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Or maybe it had been a slow shattering. Cracks in glass that grew like branches of a tree, unremarkable until the pane burst into pieces so small the glass could never be made the same. Since I’d left the capital, I had changed. I couldn’t recognize it as it happened, but standing in front of the throne—facing the people who had enslaved my kin, molded the Shades, broken me—I couldn’t deny I was different.
I was no longer the Blade they had forged. I was something else entirely.
Damien scoffed, as if he could sense I no longer trembled under his gaze. “The kingdom is in complete disorder,” he spewed, leaning forward from his seat. “My hunt at the Rift was canceled. Even Killian felt compelled to return from Volcar.” He glanced to his brother and waved his hand dismissively.
“Volcar?” I echoed, glancing at Killian. The prince never could have journeyed there and back, then north to Cereliath since we spoke at the library all those weeks ago. When I saw him at the Harvest, I assumed he’d never left for Volcar at all.
Killian was hiding something. That much was clear.
“I never quite made it to Volcar, as I told you, brother,” Killian answered, his eyes glancing across his father’s throne to his brother. “I paused my journey outside of Wenden and heard a rumor that the Shadow had been nearby, planning an attack on Silstra.”
A rumor it must have been, since Riven had been with me the entire time. It was too convenient. Too perfect for me to accept it was a coincidence. Prince Killian didn’t want his family to know about our encounter in Cereliath. It was either the greatest stroke of luck or an ominous sign.
“I learned as much as I could in Wenden and then returned to the capital. I only just arrived when we heard that you had landed as well,” Killian finished. His eyes were daring, urging me to play into his ruse.
Like I had any choice in the matter.
“I expect you found no trace of the Shadow in Aralinth?” Killian asked. It was the perfect setup. The king would never doubt my tale when one of his sons backed it. But why? What good did it serve Killian to deceive his father? What truth was he hiding?
I shook my head, committing to our shared narrative. “No, Your Highness, I did not,” I lied, willing my face to remain flat despite the knots forming in my stomach. “I spent my time in the Faeland surveilling the Dark Fae. I investigated everyone living in the city as well as their kin. There were no indications that they’ve been supporting the Shadow or rallying any sort of defiance against the Crown. Once I was sure that the Shadow was not there, and likely never had been, I journeyed home. I suspected the Shadow would target the trade network. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it to Silstra until the dam was blown, and by then I thought it would be best to return to the capital immediately.”
“As you should,” the king said, somewhat mollified by Killian’s address and my explanation. “I need my Blade more than ever now. But perhaps that Blade isn’t you.” The king’s eyes pierced through mine; his mouth set into a hard line. He lifted his chin, daring me to protest his decision, beg him for my life.
I would not give in to another one of his orders. Even if he slipped a noose around my neck. I stood tall, hands clasped behind my back and met his stare head-on.
“Father,” Killian cut in, “we cannot punish Keera for faulty information. She went to Aralinth for you and returned with her head. That, in itself, is a victory.” I lifted my brows in shock. The king pursed his lips to one side, drumming his fingers against the throne.
“And further,” Killian pressed, “she just admitted she suspected the Shadow was planning on attacking the trade routes. She is the only one who saw this attack coming. She may be the only one to see the next.” Killian gave me the slightest smirk that made my chest tighten. I didn’t know if he was toying with me, but I knew the choice was play or die.
The king paused, mulling over his son’s defense. I stood still, not wanting to disturb the king as he weighed the value of my life. After a tantalizing moment, he nodded. “This threat against me shall not stand. I expect you to put out the brush fire before it sets the forest aflame.” His eyes were hard as he surveyed my face. Watching for any flicker of weakness.
“I think the fire is already ablaze,” Damien muttered from his chair. His father ignored him.
My face was a stone. “I will not rest, Your Majesty, until the menace is stopped,” I replied, staring straight at the foot of his throne.
“Good. Your assignment still stands.” The king gripped the edge of his armrest, his voice caked in venom. I bowed my head, expecting to be dismissed.
“Father?” It was Killian, his brows raised and eyes round as he addressed the king.
“What is it?” the king barked.
Once, Killian would have recoiled from his father’s impatience, too timid to push him any further. But in his years away, he had changed. His shy disposition had evolved into confidence. His presence radiated beside the throne, listening and evaluating. His words, while few, carried a weight they never had before.
Decades of travel and study had molded Killian, the Bastard Prince, into more of an heir than his true-born brother.
“I don’t think we should send the Blade to hunt the Shadow,” Killian said.
Damien scoffed, throwing his leg over the side of his chair. “Would you rather wait, brother? Until the Shadow cuts us down in our very seats? What good is a Blade if she can’t cut him first?” He looked to his father for his usual nod of approval, but none came. The king turned to Killian.
“No, brother,” the younger prince replied. “This Shadow is a menace. A threat not only to the kingdom, but the monarchy—your legacy, Father,” he added, glancing at the king and his crown. “We cannot simply send the Blade to hunt him and expect that to be enough. She is not just a sharp edge, but a sharp mind. I think we would be best to put her to full use.”
“What are you suggesting, Killian?” his father pushed, his tone less aggressive than before.
“The Blade is the commander of your Arsenal, so let her be,” he said. “Call in the Arsenal. Call in the Shades. See what she can do when she has the entire Order at her disposal. Keera did not rise to her position to be an executioner. Any skilled killer could do that. She is the Blade because her skills are equally matched by her wit. Let her put thembothto use.” Killian barely looked at me, but I stared at him in disbelief. My stomach churned so violently I couldn’t tell if I wanted to vomit or interrogate the prince.
I would have to pay closer attention to the younger prince moving forward.
The king gave his son a long, considering look. Like he’d only just noticed Killian was no longer a boy, gangly and weak, but a man. After a long pause, he gave a single, slow nod.
