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Cedric didn’t even realize he was thrashing against Raefe, trying to break free from his hold. “Let me go!” he yelled. “I have to—I need to—she needs me—she—”
Slap.
The firm blow of Raefe’s palm on Cedric’s cheek was clarifying.
“Focus,” hissed the fae, holding Cedric at arm’s length, gray eyes burning into golden brown. “You’ll be of no use to her if you get us caught before we even have a chance to sneak inside. Take a fucking breath.”
“I can’t—she’s in—he must be doing something to—”
“I know,” Raefe snapped. “I know. And we’re going. But you need to keep your shit together until we get there, all right?”
Cedric sucked in a broken breath and, still wobbling slightly on his feet, nodded.
Raefe released him. “Come on, then.”
They moved, quickly but quietly, out of the alley, down one street and then another. They stuck to the shadows, but the late hour made for few strangers to avoid. It was clear enough that Raefe knew the layout of the city like the back of his hand, and Cedric didn’t quite know how to feel about the swell of gratitude growing in his gut as he followed behind the fae. He didn’t like the idea of feeling grateful to the rat bastard at all, and he certainly didn’t like the thought of Raefe potentially holding his assistance over him later. But that would be a bridge to cross if they ever came to it. For now there was nothing Cedric wouldn’t do, no alliance he would not strike, to get Elyria back.
The screaming in his head had dulled, the sharp pang in his chest more of a rumbling, trembling ache once more. And the closer they got to the ivy-covered walls surrounding Castle Lumin, the thicker the air felt. The towers were dark, no movement, no motion. It really did seem just as abandoned as it had the first time Cedric had approached it, with the aurora blazing high in the sky overhead and pilgrims from both Havensreach and Nyrundelle alike gathering to witness the onset of the Arcane Crucible. The physical condition of the castle was much improved, of course. Like rewinding the effects of time itself, it was no longer the mausoleum it had decayed into after the war. Winning the Crucible had restored the castle to its former glory, along with the surrounding city, and Cedric’s eyes pricked in the inner corners as he allowed himself a singular moment to take in the grandeur, the architectural beauty, the majesty of it all.
This was the place from where his grandparents had ruled over Arcanis.
Where his mother was born.
Where he would—
“This way,” cut in Raefe’s low voice, leading Cedric along a thin path that wound past the front entrance and to a partially ajar side gate that was easy enough to slip through.
It wasn’t until they were yards away from the castle itself that Cedric felt it—a prickle that ran down the back of his neck, had his skin pimpling. The air felt charged—like lightning was weaving through it, waiting to strike. He smelled the tang of magic, though it was laced with something sour, metallic.
“That’s where I suspect the ward is the weakest. The kids in town used to be able to get within four or five paces before they felt it.” Raefe was pointing to a heavy iron servants’ entrance set in the dark stone.
“Kids?”
Raefe shrugged. “You know how it is. It was all so exciting at first—the grand castle restored. But after you lot waltzed out from the Gate, nobody could get back in. The human youths used to dare one another to see who could get the closest. Made a whole game of saying whoever could finally break through got to be king of Arcanis.” He huffed a low laugh. “Feel like making an attempt, Your Majesty?”
Cedric shot the fae a glare. “Hilarious.” The air vibrated as he strode several paces closer to the door. That current in the air crackled, consolidated, like it was preparing to strike.
Raefe inhaled sharply through his nose, and from the corner of his eye, Cedric saw the fae back up.
He took another step.
But when the magic surrounding the castle pressed outward, consolidating into a blow, a strike . . . something inside Cedric pressed back.
The furnace of power in his chest flared white-hot.
The bond throbbed, pounded, a drumbeat in his soul. Calling him. Summoning him.
To her.
Cedric took a final step forward and wrapped his fingers around the door handle.
He heard the awestruck breath push from Raefe’s lungs as the ward shimmered. Heard the hissed curse fall from the fae’s lips as thin gold flames spread out from where Cedric’s hand touched the metal of the handle, like cracks spiderwebbing through a sheet of ice.
For a moment, Cedric’s hand was soldered to the door handle, unable to shift it, to move it, had he wanted to. Light poured from his fingers, the veins on the back of his hand and running up his forearm illuminated, blinding.
And then, all at once, the ward shattered, a hundred shards of fractured magic raining down around them before dissipating back into the ether.
The door swung inward.
