It’s flat and wide and rectangular, and it’s the size of at least a hundred Ruen Castles combined. The walls are made from pale sandstone. Tall columns rise on all sides, forming elegant arches between one another.
That’s the Lukirian palace.
The seat of all power in the empire.
The jewel in the crown that Corvan was supposed to inherit.
The palace. The vast city. The lands and the rivers and the people.
All of this was supposed to be under his command.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. The man holding me against him with such gentleness… this sweet, clever, man, who tries to be righteous in the face of all that he is…
He willingly gave up all of this, without even a hint of regret or bitterness.
It’s almost as if he didn’t want it in the first place.
“It’s bigger than I’d imagined,” I say softly, the gentle breeze stealing my words away. I’m a little breathless. A little stunned. My world is expanding at blinding speed. It feels like my mind’s about to explode.
“Annoyingly big,” Corvan grumbles. “Takes half a morning to walk from one end to the other. But that also makes it easier to infiltrate. We’ll go in through one of the underground tunnels. Through the sewers. I apologize in advance for the inconvenience, but I promise you won’t get wet.”
“Stop apologizing, Corvan.” I squirm in his arms. He relents, setting me on my feet. “I’d rather traipse through the sewers than have you carve a path of blood overland.”
“We’ll come up through the dungeons. Nobody will expect it. It’s the middle of the night, after all. From there, we must pass through seven rings of security. My father’s chambers are in the innermost sanctum of the palace. That part will get bloody, but as you know, I move very fast, so it’ll be over before you know it.”
My blood runs cold, but I steel myself. This is necessary. If he doesn’t strike at the heart of the matter, the attacks on Tyron will continue, and I won’t get any closer to finding my mother. I need to stand beside Corvan at all costs. It can’t be easy for him. He’s returning to the place where he grew up, and he’s resolved to become an instrument of death if he has to.
I suspect he doesn’t know the full limits of his power.
Regardless, I can’t just stand back and watch.
“I feel like I should have something… a weapon of some sort.”
Corvan turns to me, his eyes glowing faintly. He looks both hungry and controlled. A flutter of desire stirs within me.
The mysterious power in my veins reacts to his very presence, filling me with effervescent energy.
How I wish I could control it. I’d spare him all of this pain.
“I will not allow the blood of men to sully your hands for my sake,” he says softly, his tone both dangerous and comforting. “No matter what happens, just stay close to me. Whatever strength I need, I’ll take from you.”
Then he leans in and kisses me, and whatever stray thought had crept into my mind; whatever fear, or doubt, or worry…
They’re all snatched away by his inevitable force.
50
FINLEY
And that’s how we found ourselves walking down the marble halls of the Imperial Palace in Lukiria at a leisurely pace.
It happened faster than I could have imagined. Corvan stole through the streets; through the foul sewers and the oppressive dungeons. All the while, he carried me, never once letting the dirt touch my boots.
It’s absurd that he just carries me around like this.
In a vain attempt to preserve my dignity, I offered some feeble attempt at a protest, but he was insistent, as I knew he would be, and what am I supposed to do against an unstoppable force of nature, who bends the fabric of time itself so that we’re moving through it at the speed of light itself?
We shot through the sewers and made our way through a maze of iron gates and grilles and massive stone doors. When they were locked, Corvan simply tore metal apart with his bare hands.
I knew he was strong, but I didn’t realize he was that strong.
When we encountered guards—dozens of them, stationed to guard even this narrow, dank, entrance—he simply became a blur and rendered them unconscious before they knew what was happening.
He’s that fast.
Several times, he even caught a crossbow bolt, plucking the damn thing out of the air, his vision perfectly sharp in the shadows.
Soon, we found ourselves in the dungeons amongst filth and misery, passing cells with wretched prisoners inside; some displaying signs of torture—poorly bandaged wounds and naked terror in their eyes.
And once again, Corvan left my side several times, disappearing into thin air. Bodies fell to the floor. Not dead, just unconscious, he reassured me. He doesn’t want to kill, even though it would probably be easier.
He cleared the dungeons with ease, before leading me up many narrow flights of stairs, through dark corridors and hidden passageways, past the servants’ quarters, where the palace staff are still asleep in their beds…
Through kitchens and bathhouses. Past cavernous offices and empty chambers that echo with the sound of my footsteps. Everything vast and grand. Everything made from white and grey marble.
There’s something cold and sterile about this place. The absence of anything organic—even wood—makes me feel slightly nauseous.
I try to imagine Corvan as a child, walking along these vast corridors. There’s no warmth here. It feels like they’ve tried to recreate someone’s vision of heaven—only, it’s empty.
Growing up, was he lonely, or was he always surrounded by people? Did he have friends, or was he waited on hand and foot by the ones that served him?
Moving through the empty space, imaginary ghosts of the past flit through my mind.
In this part of the palace, there are no guards, no servants, no administrators or nobleborn lords and ladies.
There’s just the gas lamps, glowing mutedly in their sconces.
The floor is polished to a high sheen. It gleams brightly under the golden light. It reminds me of ice—dangerous and slippery.
And moonlight filters in through the tall windows, reminding me that the depths of the night are upon us.
I feel a terrible sense of unease. It’s far too quiet. And the magic inside me—the dryad side of me—shrivels and recoils from the energy in this place.
“Are you all right, Finley?” Ever perceptive, Corvan must have noticed something.
“I don’t like this place,” I whisper. “It feels malevolent.”
“I never liked it either,” he admits quietly. “For many reasons. But it’s just a building. Built in my father’s time. And he’s just a man.”
Suddenly, Corvan stops. He wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me close. “The worst is about to come, but it’ll be over soon,” he whispers, his warm breath grazing my ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps across my arms. “I think my father’s at death’s door. This is his last chance to rage against the inevitable.”
I freeze, taken aback by the surrealness of his words.
Valdon Duthriss is… dying?
This is the emperor we’re talking about. Corvan’s father. And there’s no trace of sadness in his voice.
I glance up at him.