“The war probably would’ve happened anyway,” Haven offered. “The Noctis and the Solis will never share the same realm in peace.”
The priests claimed the Noctis’ dark magick made them tricksters prone to jealousy and rage. That they would always hate the Solis.
Which was why, when the Noctis lost the Shadow War, they’d been sent back to the Netherworld and the veil between their world and the mortal world sealed tight.
“They say Odin went mad with rage and grief,” Bell added, his tone an unnerving mix of reverence and fear. “That his dark magick turned on him, twisting his heart until he transformed into the . . . Shadeling.”
The word Shadeling came out a whisper, and Bell involuntarily flinched, his eyes squeezing tight.
It was said the terrifying God could hear every time someone said his name. Which seemed odd considering his name was infused into countless common phrases.
“Is it bad that I feel sorry for the Noctis?” Bell asked, biting his lip. “They were banished from their home into the Netherworld and tortured by a monster. And they just look so . . . well, forlorn, with their sad droopy wings and frowns.”
Haven snorted. Only Bell could feel sorry for the Noctis. “You’ve only seen them in illustrations. They might be perfectly happy being monsters.”
“I doubt that.” His voice grew wistful. “Even monsters have souls. Like that creature you’re drawing there.” His gaze flicked to her sketch. “There’s a sadness behind those handsome eyes.”
She glanced down at her partial drawing of the beasts from the woods, a large blank spot where the Shade Lord’s body should be. His face though, had been drawn in perfect detail, right down to the striations in his strange, glowing irises and the silvery bands in his onyx horns.
“His eyes don’t look sad to me,” she muttered, cringing as the Shade Lord seemed to sneer at her in amusement. She covered the sharp, too-real face with her charcoal-smudged hand. “Besides, he’s not real.”
Bell just stared at her with that dopey smile.
Biting her lip, she regarded her best friend, the boy she was sworn to protect with her life. Often, she wondered how someone as good as Bell could have come from someone like King Horace.
But the prince’s kind heart was both a blessing and a curse. Someday, Bell would be King of Penryth, the largest and most valuable kingdom in the mortal lands.
Rulers here had to be cunning and ruthless to survive. And Bell was neither of those things.
That’s why he had her.
She shuffled her sketchpad on her lap, prepared to rip out the page, crumple it, and forget the Shade Lord forever. But her gaze snagged on the hollows below his cheeks and shifted upward to those vibrant, otherworldly eyes.
Inexplicably, he seemed tied to the shadow of foreboding that hung over today. As if his presence had shifted something inside her, cracks forming in the delicate sense of security she clung to in Penryth.
Bell cleared his throat. “One more story?”
But she couldn’t look away from the Noctis beneath her fingertips . . .
“Haven?”
Releasing a ragged breath, she tore her gaze from the monster on her page and flashed Bell an apologetic smile. Already, the restless stirrings she could never quite escape were calling her to uncoil. To move. To do anything but sit and think.
There was only so much her sketchpad could do to muffle those impulses.
Plus, she needed to map out Bell’s activities for the day and then check the areas he would visit, ensuring nothing was out of the ordinary and that he could travel safely. With villagers from the nearby kingdoms journeying for days to attend, the crowds would be huge.
“Bell, I can’t.” She slipped her charcoal-smudged hand over his, dropping the velvet-wrapped runestone into his palm. “But . . . I got you something.”
As soon as she removed her hand and he saw the scarlet cloth, his eyes lit up. “Haven Ashwood, did you get me a present?”
“You only turn seventeen once. Open it.”
He lifted the cloth to his ear and shook it. “Let me guess, it’s a puppy.”
“Open it!”
With a dramatic flourish, he revealed the runestone. It shimmered in the soft light, radiating a silvery fire from within. The rune came to life beneath his gentle touch, a delicate orange line swirling and moving in time with his heartbeat.
Bell’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Nethergates! This is . . . this is real, isn’t it?”
“Well, I didn’t get it at Gilly’s booth in the market.”
“It’s warm.” His mouth stretched in a wide grin as he held the stone up between two fingers. “What House Rune is this?”
“Volantis.”
“Volantis? That’s a . . . that’s a . . .”
“Protection Rune.” The stone sparkled, and Haven laughed. “It likes you.”
Any other mortal would have scoffed at her suggestion that the runestone had feelings. Even Damius, the rune-hunting Devourer she’d spent years working and training under would’ve said she was crazy to suggest the stones were anything but instruments.
Still, when Haven held the runestones, she could feel something. A connection, an emotion, as if an invisible thread ran from the stone connecting her to the Nihl—which was, for her, impossible.
But not for Bell. Not with his royal blood, imbued with the magick of his ancestors. There hadn’t been a royal lightcaster of the Nine in years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t down there somewhere.
“Between your thoroughly armed presence and the longevity runestone I’ll receive today,” Bell chided, “I don’t think I’m in need of any more protection.”
“You never can be too careful.”
Bell closed the stone up in its cloth and slipped it into his pocket. “I just hope you didn’t go through too much trouble to get this.”
“None,” she lied, standing up. “Now you’ll be doubly protected even when I’m not there. In fact, you’ll live to such an old age you’ll beg to be put out of your misery.”
What she didn’t tell him was that, while technically the House Volantis Rune was a protection rune, the runestone in Bell’s pocket wasn’t from the Nine Mortal Houses.
It was a powerrune, forbidden for mortals.
Which in her experience made it all the more powerful . . . and deadly, if caught with it.
According to the Goddess’s law, the Nine Mortal House Runes were reserved for nobles descended from one of the nine humans first given magick. But there were thousands of runes, most stronger than the ones allowed the Mortal Houses.
Of course, there were hundreds of fake runes too. But Haven was the only one in Damius’s crew who could spot the rare, forbidden runes that were off limits to mortals.
On the black market, the stones were worth a small fortune; if she were ever caught with them, they were worthy of death.
But why should the Solis have all the fun?
There was a loud crack as the doors to the library slammed open and someone entered, their steps echoing over the wood floor like the blows of a mallet.
The king’s mistress was a sharp, bony woman who hid her thin lips and sagging skin with an array of pigments, silks, and jewels, but her most stunning possession was a curtain of marigold hair that cascaded nearly to her waist. Little diamond-studded dahlia barrettes winked from her tresses and drew the eye.