Page 161 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

“And my life,” he said simply. “But then they took my daughter, and it stopped mattering what happened to me.”

I hadn’t realized how many shadows had leaked out of me into the room until that moment. The single remaining torch threw Camrick’s face into sharp relief. He was looking at me with an expression that was uncomfortably close to dismay.

Fuck.

A cold, creeping dread settled beneath my ribs. “Why do they want Berian and me when there are thousands of less protected mages walking all across Avanfell?”

“Fae blood,” he said. “The device is based on their design. The more you have, the cleaner your magic stores. That’s another secret they don’t tell anyone. If you’ve got magic, you’ve got a strong Fae bloodline. Really just about everyone is some part Fae, they just don’t know it.”

Of course. It was so obvious in hindsight. Though I wasn’t certain it was a good thing. There was already so much division in the world, knowing that something else set mages and mundane apart would only make it worse. That information was so enormous, I had to tuck it away for later.

He went on, stopping occasionally to breathe. “The Shadow Prince’s magic was meant to be the finishing flourish in building themselves a monster.”

My shadows were creeping toward the sole remaining torch. I pulled the darkness back before anyone commented on it, but it took longer than it should have. There was something in me that wanted the room black. No one would see my face while I thought about two different teenage princes asking for help in a room full of scholars who knew what to do and decided both of them were more useful broken and ignorant of what they truly were.

I couldn’t let them do what they had done to me or Emrys to anyone else.

“And my healer?” I asked, bracing myself once again.

“They know she’s not a normal healer. They think she might be the only person able to put the cursed king down if he attacks Caervorn.”

I fucking knew it.

“That’s not the only reason, is it?” I pressed.

Pain stopped him short of shaking his head. He spat out blood. “Breed her. Child would be the perfect vessel after a couple of decades. They think they can give the power to someone now, then transfer it again later.”

I had to turn around to keep from slicing his throat for the mere mention of violating Lunette. I put my back to the wall and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and stood there for a long time while the darkness ate the corners of the room.

By all the magic…

Was that why Vaustin was here? Was he supposed to be the first vessel? Gods knew he would do anything his horrible father told him.

And… was that the reason he’d been seen in the borderlands? To capture and drain me there, only to blame it on raiders?

Reina had gone very still, the device clutched tight in her hand, her expression no longer furious but something far more controlled—and far more dangerous. Voice tinged with disbelief, she whispered, “That’s why they’ve come for me less.”

“Reina?” Camrick asked, wary now.

I frowned, the meaning of her words just out of reach. Then it hit, almost knocking the air from my lungs anew.

“For years,” she said, her gaze fixed somewhere past the assassin, “I thought they were coming for me because of politics. Power plays. Leverage. Because I’ve been the one holding the Tir together since Berian’s ascendance.” A humorless breath left her as she fidgeted with her skirts. “So I surrounded myself with guards and spies. I told everyone it was just caution.” Her eyes lifted to mine. Her mouth twitched like she was deciding whether to scream. “It was for survival…”

That word from her lips was like an admission of guilt. Something inside her broke. The sound Reina made was wild—far too uncontrolled to be coming from my aunt.

“They’ve come for me less because I’m not useful anymore.” Another breath, shaking now. “Those fuckers wanted to breed me, but I’ve outlived their ability to make me a broodmare!”

Her smile turned brittle, almost feral—and then it broke. But only long enough that I saw the decades worth of stress underneath it. Reina was probably the closest to crying I’d seen her since my parents died.

Finally, she said very quietly, “He deserves to die.”

“We still need him,” Camrick said.

Which was true—practically, strategically, undeniably true.

But I knew that wasn’t entirely why he’d said it. He had two furious, perpetually armed Nocthel in the room with someone who’d threatened their people.

I looked down at the assassin. He was still conscious, which was more than he deserved and more than I’d fully intended when I first walked into the dungeon. He looked back at me and said nothing.