The thought is almost too much to bear. I can feel my chest tighten as panic settles in. I grow lightheaded, scanning the area around me as quickly as I can to find somewhere to sit. A giant boulder comes into my fuzzy, dot-filled view and, even though I’m stumbling, I manage to make it over, taking a seat before my legs decide to give out, too.
I struggle to take a deep breath as more thoughts plague my mind. I never would have fled Sardoria had I known the outcome, had Cyrus not . . .
Cyrus.
His name is like a punch to the gut. Why had he brought me there? And against my will? How could he betray me like that, especially after what he’d told me about my father?
I look ahead to see that Haskell has already disappeared. If I had to guess, he’s likely more than a hundred paces in front of me, probably wondering what in the world is taking me so long. Does he know about our father? Does he want to know?
No questions about family-related issues. Haskell’s voice rings in my head.
Another day, then.
Juniper circles my feet, brushing against my calves. I wait until my vision is less hazy before rising from my spot on the boulder. I look ahead with steadfast determination, recognizing this particular path of trees. The cave is just around the corner.
I’d fled Sardoria to keep from hurting anyone even more than I already had, and to learn what the hooded figure was—what it wanted from me. What it still wants from me.
And yet, I remain completely in the dark. I’d left looking for answers only to return with even more burning questions than before. My life has become nothing more than a tangled web of deceit, lies, and betrayal.
Who is Arden Eliri? I sure as hell don’t know.
Not anymore.
As I round the final corner, the cave comes into view. Haskell’s bulky shadow highlights the entrance. I raise my face to the sky one final time, hoping that my fellow Caldari will somehow sense my thoughts.
That they’ll come looking for me.
That they still care enough to do so.
That, eventually, they’ll be able to forgive me.
I have a sinking feeling that they won’t—and there’s no one to blame but myself.
DARIUS TYMOND
DARIUS STANDS AT the water’s edge, alone. Thousands of stars glisten in the glassy reflection, making the horizon nearly indiscernible. A soft breeze ripples through the trees on the coastline, but refuses to touch the water. It’s a calm evening, unlike so many nights before where the waves would crash violently against the shore. It’s almost as if Aldreda herself has calmed the rising tides just to spite him. His jaw clenches at the thought.
An opulent moon emerges from behind a haze of white and silver clouds, casting a rather luminous glow over the kingdom of Trendalath. He glances over his shoulder before fully turning around to take in the sight—the four massive turrets bordering the castle; the slate-gray mortar and stone holding the monstrosity together; and the once lively garden that used to house tulips, lilies, and a multitude of herbs—but being outside the castle walls, it’s not surprising it hasn’t been tended to. Especially after . . .
A pit forms in his stomach at the unexpected memory. The moon falls behind another set of clouds, these darker than the last, as if encouraging him to tumble deeper into the darkness—but the memory doesn’t even have the chance to play out in his head, let alone form in full. He brings his attention to his hands, twisting the amethyst ring round his finger, before beginning his trek back to the castle grounds. Another breeze. He can feel Aldreda in the strong current that’s sweeping through his gray peppered hair, tugging at his robes, rattling his dragon brooch, stirring his mind—trying, in vain, to pull him back toward the sea.
He presses onward.
The day after Aldreda had passed, he’d ordered Cyrus to locate a handcrafted canoe from one of the Trendalath merchants. He’d arranged for her body to be laid to rest at sea—mostly because she’d always wished to be buried inside the castle, as most royalty would. That, and because she’d despised the ocean.
The salt never failed to gather in her elaborately coiffed hair, sting her eyes, weigh down her robes—the complaints had been endless. She’d preferred to stay inside the castle where it was safe, clean, and dry. Much unlike her sister. Her sister had loved the sea—lived for it, even.
Darius places one hand at the side entrance of the castle before closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the wooden door. He pushes harder and harder until he can feel an indentation forming just below his hairline. Keeping these memories suppressed for so many years has left a lifetime of unknowns stretched before him. He crumples against the door.
After what his wife had done . . . she’d deserved what she’d gotten. The infidelity. The betrayal. The loss of an heir—or the idea of one, at least. A brutal and justifiable end to a life brimming with treachery and deceit—to which Arden had been the perfect scapegoat. No one would ever suspect that the king would have anything to do with the queen’s untimely death.
But he’d had everything to do with it.
And for very, very good reason.
RYDAN HELSTROM
XERIN HASN’T RETURNED in days, which doesn’t do much to ease Rydan’s growing nerves. Every morning since they’d last received news of Arden, Rydan would wake before dawn, rush to the window, then fling the door open—hoping and praying that he’d spot a falcon soaring overhead. He’d been disappointed for twenty-three consecutive days.
Today isn’t any different.
Not even a cheerful sky sprinkled with wisps of clouds can improve his steadily darkening mood. With a sigh, he slams the door shut, cringing slightly as the dwelling’s weak structure rattles and shakes. Vira still isn’t up yet, but after the ruckus he’s just made, she might as well be.
Rydan pulls a stool from underneath the kitchen counter and plops down on it. He rakes a hand through his unkempt hair a few times before rubbing the sides of his temples. With each day that passes, his guilt only grows. How selfish he’s been—for fleeing Sardoria and abandoning the people who had saved him from an unwarranted fate; for taking Vira with him when she’d just reunited with her brother; for trying to derail her plans to tell Arden what they’d discovered about her family. He’s only been thinking about himself.
He’s only ever thought about himself.
The clearing of a throat catches his attention. He turns over his shoulder to see Vira in her nightgown with a blanket draped over her shoulders, leaning against the wall of the living room. Her disheveled hair and soft expression tell Rydan that she’s just awoken.
“Another early morning?”
It’s not so much a question as it is an observation. Rydan just nods before turning back in his seat.
Vira goes to the pantry, scanning the limited options. She holds up a bag of oats and a crisp red apple. “Have you eaten?”
He considers lying to her, then thinks better of it. There’s no need to answer, though, because she already knows.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says, readying a pot of water to boil. “We’re going to have a nice breakfast. You’re going to eat every last bite. And then we’re going to go into town for the afternoon. Get our minds off of all of this.”