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“He is speaking a prophecy.” Davorin wheeled on his king. “You have more seidr users here?”
“There is no reason my gift cannot be shared by others, Davorin.”
Davorin tilted his head and whispered, “Is he your bastard?”
Riot’s eyes flashed in anger. “You would accuse me of betraying my wife?”
With a dismissive scoff, Davorin shook his head. “You would not be the first powerful man to visit the beds of others, Riot.”
“Careful how you speak, brother, seeing as you are consort to my sister. I do hope that was not alluding to anything?”
Davorin’s face softened. “You know me better. You’ve kept the boy a secret from me. Me, Riot. Am I not the one you trust to keep your sister, your wife, and your heir safe?”
“You are.” Riot gripped Davorin’s shoulder, as brothers might. “No one knows of the boy but Neli and Captain Annon. I’ve been schooling him, that’s all. He is talented, but our gifts are not the same.”
“What does he do?”
“He seems to connect to only one tale, an alternate path. Not even one that is a true tale of fate. I am trying to teach him how to use his gift to create a well-formed, attainable path. To sing the songs of hearts.”
I watched Riot closely, then looked back at Wraith. “He’s lying.”
“Not entirely. Heart singerscando different things. Seidr is the vein of all magicks, but not all fate workers can sing as powerfully as the fate king did. Sometimes, it takes more than one. Alone, this boy could only sing for the royal house, no one else.”
“And Riot didn’t want Davorin to know this?”
Wraith didn’t answer and urged me to look back to the room.
Davorin’s gaze bounced between the boy and his king. “This talk of a raven’s mark on a Night Folk? Couldn’t be your sister’s mark he speaks of, could it?”
Riot chuckled. “You are not of our cousins’ blood, and if anyone shall earn the mark of the raven, it is you.”
“Tell that to her.” Davorin smiled. “Forgive me for being uneasy, brother. I only want to protect you.”
“I’d never trust my family to anyone else,” Riot said.
I puffed out my lips. “He’s stroking the bastard’s weak balls. Gods, how was he battle lord when the slightest discomfort brought him to tantrums?”
Wraith tugged my arm toward the corridor. “It is not over.”
Shadows circled us, painting a new scene, a darkened corridor and hushed voices. The boy with his wooden sword crouched behind a thick pillar, still holding a drinking horn, eyes clamped tightly as if willing himself to disappear.
Once I saw who stood around the beam, I understood. And I wanted to draw blood all over again.
“What is your reluctance, woman?” Davorin’s strong form hovered over another, smaller figure. Saga. He had her pinned to the wall, his face a hairsbreadth from hers. “Have I not proven my affection for you? Or is it something else?”
Her voice quivered, her fingernails dug into the wood of the walls. She was terrified. “There’s no secret reason, Dav, but it’s a great responsibility. My father told me it is rare to give it up.”
“Your father was vowed to a queen of seidr. Your mother had more power; it was not the same.”
“He wants her feather,” I said. “Is that what this is about?”
“Yes,” said Wraith. “Strange how she resisted sharing her heart with the battle lord, yet for you—” He peeked at the raven tattoo on my neck. “It was instant.”
I needed to see my bleeding wife. I needed to put a knife in Davorin’s heart.
“You do not wish me to be as powerful as you?” Davorin pressed.
“You have power aplenty, my love.” Saga shrieked when Davorin smacked the wall beside her head, and I was halfway across the hall before Wraith yanked me back.
