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Emperor Lucius. Draven’s father.
I held my breath, then took a risk. “By ‘dooming us all,’ I presume you mean when he doomed the fae children of Valtain first.”
Crescent’s face became pained. “That act of war–some would say of cowardly treachery against our own kin–has haunted us for one hundred and fifty years. Not an extraordinarily long time by fae standards of time, but not insignificant by any means either.”
I put a hand against the stone wall to steady myself, hoping Crescent wouldn’t notice how pale I’d turned.
The fae children. The fae children who Draven had claimed all died at the hands of a brutal enemy who had unleashed a terrible plague.
The brutal enemy? It was Draven’s own people.
His words rang in my mind...
“From the smallest babe in arms to children as old as your brother Kaye, they sickened and they died. They died swiftly, here, in this place. And then the fae took their children’s bodies and left Valtain.”
But the children hadnotdied. At least, not all of them. They had lingered, somehow, some way, continuing to exist as horrible twisted versions of themselves.
Did Crescent realize this? Did he know the children had not actually all died? Did he realize how much fuckingworsethings really were?
What sort of monsters were these Siabra? I felt a wave of revulsion as I understood where I stood, in the temple of a people who spurned the gods and whose emperor had destroyed the lives of so many innocent babes. Of course, the Siabra had chosen to ignore the gods. How could they offer up prayers after what they had done?
But Crescent’s face was so sorrowful, so full of regret.
“Perhaps the Siabra deserved everything they got.” I couldn’t keep the malicious edge out of my tone. “Have you ever wondered that?”
“Many times,” Crescent admitted swiftly. “I’m sure the prince has, too. What the old emperor did... Well, he acted without mercy. If he had known the price would be his own lineage, would he have done differently? I am sure he would. But we cannot change the past. We can only regret it and live with its consequences.”
He met my eyes. “I saw the children in Meridium, Lady Morgan. I was a member of the party the prince took back with him to search for your friend. The young knight-in-training from Camelot.”
I was stunned. “You! You were there?”
He nodded. “You were insensible at the time. Too weak to know what the prince was doing. But as soon as the prince knew you were safe in the palace, he called his people to him. Odessa and I were honored to be asked to join the rescue effort.” I watched as he swallowed hard. “Though as it turned out, there was to be no rescue. I am so sorry. What we saw, what we learned... It haunts me still. I know the whispers have filled the court.”
“Good,” I said viciously. “What the Siabra did to those children haunts me, too.”
Crescent’s expression turned quizzical. “And yet your allegiance is to the prince. It seems strange that you should be able to balance the crimes of the Siabra with your love for him, but I suppose that is the incredible power of love.”
I bit my tongue. Hard.
“Why did Kairos kill Tabar?” I asked bluntly, setting aside subtly for one day. “Why did he kill his own brother?”
Crescent seemed surprised. “Why, to save Lyrastra, of course. And because of what Tabar had done to Prince Kairos’s...”
“Thank you, Crescent,” a deep voice called across the rotunda. “That will be all for now.”
I looked to see Draven standing in the doorway of the temple. He was a commanding presence, tall and arrogant, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, a familiar scowl on his lips. Cloaked in regal black, he wore a tunic accented with leather shoulder patches and high sturdy boots. Had he been working in the training arena today? Perhaps taking a turn on that treacherous climbing wall?
Behind him stood Odessa, looking superior and smug.
Next to her was a tall thin man with a pallid complexion. His face was framed by a meticulously groomed pointed black beard. Piercing eyes as dark as the midnight sky held my own with a relentless calculating gaze. At first, I thought the man was wearing a long cloak of onyx and gold. Then I realized the cloak was in fact wings. They folded behind his back, magnificent but ominous, like the wings of a predatory bird. I watched as the man stepped into the room.
“Where is he?” the man said curtly. “I can smell him.”
Without waiting for a reply, the bearded man raised one arm.
I gasped as a powerful force swept the room.
There was a shrieking sound and Beks slid out from under the bench where he had been hiding, his small body rolling across the floor like a ball and then rising into the air at least five feet off the ground.
