mind… and father would embrace me.
They can't have that.
What a boon it would be for them to have one of their own as emperor. The Talavarras crave power as much as I crave blood.
But I’m not afraid of them; not even of the patriarch himself. Duke Rhaegar Talavarra is a seasoned commander and one of the most powerful men in the nation. He cultivates a benevolent persona in public, but he's vicious and cunning, and I'm more than certain he's behind several of the assassination attempts on my father.
Rhaegar might be a war veteran, but he hasn’t seen or done what I have.
And I know how to quash dissent.
Unable to help myself, I press my lips against Finley's neck, kissing her through layers of fabric. Thank the Goddess for that, otherwise I would have bitten her again. She's exquisite. Fragile yet strong. Impressively composed, yet brimming with untapped potential.
She's mine.
An odd and wicked thought occurs to me as I hold her tightly and leap off the precipice. If, by sending her to me, father's aim was to convince me to take back what is rightfully mine, then he has almost succeeded.
38
FINLEY
When we reach the castle, there are soldiers everywhere.
They work with silent, practised efficiency, like a well-oiled machine.
They’re in the forest. They’re outside the castle, defending the walls and the outer grounds.
They’re in the courtyard, setting up war-machines.
I saw everything from above as Corvan leapt over the castle walls. The enemy were men in what look like official imperial uniforms.
But there was something strange about them.
Something different. I didn’t get a good enough glimpse to be able to put my finger on it.
“What is going on?”
We land in the central courtyard, Corvan not even making a sound as his feet hit the cold, hard flagstones.
How does he do that? I’ll never get used to it.
“Corvan, why are they fighting? And why are the enemy wearing military uniforms?”
He turns to me, unwrapping his scarf. The sun has dipped behind the mountains now, shrouding the courtyard in shadow. There’s no need for him to hide from the harsh light anymore.
In the distance, I hear the horses whinny, fear in their shrill voices.
Corvan’s expression is colder than I’ve ever seen it, but I know it isn’t directed at me. “They’re undead, Finley.”
Undead.
My shocked mind fails to comprehend his words.
“H-how?”
“I don’t know. Looks like they’re coming out of the woods. Let’s get you inside.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll take care of the enemy myself. You’ll be safe here. They aren’t going to breach the castle walls.”
I stare at him in disbelief. This is really happening. An attack on Tyron Castle. “Is this somehow related to me being here?”
“There’s no point in fretting about that. Please, go inside. Go to your brothers and reassure them. I know what lads their age are like. Next thing you know, they’ll be wanting to armor up so they can go out there and fight.”
“Not on my watch.”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek; a sweet, gentle gesture that contrasts with his fearsome expression. “That’s more like it. It might be a long night, but we’ll get them all.”
Part of me wants to tell him to hell with it. Just let me bite you; taste you. Break this seal once and for all.
If I had power, I could help.
But that’s ridiculous. I can’t risk unlocking some wild, untamed magic within me.
When the Khaturian shaman touched my hand, for a moment, I felt it.
I heard the voices. I felt power rippling through my veins, trying so desperately to come to the surface.
And I was afraid.
Corvan was right. It wasn’t the time to do anything rash.
“Be safe,” I say instead, touching the side of his face. His skin is inhumanly smooth, but warm. “Even you should be cautious.”
“I know, Finley.” He captures my hand and presses his lips against it, grazing over my knuckles. “The only thing that makes me cautious is the thought of coming back to you.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me in the deepening chill.
39
FINLEY
There’s a guard stationed at the entrance to the guest wing. He’s big and intimidating, with a grizzled face and bulging arms and black hair bound in long braids. Half-Vikurian, by the looks of it. He wears black leather armor and a menacing scowl. A large halberd is held upright.
Standing as still as a statue, he doesn’t move one bit as I approach.
“My lady,” he says, his voice deep and rumbling. “You may enter, but the lads are not to leave until the danger has passed. Try and talk some sense into them, won’t you?”
My eyes narrow. “They’re being detained here? That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“An undead horde is attacking the castle. Someone thinks it’s a good idea to go out and fight. Maybe you can understand why we aren’t letting them go anywhere. Especially the injured one.”
I sigh. The guard’s position is perfectly sensible. My brothers and Garan can be hotheaded at times. “I suppose nobody’s really explained the situation to them.”
“We’re at war. This isn’t a picnic.” He tips his halberd to the side, allowing me to pass. “Although now that His Highness is back, I’d expect it’ll all be dealt with pretty quickly.”
“You don’t seem particularly fazed that there are undead monsters outside these walls.”
The guard smiles, flashing perfectly straight white teeth. “Compared to what we dealt with in the Northern War, this is nothing.”
I make my way past, reaching Kastel and Garan’s room. Aderick’s room is separate; the next one down.
I knock.
“Who is it?” It’s Garan, sounding tense and hostile.
“Just me.”
The door opens immediately.
“Finley!” The lad gestures for me to enter. “Where the hell have you been? We were worried sick for you.”
“I’m fine,” I say mildly, thinking about everything that’s happened in the last day.
Going up into the mountains with Corvan. Seeing things that no ordinary Rahavan would ever witness in their lifetime. Meeting the enigmatic Khaturians. The feeling of magic snapping through my veins, yearning for release from the seal inside my body.