I understand it would be unwise to try to break it this way. Instead, I let my own magic pass through the cracks, settle in the empty spaces. Not a lot, just enough for one transformation of her own.
And once I find the spaces, it’s surprisingly easy. I see the shape of my mother’s magic, the artifacts of change.
This is just adding one more layer.
Sweat pools on my brow and upper lip. Almost there … I push one last flood of power into Astrid and feel a bright sparkle. Light flashes beyond my closed lids.
With a gasp, I open my eyes to see a pale white bird fluttering before me.
“You did it!” Astrid chirps happily.
My face lights up with a smile as I swiftly turn to Marigold. A strange sense of sadness fills me as I feel her curse still inside. A torment that could be no more if we had broken Ezryn’s curse.
Marigold’s change happens quicker, and soon she becomes a larger wren, flapping golden wings beside the other two.
“When you get to Castletree, instruct the staff to start fortifications,” I say. “Harvest whatever food you can from the gardens, board the windows, and begin sorting the weapons.”
“Of course, Princess,” Astrid says. “But why?”
Keldarion places an arm around my waist. “Rosalina is right. What Kairyn began cannot go unanswered. War is coming to the Enchanted Vale.”
101
Keldarion
“What in the seven realms is that?” I murmur, hunched behind Ezryn as he guides us through the secret mountain passage beneath Keep Hammergarden. Rosalina trails closely behind me, her bow a perfect fit for her hand. Princess.
But she wasn’t the first person to call herself that. What do you know about her, Cas?
“That is my brother’s project,” Ezryn whispers, drawing me from my thoughts.
A formidable airship stands silent and foreboding. Its dark wood exterior exudes an aura of menacing elegance. The smoky black sails, resembling the outstretched wings of a colossal bat, rest folded, casting a looming presence in the dimly lit chamber.
“Stick tight to the walls,” Ezryn commands. “Almost there.”
I know this cavernous path is one of the few ways into the keep without going through the city itself, but now I’m wishing we took our chances above ground. The cavern is swarming with goblins and Queen’s Army. Thankfully, they all seem focused on the ship, pulling ropes and loading crates into the hull.
I managed to escape the city originally by blending in with the dazed citizens, but there’s no way Ezryn will make it past any of the guards. Not only do his ears now mark him as the banished prince, but his eyes … There’s something alight within him that I don’t think he could quell if he wanted to.
We stay in the shadows and creep behind a line of rocks before Ezryn finds the hidden doorway. His agile fingers detect the right notch in the rock, and it opens, revealing a staircase.
It’s strange to see his expression as he works; it almost seems more emotionless than his helmet.
“We get my father and come back out this way. No distractions,” he orders.
Rose nods. “Right. Dayton and Farron are waiting.”
I take the first step on to the stairs, holding my hand back for Rosalina. Her touch gives me strength. As much as I would rather she be anywhere but here, I know there’s nowhere entirely safe in the Enchanted Vale.
Despite all my fighting, all my denial, I know the truth of it now.
We are safest when we are together.
Ezryn closes the door, and we proceed up the stairs. He looks strange, in the white and gold acolyte clothes, the flower behind his wounded ears. The same flower Rosalina and I wear to protect us. The stairs lead to a low ceiling with a hatch. I push it open and poke my head out to a dark room. Carefully, I lift myself up, then reach down for Rosalina. Her bow gives off a soft light.
“I’ve been here before,” she says, looking around. “The first time Ezryn confronted his brother, Dayton, Astrid, Marigold, Eldy, and I hid in here to watch. See? You can look out at the throne room here.” She pulls me over to a mesh covering, thin enough to see through.
Sure enough, the entire throne room spreads before us. It’s covered in plants: huge vases and pots filled with blooming red flowers and creeping green vines. At least there’s no one here, save for—
“My father,” Ezryn breathes.
Prince Thalionor sits in a wooden chair beside the throne. I stifle a jolt. We saw him only earlier today, and his health seemed grim, but now…
He wavers back and forth, fingers scratching along the metal helms that make up the throne. His armor is ill-fitting, the breastplate askew, one shoulder pauldron hanging off. It’s as if the old fae has increased in size. Long, greasy gray hair pokes out from beneath his helm. Yellow pus dribbles from beneath it as well, spilling over his gorget.