“Do you like it?” I don’t know why I ask it. It’s not like it matters what she does or doesn’t like. She’s mine now, my consort to do with as I please.
“I can’t tell.”
That’s not the answer I was hoping for.
“I mean, it’s beautiful. But it’s also overwhelming.” She closes her eyes and breathes in. “And so warm here.”
“Not always, the snows to the east grow thick and deep.”
“It snows?” She quirks her head like that doesn’t seem quite right.
“We have clouds just like the night realm. The sun always shines, but we can’t always see it, and some regions are frigid, the sun notwithstanding.” I love watching her, the way she lives and breathes this new discovery. Each look or gasp or sigh amuses me far more than it should. I’m taking pleasure in her pleasure.
“I had no idea.” She shakes her head. “Mama is never going to believe this.” At that, her face falls a bit, and she eases back inside the carriage.
If I were a better, kinder fae, I’d release her from her vow and send her back to her own people. But I’m not. Besides, Brock might rupture something if I broke the agreement with the night realm any further.
“My lord,” Brock calls from behind me. I slow my pace, letting the procession continue up the grassy hill and into the farmlands on the other side.
“How is he?” I match Brock’s pace and look over at Vigel. He’s pale and asleep, the soldier he’s riding with the only thing that keeps him from falling off the horse.
“I fear he’s turning.” Brock grimaces as Vigel groans and turns his head, showing the black poison spreading to his eyes, all the way to his hairline.
“Looks like it.” I sigh. This decision is on me now. The poison has taken hold too deeply, and Vigel won’t wake. He’ll either die or turn and then die. The Daylands are fatal to the seekers, the sun withering them to bone and dust within minutes. They’ve been a scourge on the Nightlands for as long as anyone knows, but their numbers wax and wane. My spies in the Nightlands make frequent reports on them.
“My lord?” Brock’s tone takes on an urgency, one bred from hundreds of years of experience. “He’s turning.”
“He should’ve remained behind in the Nightlands.” I summon my magic, its heat crackling along my skin.
“A fate far worse than going to the Ancestors.” Brock chews the words and spits them out. “This death—one in his homeland—is better. Here, he will forever be blessed by the sun, not the inky night that clings and corrupts.”
Perhaps Brock is right. The seekers have never been anything but wolves baying for blood, their leader nothing more than a shadow that even my spies can’t get a bead on. They don’t negotiate. Only kill.
I stop the horses and dismount. Brock steps up to take Vigel, but I wave him away. The rider behind him hands the fading soldier down to me, and I carry him to a grassy spot beside the road. The sun is warm at my back, and I kneel beside the fallen fae.
He stirs, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The seeker poison is already coating his heart, turning his blood and body into something the sun will obliterate.
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and send a prayer to the Ancestors for this soldier and the others who fell in the Nightlands. “May the Ancestors greet you with all the honor you deserve.” Reaching out, I press my palm to his chest and let the burning sun flow through me, whips of fire and heat forming an inferno that turns Vigel to ash before he can feel even an ounce of pain.
When it’s done, I sit back and coil the magic back inside me, controlling the power instead of allowing it to control me. Not that it hasn’t tried. Magic is wily, and plenty of fae have followed it to the otherworld and never came back or came back changed beyond recognition. And there’s always the few that go mad.
I rise and turn, catching a glimpse of Emma before she pops back into the carriage. She saw. But maybe that’s a good thing. She needs to know that she’s consort to a king who has to make difficult decisions. A world of danger exists in and out of the day realm, and every move I make carries consequences. I’ve had that drilled into me for as long as I remember. First, as a prince, and now as king.
I turn to my line of soldiers. “May he find rest in the Glowing Lands. He goes with my thanks and the thanks of his people. Would that we all were granted such an honorable end.”
They shout back a guttural salute, one I’ve heard my entire life.
Brock and I mount our horses and continue toward the farmlands.
I should be thinking about the seekers and the fallen soldiers. Instead, I’m thinking of Emma’s face as she watched me wield my magic. Fear. She brimmed with it; her eyes wide as I focused the power of the sun. It doesn’t sit well with me. None of it does. But her terror somehow rubs me raw.
“My lord?”
“Hmm?” I glance at Brock.
“You have a troubled look about you.”
“No trouble.” I retrain my focus on the carriage.
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “The nightlings fear the sun.”
“I know.” I shrug. “I’m not thinking about that.”
He grunts a mirthless laugh. “We need to work on your subterfuge if you’re to survive the crown.”
I want to scowl at him, but he’s right. “Fine. Yes. She was terrified.”
“They fear the sun, and you are the sun. The power you control is something she’s been taught to dread for her entire short life. Besides, it doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t like it. She’s a changeling consort, after all.”
I nod, though I’m not entirely in agreement with his sentiment.
He goes back to his usual brooding as we crest the hill and get a grand view of the farmlands below.
“My lord.” Alarm colors Brock’s voice, and I see it at the same moment he does.
“Day warriors!” I yell and spur my horse to move faster, to pull out in front.
The pounding of hooves grows behind me as we thunder into the valley toward the burning settlement where screams still rise and the scent of blood peppers the air.
9
Emma
The carriage continues at a slower pace as the horses thunder past. Something’s wrong. The hackles on the back of my neck rise, and I take a chance and look out the window again. The last time I did that, I saw the unbelievable power that lives inside Solano. Was I going to play hard-to-get with him? I swallow hard. He could destroy me with a whisper.
What I see now isn’t much better. A farm ahead burns, flames leaping into the too-blue sky as faint screams waft through the air. I grip the window frame, my body going rigid. We have danger in the Nightlands—creatures in the woods, seekers, and even a changeling or a fae can turn violent. But this? I’ve never experienced something like it.
The farmhouse is an inferno, the flames spreading to the field around it. Charred bodies lie in the green grass outside the front door, as if they tried to run from the house but were mowed down.
“Water!” Solano yells and races off toward a nearby stream that glitters in a way that should fascinate me. Instead of watching the water, I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the fire and the dead.