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My father’s chambers are at the very heart of the Inner Sanctum. Surrounded by windows on all sides, they’re a light-filled space looking out upon lush, delicately manicured gardens.
It’s also one of the most heavily fortified places in all of Rahava, with Elite Guards stationed within each of the Seven Circles, and elaborate hidden traps built into every layer.
The second last ring of the Inner Sanctum is his personal library, where he keeps the most precious and forbidden texts—rare books on distant lands beyond the borders of the empire; on the topic of forbidden magic. Some of those books are the only remaining copies in existence.
He’s ordered all the others to be destroyed.
How much knowledge has been lost from the empire, all because of my father’s pathological need for control?
This place is as familiar to me as the back of my hand. As a child, I played alone in these chambers, running down the empty corridors under the watchful eyes of the Elite Guard. I remember staring at my own reflection in the windows, daring myself to race, imagining that boy was another child—a brother, or a cousin.
Ansar was rarely allowed in here. We’re ten years apart—by the time he was old enough to run around, I’d been sent to the Military Academy.
It’s a little ironic, then, that I’ve returned with a companion. Not a sibling, but a mate.
My future wife.
The one I cherish with all my being.
She instinctively moves closer to me as we near the final set of doors. I breathe in her sweet scent, and as always, it grounds me.
It overpowers the stench of sickness and decay that seeps from my father’s bedchambers. I can hear his breathing—slow and erratic.
Gods, father, why didn’t you send word earlier?
But it’s just like him to not tell anyone that he’s bloody dying. Valdon Duthriss wouldn’t want the world to pay witness to his weakness.
He’d rather die first and shock them all.
He would have planned his funeral procession already—right down to the very last detail.
He alwayswasobsessed with details.
We pass through the antechamber, where a large arched window overlooks a pond filled with golden koi set amidst immaculately landscaped gardens. My boots land on plush silk carpet. Between a pair of life-sized bronze statues—depictions of mother and father in their prime—rests a sofa upholstered in sumptuous green velvet, where one can sit and meditate upon the view.
Father used to sit here alone. As a child, whenever I intruded, he’d chase me out.
I never knew what he was thinking; why he sat in that place so very often.
I glance up at the statue of my mother.
Empress Helia.
Her face is as I remember it; serene and beautiful, her eyes conveying warmth.
How the artist captured that, I don’t know.
Mother… if only I could have shown you…
Me, as I am now.
And Finley.
My memories of her from when I was a little boy are still so vivid. She’d always had a commanding presence; an aura that would make everyone in the room focus on her. She was incredibly beautiful, with raven hair, flawless skin and eyes that were a curious shade of violet.
Nobody else in Rahava had eyes like hers.
And yet, it was her incredible warmth I remember the most. She was never cold and distant. She was funny, kind, loving, mischievous.
