Around them the torn, blackened earth marked the place where his mother had died. She was standing where his mother had stood. Everything seemed to come full circle, fate turning.
‘There’s a tree made of stone in the Hall of the Stewards.’ Will drew in a painful breath. ‘It’s said that when the Lady returns, it will shine.’
The Tree Stone had never responded to his touch. It had stayed dark and cold no matter how much he had wished for it to shine.
‘It’s her symbol.’ Will met Katherine’s eyes. ‘A hawthorn tree.’
And he saw Katherine remember it: the hawthorn tree coming alive in her garden, its flowers bursting into bloom, the petals swirling around them like snow.
‘That was you,’ said Katherine, shaking her head. ‘You did that. That was—’
‘It was never me, Katherine,’ said Will.
She had woken that tree out of its winter slumber, her power racing bright through its branches. She’d kissed him, and the tree had streamed with light, starbursts of glowing white flowers, radiant and beautiful. He’d jerked away and stared at her in shock, the horror of realisation churning in his stomach. What she was; what she could be—
‘Your mother sent you away,’ said Will. ‘She did it to protect you. Not just from Simon. But also from me. From what she thought I might become. She raised me as her child, but I wasn’t. I was something else.’
‘It’s not true,’ said Katherine.
‘She tried to keep me from my fate. She made me promise—’ Promise me. He remembered her desperation, her frantic need to protect her child. Will, promise. Her knife through his palm, her bloody fingers around his neck. ‘—she made me promise not to hurt you. And I did. I promised you’d be safe. You’re the Blood of the Lady and I’m going to protect you.’
The inhuman shriek of a Shadow King rang out again, closer. The sky was darkening, as if ink swirled across it. He imagined them racing towards him, shadows rushing through the air.
‘There’s two of them coming,’ said Devon, his eyes hard and bright. ‘They’re going to kill her.’
‘No,’ said Will.
He could feel their darkness, their sheer destructive power. He let himself feel it, and he let it feel him. Simon was right; he had no magic of his own, no access to whatever lay inside him.
But he knew what he was now. And if the Shadow Kings were powerful, it was a power that they had from him.
You’re mine. Mine to command.
He could hear the screams of the two Shadow Kings echoing across the land. Kill the Blood of the Lady. Kill her and end her line. They had their orders, given to them by Simon. And they wanted to do it. They were the harbingers, unleashed to usher in an age of darkness and subjugation and rule over it as its masters forever.
No.
We thirst for destruction. We thirst to conquer. We thirst to kill!
Above him the sky was jet-black. They were coming. They were coming. The wind started to whip at him. His skull was filled with a rushing darkness, as if they were inside his head.
You will obey me.
We will kill the Lady and bring this world to its knees.
And in a flash, he was somewhere else – that ancient battlefield under a red sky, where an army of shadows stretched across the land. They were his to command, on the cusp of victory. The sheer power of it was intoxicating, his steed a giant scaled creature that winged across the sky. He heard the screams as the Shadow Kings led the charge, nightmares with shadow armies at their back.
In the next moment, they showed him a vision of how it would be. Will saw the destruction of the Hall magnified a thousand times, London in ruins, the rolling countryside of his youth blighted, the sky black and the ground littered with the rotting bodies of any who would stand against him. And above that, four thrones, the Shadow Kings ruling in absolute dominion, with only one power greater, rising above it all.
Him.
All this we will give you. The world that was taken from you will be yours once again.
A world he controlled, where he was safe, where those he wanted would stay by his side and those who he mourned would be brought back to life …
‘Return to the Stone,’ he gritted out as a dark wind howled around him, and the two Shadow Kings screamed and lashed at his mind like prisoners thrashing in chains. He forced them back, and in that second, he felt it. He was their maker. He was their master. They recognised him, and when he took control, they had to obey him, bound to him by their abhorrent bargain, made when they had drunk from the Cup.