Druids who’d locked her in a dungeon and then sold her to the wraiths in exchange for dark magic. Now those same druids would receive magic from the White Tree.
“Larkin?”
She’d stopped walking to glare down at the party. “You know we can’t trust them, Denan. Especially with something as powerful as our magic.”
He trailed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Little bird, we do what we must.”
It was an old Alamantian idiom. One the pipers used to justify any number of sins. For instance, stealing Idelmarchian girls—like herself—for wives. She’d hated those words, but over these last months, she’d also learned that fighting the curse that spawned the wraiths justified many lesser evils.
The simple truth of it was that the Alamant was desperate for more fighters, and the druids were their only option.
“We wouldn’t have to rely on them if I had found Eiryss’s amulet.” But the Curse Queen’s tomb had been empty, and they didn’t have any clues where to look next.
Larkin’s thoughts broke apart as a leaf twirled delicately through the air. She caught it, gently holding it in the cup of her palm. The leaf’s normally opalescent white trimmed in gold had turned to yellow, the edges crisp and brown.
In the long centuries of the tree’s existence, it had never shed its leaves. Its magic had never allowed it. But all the magic in the world wouldn’t prevent it from dying. And if the tree died, so would the magic. The same magic that protected them from the wraiths. The same magic that prevented the poisoned wound in Denan’s side from spreading.
And if it spread, a fate far worse than death awaited the man she loved.
The breeze picked up, the branches around her sounding like rushing water. The leaf was ripped from her palm to spin out into the day.
She pressed the amulets into her skin, leaving an imprint that gave her comfort. Denan’s words echoed through her. We do what we must.
CHAPTER TWO
Until the Stars Fall
More leaves fell, showering Larkin and Denan with dying gold.
“Larkin?” Denan’s brows were crinkled with concern. He had enough to worry about without adding her to the list.
She gave him a bright smile, and they continued their descent. More Alamantians arrived on the platform. The men outnumbered the women three to one, as the curse had robbed the pipers of the ability to bear daughters.
Just as Larkin and Denan had orchestrated, the men wore the simple piper tunics and robes, over which went the embossed mantles of their family crest and swinging jewels, while the women were all dressed like Larkin, in the Alamantian style, with fancy dresses bedecked with gems.
They’d hoped the differences might make the druids feel more at home and therefore be less likely to commit violence. Though Larkin didn’t really believe anything would stop that, she’d endeavored to try.
Sitting sideways across the bottom step, his elbows on one cocked knee, Tam watched them with spring-blue eyes beneath blond curls. He winked at Larkin and nodded a greeting to Denan. “You’re in trouble.”
Denan frowned. “Why?”
Tam hopped up and tipped his head toward the current king of the Alamant, King Netrish, who stood at the food tables with his wife, Queen Jaslin. Succession in the Alamant was different than the Idelmarch. The White Tree chose the next prince at his embedding ceremony. Once the prince was married and his stolen bride settled, that prince became king. But King Netrish had made no move to step down.
The king had clearly been waiting for them to appear. He stormed over, his wife in tow. A vein stood out on his bald head, as he shook a letter at them. “I’ve already told you; the people aren’t ready.”
Larkin had helped Denan compose the letter the king held, a letter which formally asked the king to step down. She shot Tam a flat look that said, You could have given us a little more warning.
Tam shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, clearly unconcerned.
“The law is clear, Netrish.” Denan’s tone was almost bored. “When a prince’s wife is settled, he becomes king.”
Netrish pointed his fat finger at Larkin. “She escaped the Alamant—damaging our trees and the barrier in the process. She managed to get herself captured by the druids. Then she managed to get captured a second time. Hundreds of our pipers have died because of her actions. She is as willful and wild as a wraith!”
Jaslin nodded in agreement.
Tam’s nonchalance faded away. His hands came out of his pockets, and he stepped closer, a murderous look on his face.
Denan’s gaze sharpened. “Larkin isn’t the one who will be king.”
King Netrish’s gaze flicked to Denan’s hidden blight mark. “And who do you think will rule when the blight takes you?”
All Larkin’s life, men had insulted and threatened her. They would not insult her husband. Her sigils for her sword and shield flared bright enough to make the king blink. “This willful and wild woman is about to make you apologize.”
The king’s mouth opened for what she was sure was another insult.
Denan took a step closer to the king, his expression thunderous. “Larkin is the only reason your son survived. The only reason our entire army wasn’t overrun by the Idelmarchians. The only reason those same Idelmarchians aren’t tearing down our defenses while the wraiths wait in the wings to destroy us all.” He swallowed hard. “When the blight finally takes me—”
“If,” Larkin interrupted. She’d contained his blight with her own magic—a barrier in the shape of an orb, which she’d discovered later was called a weir, old magic that the enchantresses were only just beginning to grasp. He was in no danger.
“If,” Denan agreed, “the blight takes me, you’d be lucky to have her.”
In the beat of silence that followed, the king’s guards circled closer. Tam shifted so he was between them and Larkin. The queen glared at her. The powerful of the Alamant stilled to listen. Even Denan’s ever-present pages watched.
What would happen if Netrish refused to cede? The pipers wouldn’t survive a civil war. Would the White Tree itself intervene? Could it?
The king took a deep breath and straightened his fine vest. “Try me if you wish, Denan, but you’ll find most of the council and our people feel the same as I about your wife. Come along, dear.” He turned on his heel and marched off, his wife right beside him.
Larkin watched them go, wishing she could use the magic buzzing under her skin. Wishing she could explain herself to those still watching her. Yes, I made mistakes, but those deaths were not my fault. The fault lay at the feet of the wraiths’ and druids’ foolish alliance.
As if sensing her impulse, Denan wrapped his arm around her waist and held her tight. “Don’t,” he murmured. “It will make you look weak.”
“I’ll make him look weak,” Tam grumbled after the king.
The tinkling of the amethysts in Alorica’s gown announced her arrival. She glared at the king’s back. “May the shadows eat him.” Her lovely, pale purple gown contrasted with her dark skin, eyes, and short black curls.
“You look beautiful,” Larkin said.
Alorica shrugged. “Of course I do.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Denan punched Tam’s arm, then winced as his blight twinged.