My head clears a little as I look around. I don’t recognize it—it’s a barren wasteland. Dead grass wilts over dry soil. A waterfall roars, running into a black lake. And a bone-white willow tree stands sentinel in the middle of the grove…
“This is my doing,” I whisper.
“Lie back down, dearie,” Marigold says softly. “You’ve been through enough.”
Eldy looks at his feet. “We didn’t know where else to take you. All of Spring is under Kairyn’s watch. And Prince Daytonales and Prince Keldarion are being held captive. There is no word on the location of Prince Farron.”
My voice is low, controlled. “Where. Is. She.”
Their wary glances at one another are all I need to know.
They took her. The witch and the knights. They took her from me.
I push away from the group.
Marigold runs beside me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To save her.”
“Sire, you’re still injured!”
Though my bones are bruised, my skin torn, I have breath in my lungs and my heart still beats. I don’t even bother to look at them as I find my footing and stride forward. “You three have seen me well tended. You have my gratitude.”
Now, it’s Eldy who stands in my path. His eyes waver, a pained expression on his face. He was my father’s most loyal advisor all these years, a mentor to me as I grew. He was always more family than servant. And now he stands before me in defiance. “Ezryn, you have no weapon.”
“I will make do.” I push past him.
His voice rings out true, honest: “You have no Blessing.”
The reminder rips through my body like fingers plucking at the empty part of me.
Stupid, trusting fool, Kairyn laughs in my head. You always had to be perfect, didn’t you? The perfect son. The perfect leader. The perfect brother. Your self-righteous honor led you to giving up the one thing that may have been able to save her.
Rosalina’s face flashes in my mind: the look of horror as I marched out on to the dais. The defiance when she leapt before me and faced my brother.
When she first looked at me—truly looked at me—in the grove. For the first time in my life, I was seen. A sacred witness. My mate, our bond forged from the stars…
And they have her.
My steps thunder as I storm toward the willow tree. There’s something cracking inside of me, all the barriers I built crumbling down.
I accepted when he broke his banishment.
I accepted his punishment on the dais.
I gave him the stewardship.
I gave him Spring’s Blessing.
Because I believed it was what was best for the Spring Realm.
Because it was our way.
But Kairyn was working with the Below. Kairyn not only betrayed me, but our realm.
Both of us, traitors to our realm. I do not deserve mercy for what I’ve done.
Why should he?
I tried to save Spring. I tried to help my brother.
Now I will raze them to the ground if I have to.
Kill them all, Kairyn says.
I stand before the willow tree. This was where the first sacred blood was spilt. By my hand. My mother’s blade shines from where it’s embedded in the trunk.
I place my hands on the hilt.
There are voices behind me, shouting, asking me to slow. I ignore them. There’s only one voice I’m listening to now.
Kill them all.
But it doesn’t sound like Kairyn anymore. And distantly, I realize…
It was never his voice.
It was always mine.
I have always been the demon.
With all the strength left in me, I pull on the sword. A screaming sound tears from the trunk of the tree as the blade rips loose.
I hold it up, examining it in the light. Still sharp.
Kill them all.
For Rosalina, I will do it.
For Rosalina, I will do anything.
92
Rosalina
A dull ache pounds in my head, and my mouth feels dry and cottony. I open my eyes and try to orient myself. Rainbow light filters in through stained glass in a rounded room. The High Tower of Castletree?
No. There aren’t enough briars here, only a few scattered along the floor. Oily, iridescent ones. The Nightingale’s thorns.
Slowly, my vision clears. I’m in the monastery’s highest tower, the one Kairyn brought me to.
“Oh, so you finally decided to join us?” a sing-song voice chirps. “I thought you were out for good.”
“Where are the princes?” I growl. I’m not restrained, just lying on a small wooden bench.
The Nightingale doesn’t answer, busily rearranging some glass jars, chalices, and vases of flowers on a windowsill. She hums to herself, the sound muffled beneath her mask.