“Evander of Autumnshire,” I said.
“How… Why do you even know that name?”
“At this point, the better question is… Why do younotknow it?”
His eyes clouded, his gaze shifting to some faraway place I couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“I feel as though I should,” he whispered, “and yet… I can’t explain it, Haley. Evander… The name exists on the very edges of my memory, but it won’t solidify into anything real, anything I can grasp. It’s… it’s like a ghost that haunted me as a child. An imaginary friend, perhaps. A monster hiding beneath the bed, only to vanish with the first flicker of torchlight shone into the shadows. Yet you… you seem so certain. Why?”
“Let me see your face,” I said softly, reaching up to press a palm to his cheek. “Your real face.”
He leaned into my touch, a soft sigh catching in his throat. “Thisismy face, Haley. At least, it is the one I…” He blinked, then cleared his throat, turning away from me to continue along the corridor, stopping when we reached the door to the cells. “Just in here.”
“Just so you know?” I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the dank wall while he fumbled with his keyring. “If this is a trap, my guys will carve off your limbs and leave the rest of you to rot in here, so—”
“There’s no trap, Haley. Not for you, anyway.” He unlocked the door, then turned to me, handed over the keys, and stripped off his weapons, leaving all of them outside the door except for one—the biggest, scariest looking dagger of the bunch. The blade was gleaming obsidian, so sharp it looked as if it could split the dust motes floating between us. Violet jewels the same shade as his eyes studded the hilt.
Thing must’ve been worth a small fortune, yet he handed it to me with nothing more than a wicked grin slashed across his face. “If at any time you sense a trap, you have my permission to finish the job my brother Elian could not, and leave whichever parts of mine you choose for the dungeon rats.”
I peered over his shoulder into the darkness on the other side of the door—a small chamber that held several ancient-looking cells.
Curiosity sunk its hooks in deep.
Shooting him a final warning glare, I reached out and grabbed the hilt, keeping the dagger close as I followed him into the room, the stench of rot and waste making me gag.
“Prisoner 6712,” he called out across the dark space. “How are we feeling this evening?”
Out of the shadows of one of the cells came a grumble and a cough, the sound of iron chains clanking. The sound of struggle. Of quiet rage.
“What the hell?” I whispered, narrowing my eyes as the shapes emerged from the darkness.
The man on the cot was old and sickly, his dark hair hanging in limp locks around a gaunt face.
A wheeze rattled through his lungs, and when Evander brought his torch close to the bars, the prisoner recoiled from the light.
“Who is he?” I asked, my heart already pounding its way up to my throat, my skin prickling with unease.
After a long, impossibly tense pause, Keradoc finally said, “Heis a man who tortured me for decades. Brutalized me as a child in ways I dare not speak of, for naming them would mean releasing them from the depths of my soul where I’ve kept them chained for all these long years.” Then, with a dark sigh, “The man whose life I’ve been living—wearing—for the past eighteen months.”
“I… what?” I pressed a hand to my chest, struggling to keep my heart from bursting as his words filtered through my mind. “Evander… Keradoc… I… I don’t understand.”
He slid his torch into an empty sconce on the wall, then turned to face me, his eyes holding an apology for something I was only just beginning to grasp.
“Thisfilthis Lord Commander Keradoc of Midnight.” With more than a little difficulty, Keradoc—myKeradoc—removed the ring from his finger—a ring I’d seen him twisting and toying with many times. Blood ran down his finger, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Who or what that makesme,” he continued, “I know not. I was kidnapped and brought to Midnight as a child, my identity and past lost to its darkness.”
Suddenly, the man before me transformed, his hair streaked with more silver than black, his face shifting, his eyes flickering from deep violet to silver. To the eyes I’d seen that first night in the throne room and mistaken for Elian’s.
They wereneverElian’s. They were Evander’s, his twin brother. The man who Keradoc—therealKeradoc—had stolen as a child, just as Elian thought.
All of the pieces clicked into place.
“But… but how is this possible?” I touched his face again, mesmerized by the change. But just before I lost myself in those silver eyes, Evander slid the ring back on, his eyes turning violet once more.
“Dark magick,” he said. “A glamour spell that allows me to maintain his appearance at all times. To become him, for all intents and purposes.”
“But… why?”
