“In the twilight of Arcanis’ strife, long past a luminous fall,
Visions pierce the veil of time, foretelling the stars’ plan for all.
A shattered crown shall be united, a sundered land restored.
A severed people shall be made whole or fall to darkness once more.”
The prophecy, falling from Aurelia’s own lips, was more than a prediction. It was a map. It showed what might happen if the crown could be united. If Elyria succeeded.
By keeping her here, clipping her metaphorical wings, King Callum and Lord Church weren’t holding onto the Midlands. They were actively preventing better access to them.
The real problem was that they simply did not know that.
Because no one knew of Elyria’s true motivations for seeking the crown. Not only for revenge against Malchior—revenge she rightly deserved—but to heal the whole of Arcanis.
And once she wielded the crown’s celestial-given power, she would destroy it. She would ensure it could never be abused again.
Which was something neither kingdom could know.
Cedric’s pulse quickened, his hands growing hot where they rested against his hips as he reached his destination—the orphanage deep in the belly of the Walk where he was to report for today’s charitable victor appearance.
He still believed her. Believedinher.
The question then became: would Elyria ever trust him enough to let him help her fulfill that promise?
15
NIGHTWIELDER
ELYRIA
Elyria’s shadowssnapped and hissed, restless vipers that coiled around her hands and wrists, eager and uneasy. She could feel them now—every filament of darkness thrumming with energy, with power.
She couldn’t get enough of it.
She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed that power, the one she’d only just begun to know, to learn, when she claimed it inside the Sanctum. She still didn’t truly understand why it had been so knotted up, so inaccessible in the months since, nor why it had untangled with a fury the moment she and Cedric were reunited.
Or maybe she did understand, but it wasn’t something she had the mental or emotional wherewithal to investigate moreclosely at present.
She thrust a hand in the air, shadows coiled tight around her arm—a second skin, a layer of armor. With a snap of her fingers, they formed something solid in her hands. The long tang of a blade, the firm grip of a hilt. A sword of darkness, constructed from nothing more than her magic.
“Mmm, a longsword. Very good. Though, an interesting choice.” Tenebris Nox’s voice was full of approval as the nocterrian cocked their head at Elyria’s creation.
She swallowed, her eyes going to the intricate staff set against the wall of the training room. The stone chamber Nox had shown her at the beginning of this week was not large. Tall, tarnished candelabras lit each corner, while headless training dummies, long-forgotten weapons, and leftover bits of armor were strewn about the room. Elyria might have called it cozy, were it in better shape. Had it not been left to rot when the outdoor training rings Elyria had watched the knights and guardians of Kingshelm spar in were built.
Not that she spent much time watching, of course.
She certainly didn’t wake early each morning to observe the efforts of a particularly broody knight and his dangerously charming best friend as they trained. Didn’t put her fae eyesight to use watching them from afar.
Elyria shook her head, the shadow blade in her hands transforming instead into a perfect replica of her staff.
“Even better,” said Nox.
Elyria narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on the shaft of the staff. It felt solid, no different from the cool metal handle of her original weapon. “You’re sure this room remains hidden? That some foolish servant won’t come barging in and faint at the sight of thefairy witchwielding shadow magic with abandon?”
Nox sighed that world-weary sigh of theirs. “As I have explained several times now, this room—this very tower, in fact—remains unknown to anyone but those who know of it.”
“And as I’ve told you, that makes absolutely no sense, you cryptic bastard.”
