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Behind me, Alindra makes a sound like a swallowed cry. My father’s hand pulls back, then flashes forward, quick as a viper. Something silver flies through the air, and I twist inside his magical cage.
“No!” I scream.
It’s tiny, that little silver dart, but it’s fast and the aim is true. It strikes Alindra in the arm just as she’s turning away, then clatters to the floor. Her eyes widen. I have enough time to think it didn’t work, that my father has just made the first mistake of his very long life, and then her eyes roll back in her head and Alindra falls forward like a flower severed by a scythe.
I spin, pushing against stone, moving so slowly it hurts. My legs collapse as I slide forward to catch Alindra against my chest. There’s no change in her placid expression when her body folds against mine, her limbs limp, her breath hardly a whisper across her lips.
“What did you do?” I scream.
My vision blurs as tears push their way forward, and some part of me screams that I’ve just lost yet another important battle. How can I pretend Alindra means nothing to me if I’m clutching her to my chest?
My father folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. I gulp for air, then carefully let Alindra slide down my chest and onto the cold stone beneath us. She’s still breathing, at least. That will have to be enough if I’m going to spare her the danger of drawing my father’s attention.
“You’re somewhat… reduced,” my father says, with a pointed gaze at my illusion arm. “I suppose not everyone can hack it in the Lands Below.”
I stumble to my feet and force myself not to look back at Alindra. “We’re here for a man named Rowan,” I announce.
My father smiles in a way that makes me feel cold. “Ah,” he says. “Of course. You’re trying to rescue your brother.”
My mouth goes dry.
“What?” my father continues. “Are you going to deny Rowan is your brother?”
I was. I was going to deny everything, everyone I’ve ever loved. Everyone that could be hurt because of me. My father shakes his head, smiling through that familiar look of disappointment.
“You think I wouldn’t recognize my own handiwork?” he asks. “Rowan is my greatest creation.”
He sweeps past me, then comes to stand at Alindra’s feet. She looks very small and very vulnerable beneath his hard eyes. He shakes his head at her, yet another disappointment, and then turns back to me.
“Simple sleep spell,” he says. “That’s all the magic some poor bastards have, you know? Still, I guess it’s more functional than illusions.”
I clench my jaw and say nothing. He shakes his head again, then sweeps past both Alindra and me until he’s standing before a large wooden desk in the center of the dark room.
“She’ll be unconscious until I wake her,” he says.
He stares at me, clearly expecting something. My hand clenches into a fist; I force my fingers to relax. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of a response.
“When I wake her, or whether I wake her at all,” my father says, with another pointed glance at the rumpled heap of Alindra’s body, “depends entirely on you. Or, should I say, on how much sway you have over that brother of yours.”
I almost laugh. How much sway I have over my brother? There’s not a damn person alive who holds any sway over Rowan.
And then I think of Arryn, and something like a shard of glass lances my heart. Varitan’s eyes narrow, honing in on weakness like the predator he is. I clench my jaw, refusing to speak to him. Eventually, my father sighs, flaps his hand in the air, and bends down to pull something out of the desk.
It’s a bottle. I watch in numbed amazement as he pulls two elegant crystal glasses from the desk and then uses a small silver dagger to pry the cork from the bottle. The scent of red wine trickles past my nose. He fills the glasses, then lifts one and raises it in my direction. I ignore him. He shrugs, brings the glass to his own lips, and takes a sip.
“Phaedron,” he says.
The word sounds like something sharp dragging across my skin. How many times have I heard that voice in my nightmares? How many times did I wake screaming, tears running down my cheeks, panting desperately into my pillow as I tried to convince myself that my father was a phantom of the past, that I was safe now?
“Let me tell you something about your brother,” he continues, after another sip of the red wine.
I say nothing, although my heart feels like it’s trying to climb out of my ribcage via the back of my throat.
“I created a way to open passages into the Lands Below,” my father says, swirling the wine glass in his hand. “You know this.”
Of course I do. I lived with this monster. It would have been impossible to miss his gloating, the secret messages he sent to kings and dragons, and the bidding war that ensued for the use of the power he had discovered.
“What you don’t know is this,” he continues, cupping the wine glass to his chest like a child. “I found something more down there. The Lands Below, they’re not the end. There’s so much more. A realm of incredible power, incredible potential, waiting in the darkness just beyond what I could reach.”
