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More weeks of semi-consciousness had passed. Over a month of tossing and turning in sweat and pain on the narrow cot in the hag’s care, until she finally deemed him ready for traveling.
The witch refused to accept any goods or jewels in exchange for her services. It didn’t surprise him. The hags generally cared little for material things. They craved another kind of recognition.
“I want a room in whatever palace you’ll live, my lord,” she said. “A chair at whatever table you’ll eat, and respect of whatever court you head.”
The demand was high but earned. She had brought him back to life, after all. Strength filled his muscles once again. Energy coursed through his limbs.
“You will always have all of that in my father’s palace,” he promised.
She chuckled, shaking her head.
“No, my pretty, I wasn’t talking about just your father’s palace. You have to word your promise exactly as I did or remain in my debt forever.”
After having managed to promise nothing to anyone for almost eight decades, he’d been giving out promises like candies lately. But he owed a huge debt to the hag now, and it was best to settle it now than let it grow.
So he did as she asked.
And now, he had one more thing to settle before he could organize a thorough search for Amira.
He wished he could just march into his father’s palace and claim what was rightfully his. But caution dictated it was wiser to sneak in. He and Hapon came at night—two paddle boards sliding noiselessly over the waters of Layahi Bay.
Hapon tilted his head back, assessing the wide smooth expanse of the royal tree trunk of the palace. “This side is impossible to climb, my lord.”
Kyllen shrugged. “I’ve done it as a kid. I sure can do it now.”
After paddling for days, his shoulders ached, but his strength and vitality had been steadily returning. He steered the board closer.
“Wait here,” he instructed Hapon. “It’s probably best if I talk to my brother one on one first.”
Scaling the smooth trunk was difficult, but not impossible. The wards placed on the tall windows of the High Lord’s chamber didn’t stop him, either. The magic of Ellohi recognized him as one of the ruling bloodline.
He leaped over the windowsill and into the room.
The raspy sound of labored breathing came from the large nest with luxurious bedding piled up high.
Kyllen swept the room with his gaze, making sure the High Lord was alone.
“Udren.” He approached the nest where his brother was sleeping. Sliding the sword from the sheath on his back, he pressed the tip of the blade to the old man’s chest.
The moonlight reflected blue in the metal, but red sparks ran along the blade where the particles of iron had been mixed into the alloy. Iron of Nerifir was the only metal that could kill a fae.
“Wake up.” He poked harder. He had no intention of killing a sleeping man in his bed.
Udren’s breathing halted, then came a little softer as he slowly dragged his eyelids open.
“Kyllen? Is that you, brother?”
Brother.
The word made him cringe.
“Get up and wake the court,” he ordered.
Udren scrambled to sit up. His arms shook, his senties tumbled stiffly. There was not a patch on his face not marred by the deeply engraved pattern of mortal drought. He appeared to have aged years in the months since Kyllen saw him last.
“You killed my son,” Udren sobbed.
Kyllen moved his sword away. Threatening Udren felt like kicking a sick puppy.
“It wasn’t me.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t given a chance to defend myself. A man loyal to me delivered the blow that killed Bherlon. If he didn’t strike when he did, I would’ve been dead instead.”
By the look of Udren, his brother would’ve far preferred that outcome.
“Did you know Bherlon was planning to attack me that night?” Kyllen asked.
Udren covered his face with his shaking hands. “My son. My beautiful, noble son,” he wept.
“Bherlon made his choice, Udren. I would’ve given him the fair chance that he denied me. A tournament, a duel, a legal battle in the king’s court—any honorable way to resolve this. But he chose a cowardly attack at night, ambushing me while I was in my nest with my woman.” He gritted his teeth. Forgiving the wrong done to him would be difficult, but he could never forgive the danger brought on Amira.
Udren uncovered his face.
“Your woman?” he scoffed, with a cruel spark in his eyes. “Did you really think you could keep the human? You, a vagabond lord with no throne and no means to protect something as precious as her? A rare thing, she was a pet fit for a king.”
Anger flared in him. He grabbed a handful of Udren’s stiff senties, yanking the High Lord to him. “Where is she? What did you do to her?”
Udren laughed in his face, gleeful at having found a place to hit where it hurt.
“Where? In the king's nest, of course. Likely riding his royal cock as we speak.”
“You sold her to the king?” Hot rage speared through him, twisting in his chest with the agony of loss.
“I gifted her to him,” his brother croaked. “To gain his royal favor. So, if you plan to petition the royal court for my title—”
Kyllen yanked the High Lord by his senties, getting him up and out of his nest. Udren’s long nightshirt fell to below his knees, obscuring from view most of his drought-ridden body.
“There’ll be no petitions, Udren. I no longer need the king's help to take what’s mine.”
Udren stared at him with so much hate it made Kyllen shudder.
