He’s cold and emotionless. As if he were carved from the marble itself.
“Oh, Corvan,” I say, my heart aching for him. “How can you tell?”
His eyes soften as he looks at me. He taps the side of his nose, then points toward his ear. “I can tell. Too many signs. The senses are too acute. I know what death smells like.”
Still, he doesn’t betray any grief or sadness.
“What will you do?”
His pale lips curve into a cold smile. “As a son, I should see him one last time. As his son, I should rip those secrets from him once and for all, before he takes them to the grave. Don’t stray from my side, Finley. I need you now more than ever.”
It’s then that his facade cracks, just a little. I see it in his eyes; the barely restrained emotion. As if the smallest thing could cause him to break.
I curl my fingers around his. Although he’s wearing gloves, I can feel his warmth; the way he trembles ever so slightly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Corvan.”
Now it’s my turn to lead him. Hand in hand, we walk down the silent corridors until we reach a pair of golden doors. They’re magnificently inlaid with the Imperial Crest—a pair of fierce looking golden phoenixes wearing crowns, staring fiercely at one another as if they’re about to tear each other’s throats out.
“No guards,” Corvan murmurs in surprise. “That means he’s been expecting us.”
He pushes the door open.
We walk through, into another corridor, where the floor is made from polished pale green stone.
“The outer circle,” Corvan says wryly. “We go round and round. Next, we’ll see the first of three gardens.”
And so we walk, and the corridor curves gently around, taking us in a half-circle. At the end is another set of doors. This time, they’re made of gleaming dark wood.
At the sight of the wood, my inner dryad breathes a sigh of relief.
My fingers tingle. The wood is drawing me to it, begging for release. I try and get it to come toward me, but nothing happens.
It’s as if there’s a lock, and I have the key, but I can’t get it to slide in, or turn.
So frustrating. I just want to be able to do something.
But the doors aren’t the most imposing thing about this entrance.
For the first time, there’s somebody else.
A pair of guards stand at the entrance, clad in full armor and bearing menacing looking halberds. Large swords hang in sheaths at their waists. Their armor is made of black metal, but it looks light and sleek.
These men are huge. Bigger and taller than even Corvan, and he’s a big boy to begin with.
Undeterred, he releases my hand and walks right up to them.
To my surprise, both guards remove their helms and bow deeply.
Formidable, imperious, Corvan stops and regards them.
His aura washes over me, and for the first time, I get a sense of how intimidating he can really be.
Because he’s sizing up these guards, deciding whether or not their act of respect is genuine, and if they try anything stupid…
Goddess help them.
But the guards don’t seem to be hostile at all.
“Your Highness.” The one on the left, a man with intense blue eyes and a big rust-colored beard, bows again, his demeanor solemn. “His Majesty has been expecting you.”
“How long has he been like this?” Corvan’s voice is taut with barely restrained anger. I want to go to him, but I sense that he needs to face this alone.
It strikes me that Corvan didn’t know his father was dying.
Nobody told him.
The guard lowers his eyes. “Can’t say, Your Highness. He ordered us to keep it quiet. Nobody but his inner circle and the Elite Guard know of it.”
Corvan lets out a soft sigh; part exasperation, part despair. “He’s in his personal chambers?”
“Aye. You’ll find him in his bedchambers. Please, go on right through, Your Highness.” This massive guard, so hard and dangerous, is suddenly gentle. “There’ll be no resistance from us None at all.”
Corvan inclines his head in acknowledgment. “And if you swear fealty to me, I won’t hold you accountable for the sins of his rule.”
Then he turns to me, holding out his hand.
I take it without asking, feeling reassured by his strong, warm grip, even though I’m the one that should be doing the reassuring.
The guards give me a passing glance, but they stop short of scrutinizing me. I sense it’s out of respect and deference for Corvan.
How surprising. I’d always thought the people in the capital would be hostile to him, but that isn’t the case at all.
I take his hand. We pass through the first entrance. Once we’re out of earshot of the guards, I look up at him. “Those men have a lot of respect for you.”
He shrugs. “The Elite Guard know me well. For a time, I was overseeing their training.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your father.”
Corvan squeezes my hand. “It’s okay, Finley. I was expecting it. He’s seen seventy-two summers. A considerable age. He’s been fortunate to live this long, considering who he is. Most of my ancestors were lucky to reach even half his years.”
I fall silent. It never occurred to me that carrying the Duthriss name would be so fraught with danger.
But Corvan won’t have that problem.
Who could kill him now?
“My father’s no saint either,” Corvan says quietly. “He’s inflicted his share of good and evil upon the world.”
“Nobody’s just one or the other,” I say softly, as the promise of power prickles the back of my awareness. How sweet it would be if I could just make everything go away. “But maybe for some, there can be redemption.”
He stops and leans in to kiss me. His lips are warm, his kisses tender and filled with need.
“Perhaps,” he whispers, before taking my hand and leading me the rest of the way, right into the innermost sanctum of the most fortified place in the entire continent.
51
CORVAN
My father’s chambers are at the very heart of the Inner Sanctum. Surrounded by windows on all sides, they’re a light-filled space looking out upon lush, delicately manicured gardens.
It’s also one of the most heavily fortified places in all of Rahava, with Elite Guards stationed within each of the Seven Circles, and elaborate hidden traps built into every layer.
The second last ring of the Inner Sanctum is his personal library, where he keeps the most precious and forbidden texts—rare books on distant lands beyond the borders of the empire; on the topic of forbidden magic. Some of those books are the only remaining copies in existence.
He’s ordered all the others to be destroyed.
How much knowledge has been lost from the empire, all because of my father’s pathological need for control?
This place is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. As a child, I played alone in these chambers, running down the empty corridors under the watchful eyes of the Elite Guard. I remember staring at my own reflection in the windows, daring myself to race, imagining that boy was another child—a brother, or a cousin.
Ansar was rarely allowed in here. We’re ten years apart—by the time he was old enough to run around, I’d been sent to the Military Academy.