“Atlas, Perame.” Wilder motions to the two red-haired warriors, introducing them as the twins he told me about. Then his attention moves to the third. “And this is Rior.”
Rior doesn’t share the same warm greeting as the others. His dark-brown eyes are ringed with gold, and they’re focused on the battle ahead. His black hair is shaved close to his scalp, drawing out his strong cheekbones. His ebony skin glows with his magic.
Wilder has been in the Ley Court, surrounded by enemies. But this group—even Rior, who stands at a distance—is his court. His friends.
“Is this her?” Perame smiles at me.
“This is Elorie—” Wilder’s introduction is cut off by the clash of metal meeting a burst of magic.
“We need to get you out of here while the Arch is open.” Rior’s jaw sets.
“I’m not leaving Selia.”
Rior doesn’t seem thrilled by Wilder’s declaration. And whileSelia hasn’t been friendly with me, I understand his need to get his sister away from Malachi.
A storm cloud brews overhead, blanketing the stars and the moon in darkness. At the king’s side is Selia with her palms up to the sky. Lightning brews as Malachi opens his eyes, focusing his attention on the light. But instead of amplifying it, he strips it away, pulling a sheet from the palace in one sweep. Darkness descends until the only light in the Ley Court is him.
The facade falls, revealing the true state of the palace and the struggling forest around it.
It’s all been a carefully crafted mask to keep his people at bay. He’s let them drown in opulence, oblivious to the true health of the realm.
Only now do I see the Ley Court for what it is. A desiccated land feeding on itself.
While there are places in Lyrichia that are still blooming—where the trees are lush, and the mountain snow is fresh and flecked with magic—this is not one of them.
Around us, the walls are broken and crumbling. Vegetation struggles. At its center is a king with light flowing into him instead of out as he drains its power. He drinks the magic from the Ley Court, harnessing the fullness of what grows within himself.
Like the Well, he absorbs every bit of magic flung at him. But unlike the Well, there is no cutting him off. Not with whatever dangles from his neck.
If I could just get there.
“Don’t even think it.” Wilder cuts me a glare. “We don’t know what the orb is, much less what it will do with us.”
Wilder is right. I have no idea what the source of the orb’s power is or what destruction it can cause.
The ground shakes as King Malachi meets my gaze, and the trees crack. It’s a deafening sound that echoes through the entireforest. The ground groans, ripping apart the stone. The splinter cuts so close to the Arch it flickers.
Rior swings his sword, hard and fast, planting it in a guard’s stomach. He shoves the guard to the ground, which opens up and swallows him whole.
“Rior is a core wielder,” Perame leans in to explain when my eyes widen.
“We need to get back through the Arch before it collapses.” Atlas fights at Rior’s side, protecting their king.
Their king.
I look up at him, and it sinks in. I’ve always known he’s the king of Vaelier, but to see his court surrounding him—protecting him—offers a different view.
Two guards come at Wilder from behind, and he wraps aether around their throats, tightening until they collapse.
“Keep the path to the Arch clear while I get my sister.” He snatches another guard off his feet, turning him to dust.
“The only way to Selia is through Hazel.” Callum stops at my side.
Greer wipes blood off her forehead with the back of her hand. We’re outnumbered fifty to one, and the strength of our magic is all that is keeping us standing, but that will deplete if the Crown Guard continues to multiply. Not to mention, whatever the king is doing with the orb.
“I’ll distract Hazel,” I decide.
“No—”
