Ezryn takes a step. “I will be the judge of that.”
“How dare you doubt me?” Kairyn roars. “I bring order to Spring! You have brought only death!”
I intake a sharp breath, my own heart pounding. Images flash in my mind: standing alongside my brother Damocles in the Hall of Vernalion. Beside him was High Princess Niamh, and beside her, High Prince Erivor of Winter.
Ezryn, newly coronated, sitting upon the throne. And Kairyn, seething beside him.
“Careful, Ez,” I mutter under my breath.
Rosalina presses herself harder against the translucent wall, her brown eyes huge. “Why is he saying that to him? ‘You only bring death?’”
Kairyn thunders down the steps of the throne and circles Ezryn, his black cape snapping like a raven’s wings. “You come back to Spring, thinking you belong here. Thinking all should bow down and kiss the favored son’s boots as they always have. But things have changed, big brother. I have changed.”
“Don’t do this, Kairyn,” Ezryn says lowly.
Eldy plucks at the hairs on his chin. “No, no, no. The last time they were like this…”
Marigold squeezes her eyes shut. “Kairyn evoked the Rite.”
The words flood the memory back into me.
Spring has always been secretive about their ceremonies, but the High Rulers were invited to attend Ezryn’s coronation. My brother was High Prince at the time.
Damocles, as he always did, chose me to be his honor guard.
I knew Ezryn pretty well at that point, but the fae sitting on the throne was barely recognizable. He was clad in brilliant silver armor, anointed in both a crown and cape of wildflowers.
And though I couldn’t see his face, I sensed it from him.
A darkness. It was like shadows I couldn’t see, a wind I couldn’t hear. An invisible calamity fighting within his steel.
I told myself it was grief—something I knew blessed little of at that point.
Because right before Ezryn’s coronation, there had been a different ceremony.
A funeral for his mother, the former High Princess Isidora.
“What is the Rite?” Rosalina whispers, looking back at us.
I take a heavy breath. “An ancient practice in Spring where anyone can challenge the High Ruler to the throne. It is a battle of physical and magical combat where the winner takes both Spring’s Blessing and the crown … and commonly the life and honor of the loser.”
Rosalina gasps, and Astrid grabs her hand.
Eldy shakes his head sadly. “This would not be the first time Kairyn has attempted it.”
The throne room echoes with Ezryn’s voice: “Stand down.”
“You sent me to the monastery to rot,” Kairyn says, “because I know the truth. I know what you did to her!”
“Stand down.” Ezryn still does not move.
Dammit, how is he so still? If I was in his position, I would have pummeled that jerk ages ago. But Ezryn’s like an impenetrable fortress, just standing there as Kairyn circles him, helm twitching.
“What happened last time?” Rosalina breathes.
I close my eyes as the images play across my mind. Did Ezryn even realize I was there? I was nothing then, not a High Prince, just Damocles’ escort. “It was Ez’s coronation, decades ago. Rosie, his mother … She died passing her Blessing on to Ez.”
“It’s a dangerous thing, for the living to move the Blessing to another,” Eldy says. “The realms celebrated when Niamh’s passing to High Prince Farron went so smoothly.”
Rosalina’s gaze is intent on Ezryn. “He never speaks of his mother. I wonder if he feels responsible.”
“He shouldn’t. Isidora knew what she was doing. She was the brightest and bravest lady one could ever know.” Tears streak down Marigold’s face and she quickly wipes them away.
I wrap an arm around Marigold and pull her tight against me in a half-hug. I know she served Princess Isidora directly. “You know how Ez is, Rose. Even if he doesn’t blame himself—”
Her eyes drift over to Kairyn. “His brother does.”
“Look at you, High Prince,” Kairyn says, a haunting rasp. “High Prince of what? Of a realm you abandoned? A father you left a widower? You should be on your knees, begging me to take the realm off your hands!”
Ezryn lifts his chin. “It’s time for you to leave, Kairyn.”
Kairyn’s voice sounds like a snake’s hiss. “You stand there so certain, so still. You think you can fool them like you’ve fooled the rest of the staff.” He gestures to his acolytes. “But you can’t fool me. I see it in you. The rage. You want to kill me, don’t you, brother?”