A buttery glow fills the room as Xerin shapes into his tried-and-true form—the falcon. Braxton ducks as he soars right past his head and out into the darkening night sky. He braces himself against the window, holding the rope for support. His heart almost stops when he assesses the distance from where he’s crouched.
It’s a long way down.
The falcon glides by the window, its wings almost swiping his cheek. “Okay, okay,” he says, cautiously lowering himself over the ledge. With his feet pressed firmly against the stone and his hands wrapped tightly around the rope, Braxton begins his descent.
ARDEN ELIRI
“IT’S TOO DANGEROUS.”
My gaze meets Haskell’s. I look down at the piece of parchment, the one where I’ve written out my knowledge of the Savant and their abilities. “Please, will you just hear me out? This is something, but I know it’s not enough. We need to learn about the other Savant members if we ever stand the chance of—”
“Of what?” he interrupts, his tone callous. “Of overthrowing Trendalath? Of killing Tymond?” He throws his hands in the air. “Are you even listening to yourself? You and I alone can’t defeat him. And perhaps you’re forgetting that you are the most wanted illusié in Aeridon
right now.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t let me finish.” He doesn’t realize that I’m basing what I want to share next solely on his current reaction—and it’s not looking good. Perhaps now isn’t the best time to point out that it all may have been an illusion . . . but that theory only applies to my situation. It doesn’t explain whether the orb that led him to our father’s hideaway was real or not. I decide to keep it to myself.
“Arden,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “the only reason I was able to find you was because Xerin told me where you were. I almost didn’t believe it—that you were actually alive. All this time, I’d thought I was the only Eliri left. You have no idea what that news meant to me. I didn’t risk everything just to go and risk everything all over again.”
I see his point, but I’m not budging. “I know you risked everything in going to Trendalath, in rescuing me from Tymond . . . from death. I am so grateful for that.” I pause, knowing my next words won’t be received well. “But if we aren’t going to get the answers we need to defeat him, it will all be for naught. And Trendalath—hell, even Aeridon—will remain exactly as it is.”
Haskell knocks his fist on the table, sending a few quills flying off the sides. He squeezes the bridge of his nose, then takes a long, steady breath. “Do you know what happened to our mother?”
The question comes as a shock. I open my mouth to respond, but the words elude me.
“The King’s Savant murdered her.”
His icy gaze chills me to my core. “How?”
“There are multiple theories, none of which have been verified. Not surprising,” he scoffs, his disdain for Tymond more evident than I’ve ever seen before. “But what I can tell you is that she didn’t deserve it.”
“Do you remember her?”
His voice cracks. “Only slightly.”
“I need to show you something.” I go to my knapsack and gingerly remove the folded photo I’d stolen from Braxton’s childhood room. I walk to him, slowly, and wait for his eyes to meet mine before handing it over.
At first, his expression remains blank, but it quickly turns to disbelief. “Where did you get this?”
I ignore his question. “That’s you, isn’t it?” I ask, pointing to the young boy in the photo. “And that’s our mother.”
His stunned silence is the only answer I need.
Clutching the photo in one hand, he reaches behind him with the other, searching for something to sit on. I guide him toward a bench, sitting next to him as he processes the information.
“Where did you get this?” he asks again.
“Trendalath castle. From”—I stop myself, not knowing if Haskell knows who Braxton is—“the prince’s room.” I point to the picture of the other young boy in the photo. The one with white-blonde hair.
He flips the photo over. “Your birth date.”
I nod, not knowing what to say next. We’re both at a loss for words, and rightly so.
After a stretched silence, I whisper, “Does this mean—?”
“—that we share blood with the Tymonds?” The photograph drops from his hands, fluttering to the ground. “Hard to say.”
A lump forms in my throat. “What do we do?”
But I already know how he’ll answer. For the first time since I’ve met him, Haskell doesn’t know what to do.
And neither do I.
DARIUS TYMOND
THE TREK INTO Volkharn takes every bit of two hours to complete, but it’s time well spent. Panting, Darius arrives at the gates, hardly stopping to catch his breath. He holds his ring in front of the enormous metal structure, smiling as the glow from the amethyst unlocks the entrance. The gates swing open to let him pass.
As he ventures further into the mountains, it grows darker and darker, the green light from his staff doing little to light the way. The sound of rushing water greets him, and he knows he’s getting close. He steps onto the floating stones below him, going the distance until he crosses over to the other side. His gaze settles on a wall covered in vines. He reaches out in front of him with both hands, fingers spread wide, searching as they brush against leaves and sprigs, stems and flower petals. Finally, he senses the invisible veil that’s separating him from where he wants to be—where he needs to be. His ring pulsates the moment it comes into contact, and the veil is lifted.
The reflection of moonlight in the vast body of water illuminates the entire mountain cavern. Varied rock formations scale the sides, and a series of breathtaking waterfalls cascade down the mountain. They flow into multiple streams, dancing along the bank’s edge, until finally pouring into the expanse of cerulean before him.
He has arrived.
Breathing in the crisp air, Darius leans his staff against the wall. He removes his robes, gently laying them near the entrance. He locates the sturdiest edge of a triangular shaped stone, testing it with a quick press of his toe, then steps onto it. With his feet firmly in place and his arms extended outward, he slowly floats to the center of the water. The waterfalls cease and everything around him stills.
The formation halts, securing itself into place below the water. Darius joins his hands, interlacing his fingers, as he stares intently into the vast space, the energy in his ring humming violently against his skin. He closes his eyes and waits. Although he can’t see it, he senses the shift.
His eyelids flutter open just as a familiar black mist begins to take shape above the water. It grows larger and denser, to the point where it blocks his entire view of the cavern. His gaze unrelenting, he waits patiently until the tip of a red cloak emerges. It breaks through the mist, floating toward him with tremendous speed. As discreetly as he can manage, he braces himself, waiting until it gets just close enough.