Still, I keep pressure on Rhaegar’s neck. The old duke tries to shake his head, but he can’t move for fear the edge of my blade will bite him.
“Very well.” Ansar rises from his seat. “Let my grandfather go, and I’ll take you to her.”
“Deal.” I sheath my sword and release Rhaegar. The old man loses balance and stumbles, falling to his knees. A hiss of pain escapes him. “Lead the way, dear brother. And remember that if you try anything stupid, your head will be separated from your neck before you realize it.”
In response, Ansar holds up his hands, showing me the red threads. “I don’t think you’d want to do that. Kill me before I release her life-thread, and the dryad’s as good as dead. Come with me, dear brother.”
Rhaegar and Leticia start to follow.
Ansar turns around and glares at them. “Only me. I’ll deal with him alone.”
“Ansar,” the old duke growls. “We shall join you. I insist. Corvan Duthriss is not to be underestimated.”
“And neither am I,” my brother snaps, his eyes widening. “I told you, it will be only me!”
All of a sudden, he’s shouting, and yet his mother and grandfather don’t look the least bit surprised—as if they’re used to this sort of thing.
And they’re a little bit afraid of him, it seems.
Interesting. Either Ansar is unhinged, or he’s a very good actor.
“Summon what’s left of your armies, grandfather,” Ansar snaps. “We will go down into the crypts, and you will seal the entrance behind us. Do not enter until I return. Or do you think I can’t handle this? Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to become strong?” He stalks back toward Rhaegar, his feet silent on the polished timber floor. He’s completely barefoot. “Careful, grandfather. I can see your life-thread.”
Rhaegar Talavarra stops dead in his tracks. “Don’t you fucking dare, boy.”
Leticia says nothing. She just looks at her son, and her expression is strange; a mixture of awe, fear, and pride.
Ansar just laughs. “Let’s go, vampyr-brother. I will take you to the dryad, and you will give me what I want.” He dances away on bare feet, leaving me with little choice but to follow.
And so I walk after him, because all this time, I’ve wanted nothing more than to be in the same room as Finley’s mother; to see her, to feel her presence, to know that she’s alive.
To be within reach of her.
I’ve seen the effect my magic has on Finley.
I can’t imagine what it would do to a full-blooded dryad.
In my experience, wars are won not just on strategy, but on faith and risks. A commander has to know the people around him.
I know that Finley and the Elite Guard will overcome the danger they face. Power seethes just beneath her gentle surface—before I left her, I could feel it.
She’s under the protection of the godlike ancient tree.
I know that Aralya loved her daughter enough to place a seal on her—hiding her true nature from the dangerous world. And she put a curse on Lucar Solisar so that he could never harm her.
I know that my mother never wanted to hurt Aralya, even though the dryad’s potent blood drove her to madness.
It’s her power that I’ve inherited.
The Talavarras think they know me.
They don’t.
Not one fucking bit.
And neither do I know this half-brother of mine, who leads me down the dais and across the hall, through a side-door and into a narrow corridor, his velvet robes flapping behind him as he walks faster and faster.
His hands glow crimson with magical threads.
His movements are filled with frantic energy; his steps almost seem gleeful.
The thought has crossed my mind time and time again—what if this is a trap; something even I can’t overcome?
But no; Aralya’s definitely here. Ansar wouldn’t have become so powerful otherwise, and I know my father wasn’t lying.
I just have to trust that this blood of mine—this gift—can do what it always does.
60
FINLEY
A fragile stillness hangs over the Inner Sanctum of Rahava’s Imperial Palace.
Corvan’s gone.
It feels strange.
Ever since I first encountered him, he’s been close by, whether it’s within the walls of Tyron Castle or at my very side.
The only time I lost him was when Captain Kinnivar, influenced by a necromancer, tried to abduct me, but in the end, Corvan came for me.
How strange that I, so used to being alone, could yearn for someone so deeply?
I’ve grown used to him. To knowing that he’s just a step and a breath away; to his powerful presence, his protection.
And now he’s gone, leaving me here in this lavish palace, surrounded by a unit of the most dangerous soldiers in the empire.
The emperor’s chambers have been sealed off. An embalmer is working on the corpse. Nobody is to go in or out, because Corvan doesn’t want anybody to know that Valdon Duthriss is dead.
Not until he’s dealt with his half-brother and the Talavarras.
He’s gone alone. Right into the maw of the beast.
It feels surreal.
I can hardly believe it, and I hate this feeling; of waiting, of not knowing.
Of being helpless. How I wish I could protect him the same way he does me.
I glance up at the guard that walks by my side. His name is Einvar. He has long black hair and a shadow of a shaven beard covering his hollowed cheeks. I’m dwarfed by him.
The blond one on my left is called Kharuk. Ever since Corvan left, I’ve been assigned a pair of hulking Elite Guards to watch over me. They take shifts, swapping out at regular intervals.
The men of the Elite Guard are tight-lipped and terribly serious. They’ve barely exchange a word with me, but at least they’re unfailingly polite and courteous, making every effort to accommodate my needs.
Like now, for instance, when I’ve requested to visit the garden space at the center of the Inner Sanctum.
My guards are more than happy to oblige—as long as they watch over me at all times. Their presence is both reassuring and stifling. I can hardly believe what’s happened. Emperor Valdon Duthriss is dead, and his personal Elite Guard have sworn complete loyalty to Corvan.
Just like that.
They fully support him to become the next emperor of Rahava.
My betrothed is going to be the emperor.
What would that make me, then?
Empress?
But first, Corvan needs to return. I know he’s immensely powerful, with godlike abilities and formidable battle skills, but even he must have a weakness.
I’m afraid for him, and yet there’s nothing I can do.
It’s all so overwhelming.
That’s why I’ve requested to return to the inner gardens. The small chambers they’ve given me feel stifling and cold. I need to feel the fresh air on my face; to look up and see the stars in the night sky.
I need to inhale the scent of the freshly budding blooms and new leafy growth.
I crave these things, more than ever before.
I feel like I’m going mad, and not just because of not knowing.
My body feels strange. As if lightning is dancing through me. Magical energy rippling through my veins, with no way to find release.
If only I could harness that feeling I had before, when I momentarily bent the trees to my will and the magic bubbled over and sent roots out of my body and into the ground.