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‘I feel like you’re grasping at straws here, sissy.’ Percival leaned towards her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Percival was not alone—Areanel did not know what she was looking for either. What puzzle piece was she missing? The squeeze of his hand was meant to be comforting, but Areanel did not feel reassured.

‘Just because a little girl said she saw scary black armour and jagged swords doesn’t necessarily mean they were there. Surely, we would have caught or seen them ourselves? Vennedove is far from the city, near to no other village. The only place they could have gone is Vindyamiriel lake—and we both know why they wouldn’t go there.’

‘Not if they changed form,’ Areanel challenged. Taking the book from his hand, she flew through the tattered pages until she found what she was looking for. There! The corner of the page had been bent, like someone had marked it.

Scribbled upon the page was a messy, curved scrawl: ‘The Northern Clans are separated by their bond to Dullahan, and all have the ability to transform into another creature. The closest to the revered god were gifted with the power to change their shape and voice, and are even said to mimic a person down to the very last detail. Dullahan gave them control over the skies for their loyalty; however, it is said that this clan has long been lost—maybe driven to extinction.’ Areanel recited the text word for word, index finger tapping against its spine as she read aloud.

‘So, the Northern Clans are shapeshifters—like Ryyen?’ Percival asked. Areanel noted the sudden shift in her brother’s demeanour at the mention of their beloved friend, and could have sworn there was a dusting of red along his cheeks. Was he blushing?

A snort subconsciously erupted from Areanel—she couldn’t help it. The thought was laughable. ‘There is no one like Ryyen.’ There couldn’t be. Ryyen was the strongest, most formidable person she knew. ‘The text states that the clan members can take on different forms. What if they had taken on one of those forms, and that is why we didn’t see them when we searched Vennedove? Perhaps that is how the rebels keep slipping through my fingers.’ It made sense. Perhaps Areanel hadn’t been able to eradicate them all because they were able to hide in plain sight. But if that was true then… they could be anywhere, know anything. Who was she supposed to trust?

‘I don’t understand why they would betray Ivan?’

‘After losing Ivan, they knew Father would cave to a treaty. They could stop the war.’

‘But why? How would that benefit them?’ Almost subconsciously, Percival leaned forward—further into her space. She could tell her words were having an effect on him. Did he believe her?

‘Their losses. It is no secret Father prioritised Andrean lives. Ivan and my predecessor, General Titus—’ Areanel did not miss the way her brother physically recoiled at the name. His breath hitched, his heart beat furiously, and she mentally reprimanded herself. She knew better than to mention him in front of Percival. ‘Shit! Percy, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—’

Percival cut her off, but his voice shook, sounding far away. ‘It’s fine.’ Shaking his head, he let out an awkward laugh and sniffed. Areanel hated herself for mentioning him, even if it had been a slip of the tongue; she’d never forget the glassy look of fear in his eyes as he avoided meeting hers. ‘So, what? The clans can prevent their own from dying. And then? We gained the most from the treaty.’

Areanel hesitated. She did not want to gloss over or ignore his past trauma, but she knew Percival better than anyone. If he wanted to talk, it had to be on his terms. ‘Without Ivan, Father lost control over the northern clans and ultimately his hold on The Deadlands. Even if we gained Selcirith through mine and Rymedur’s marriage, losing The Deadlands was a great loss.’

‘How? We trade with the South. The North supplies us with nothing.’

‘Soldiers. Power. Weapons,’ Areanel stated. ‘The North are talented blacksmiths. It is they who have the most skilled warriors. The northerners’ power can be utilised in ways ours cannot. They make the best spies. Control. That is what Father wanted. He wanted to conquer all of Idyssa—and the clans knew it.’

Percival shrugged his shoulders, picking up a rounded, bronze paperweight and throwing it up into the air before catching it. ‘Father should have us hunt them down if he’s so concerned about control.’

‘Percy,’ Areanel sighed heavily. How could he not see the potential implications of destroying the clans? ‘The Northern Clans are the only people in all of Idyssa who are able to use Ikarus stone. Dullahan gifted them the ability to forge the stone into weapons—and we both know the kind of weapons they create; lethal, destructive, soul-destroying. With weapons like that, we could take what we wanted, whenever we wanted.’ A spark of fire ignited within her, slowly coiling its way around her mind. The green-tinted snake gripped her, stoking the flames of ambition.

‘Careful, sissy. You’re starting to sound like Father.’ Percival stated it as fact, like she had become their father’s exact replica. ‘You have that gleam in your eyes.’

Areanel blinked rapidly to dispel the thoughts darkening her mind. Had he really just insinuated she was anything like that man? Surely, he didn’t see her that way? Areanel was far from paranoid, and she was most definitely not mad!

‘I felt it.’ Areanel spoke through clenched teeth.

That grey cloud reappeared upon Percival’s features. ‘What?’ His brows creased, furrowing in confusion.

‘When we were in Vennedove,’ she said. ‘I felt something that reminded me of their weapons. It was like a vacuum. A void. The magic felt wrong. Slimy, oily and oppressive. It was as though it was trying to suck the life from everything in the village. I have felt that before.’

When she looked at him, Percival’s expression hadn’t changed. ‘What do you mean?’

Thrumming sounded in her ears, a rapid drumbeat of her pounding heart at the mere thought of her past. ‘Percy.’ Her voice shook as she said his name. ‘The Pit,’ she whispered the words, like their mere mention would drag her back down to the very centre of the mountain they called home. ‘When I was—When father…’ she stumbled and stuttered over her words, bile rising with each one.

The memory of the deep pit pressed on her. Air was difficult to grasp, and the walls began to grow closer and closer.

The Pit, home of shadows, where death always lingered. The cavern had always been there, long before any of them, and would still be there long after they were all gone.

It was the perfect prison. Areanel loathed it. Even mentioning it made her skin itch and crawl. Dark. Hopeless. Made of Ikarus stone, a purple so dark it almost seemed obsidian. Her breath shuddered at the recollection of how the stone had poisoned her—it was oppressive, branding.

The soothing motion of two hands rubbing her arms eased the torment rising like a hurricane within her. ‘That wasn’t your fault, Rea.’ The pet-name made her pause. Tears pricked at her eyes. It reminded her too much of their close childhood friend, and sorrow bubbled in her chest. ‘Father was wrong for asking such a thing from you. He should never have sentenced you to that dark, endless hole. The Pit… That despicable place is for criminals, traitors and murderers—the worst of the worst. No one blames you for not going through with Father’s order. I mean, how did he expect you to willingly kill your soul-bonded mate?’

Areanel’s words clogged in her throat. Thick and sticky like honey, yet the notion was anything but sweet. Horror clawed at her insides, sending ice-cold dread down her oesophagus.

She did not comment on Percival’s words. She knew he was trying to make her feel better, but she did not need, nor want, his pity. She did not regret what she had done—but he was wrong. She hadn’t done it for her mate. She’d sacrificed herself for her brothers, as she always had, and would do it again without hesitation.