35. Niko

35

NIKO

T his was not happening.

Clinging to Casimir and Gwyneira’s instructions on how to not look like a floundering fool on the verge of drowning, I made myself keep breathing as I walked toward the crowd of giants. The vampire was right, I knew. The Erenlians didn’t need to see my doubts or fears. They needed me focused. So I had to keep my thoughts centered and grounded and not panic about the fact all I’d wanted to do was protect my treluria, not inadvertently nominate myself for a crown.

Never mind that the wall itself was a bit hard to ignore.

Whispered pleas came from the magical barrier. They hadn’t stopped once since we left the gateway. But the voices didn’t speak with words, exactly. Just strangely distant cries of pain and murmurs of sorrow that somehow communicated what they needed—and what I needed to do.

Except now I realized I might be the only one hearing them.

Which surely meant this wasn’t actually happening.

I did my best to smile at the giants as I approached, but it didn’t seem to help much. They glared or eyed me with suspicion, or sometimes avoided my gaze entirely. Which made sense, really. They didn’t trust me. Animals in nature were rarely friendly to anyone they didn’t trust. Why should giants—or humans or witches or anyone for that matter—behave differently?

But gods, maybe that meant this really was happening.

I swallowed hard and reminded myself again to keep breathing. “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked an Erenlian woman who was struggling to quiet the crying infant in her arms.

She tensed with a soft gasp. Her dark skin was faintly marbled with swirls of tan and golden brown, and her clothes were as threadbare as the blanket she tried to wrap around the baby. Nervously, her amber eyes flicked past me to someone near the wall. “N-no, thank you.” She bundled the baby closer. “We’re fine.”

Retreating quickly, she disappeared into the crowd.

Gods, was she scared of me?

I glanced over my shoulder.

No, not me. Not exactly. More like she was scared of anyone thinking she wasn’t loyal to the duke—same as probably every other giant here.

Because near the opening through the wall, Norbert was watching me, Brock at his side. The former smirked and said something to Brock, while the latter just stared at me without the slightest hint of a reaction to Norbert’s words.

Both were making it abundantly clear I was under their scrutiny, and so was anyone who spoke to me.

A giant shoved past Ozias, sending him rocking back and nearly colliding with my side. “Move it, dwarves.” The giant glared at us as he strode onward, heading for the duke with a swagger in his step like he knew he’d just proven his loyalty.

Ozias growled, but a cautioning noise from Dex kept him still.

I fought to give no sign of how my heart sank. Gods, I knew our options before now hadn’t been good, considering Duke Ensid intended to leave us in Aneira. But I’d definitely made things worse.

I wasn’t royal. I was a guy who’d grown up as far from that as one could get. My home in the forest had been nothing more than a cabin built into a hillside, with moss hanging from the rafters and dirt for a floor. Marnira had decorated with rocks and flowers, and every spring, we’d needed to patch holes in the walls and ceiling to keep mud from getting in. Until Clay came along with his skill for magically crafting clothes, I’d worn baggy homespun shirts and rough leathers I fashioned by hand. Even now, I was more comfortable in a forest than a crowd.

No one could look at me and think I should be nobility, let alone king.

“Come on,” Dex said as the duke stepped through the opening. “We don’t want him out of our sight for long.”

And then there was that.

At the heart of the group with Gwyneira at my side, I followed them, trying desperately to find a bright side to keep myself from suffocating under this madness.

But then, maybe I was overreacting. After all, this whole thing really could be some kind of mistake. Maybe some distant ancestor of mine, twenty generations removed, had been royal. Maybe everyone here had a distant ancestor like that too. So if one of my friends had touched the wall instead, they’d be the ones standing here because some thimble-full of royal blood still lived in their veins.

The thought was calming.

But it didn’t do much for how the giants continued staring at me or murmuring among themselves with distrustful looks on their faces.

At long last, the final few Erenlians made their way through the gap, leaving only us. Keeping me at the center of their line, my friends trailed the giants, protectiveness radiating from them like predators on high alert.

They were behaving like bodyguards—for me and Gwyneira both—and I appreciated it beyond words, at least where she was concerned.

My own safety was nothing compared to protecting her.

The wall whispered louder as I passed through the gap I’d somehow made. So many voices overlapped each other from within its gray fog, it was impossible to understand any words. The murk was at least six feet thick, smooth like glass, not that I dared touch it again. A tingling sensation rushed around my skin in a wave when I stepped through to the other side, the prickling there and then gone.

And then we were in Erenelle.

I looked over my shoulder as the tingling faded. Behind me, the opening in the wall was sealing shut, but the gray murk didn’t look the same as it had on the other side. Instead of fog obscuring my view, there was opalescent glass, through which I could see the expanse of Aneira stretching away beneath the blue winter sky.

I stared. It was as if we stood inside a shimmering soap bubble so massive, it could surround the entire nation. The wall stretched away from me on either side as far as my eyes could see, and it rose into the sky higher than birds could fly, until at last it curved back toward the heart of my nation.

“It’s beautiful,” Gwyneira whispered.

I would have agreed, if not for how it still whispered with far-off cries of pain.

“Can you hear them?” I whispered back.

Her confused look was answer enough.

“Never mind.” I ducked my head, hurrying away from the wall.

From the corners of my eyes, I saw the curious looks my friends gave me, but they didn’t press for more. Falling in around me like bodyguards again, they turned their attention to the giants and the terrain.

Not that the latter presented much of a threat. Yes, I picked up on a few larger animals here and there—a pack of wolves, some elk, and something that felt like a bobcat quite a distance away in the forest—but none were interested in approaching a group as numerous as ours. Other than that, there were only sleeping plants resting beneath the winter snow and small creatures who might run or might willingly be food.

But no people.

“Anybody else feel like we’re walking in a graveyard?” Clay whispered.

Murmurs of agreement passed among my friends, while up ahead, the larger giants huddled together with pained or apprehensive expressions. Even the duke seemed on edge. Nature had flourished in the years since the wall rose, and I could only assume some strange twist of the spell allowed sunlight, snow, and the wind to penetrate the barrier even if nothing else could. But if anyone had survived the war within our nation’s borders, they weren’t anywhere my magic could perceive.

“Do you think they’re hiding?” Gwyneira asked, her voice low like the silence of this place made her nervous.

Dex glanced at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“I’m only picking up on animals,” I admitted. “No people.”

Grim looks settled on my friends’ faces. “Let us know if that changes,” was all Dex said.

Ignatius slowed his steps. “I take it you have an affinity for nature?”

I supposed there was little point in hiding it, given what I’d just told my friends. “Yes.”

“And your companions?”

The others hesitated, but finally, Dex sighed. “Growth.” He twitched his head at us.

“Wood,” Roan said.

Ignatius’s brow rose. “Possibly some form of demonic fire too, I suspect?” At Roan’s shrug, he made a thoughtful sound. “Interesting. Flame and its fuel. Yet did you know that some of our oldest stories speak of wood that will not burn, even when surrounded by a blaze? I’ve always understood that as a metaphor for life that persists even at the heart of that which should have consumed it. Quite the inspiring image.”

When Roan said nothing, he merely smiled and turned to Ozias. “And you?”

“Stone.”

“Water,” Clay said at the same time Lars spoke up, “Fire.”

Ignatius chuckled. “Fate has a sense of humor, doesn’t it?” He glanced at Byron. “If I recall, your mentor Dathan told me you had an affinity for… what was it?”

“Energy.” Byron’s voice was like ice.

“Ah yes, lightning and the power of the sun and so forth.”

Byron didn’t respond.

“What of your vampiric friends?”

I could feel the tension rise like static on the air.

Casimir gave the scholar a measured smile that could have meant anything. “Legend has it, my family is descended of angels. My gifts incorporate aspects of those powers.”

Ignatius made an impressed sound. His eyes went to Gwyneira.

Fear gripped me. What did we say? The giants needed to keep believing she was Zeniryan. But if we mentioned witches, would it make Ignatius question that story?

Gods, I didn’t know enough about Zeniryan history to have any idea what the right answer could be.

Gwyneira smiled, and when she spoke, her words were as calm as a windless lake. “My mother was a diamond witch.”

“Truly?” His brow rose and fell. “I knew several of their number. They were as honorable as they were powerful.”

Her polite smile communicated respectful gratitude and nothing more, like a work of art whose calm I could never hope to match.

“But I don’t think I learned your name, dear,” Ignatius continued.

Gods, how the tension rose around me. Could the old scholar feel that? The way every single one of us suddenly became like an animal torn between bolting and attacking?

“Snow,” Byron said suddenly. “Her name is Snow.”

I scrambled to hide my incredulity. Had he honestly just named our treluria after the first thing he saw?

Admittedly, it did sort of fit her.

I damn near scoffed at myself. That hardly mattered. I mean, yes, fine, Snow seemed like a good nickname for her if nothing else. But Byron was a brilliant scholar. Surely he, of all people, knew Ignatius would see through the blatant ruse and demand to know her real name.

But the elderly giant only smiled. “How lovely.”

Gwyneira said nothing while I tried to remember how to breathe.

“The Nine are balanced between so much of this world,” Ignatius continued. “Fire and water. Wood and stone and nature itself. Even the energy of life and magic, and with links to the angelic and demonic realms.” He shook his head as if marveling. “In their joined strength, the power of the wielder at your center must be incredible.”

Forget breathing. Or blinking. Or knowing what the hell to do.

“Joined strength?” Casimir repeated.

“Wielder?” Clay added, looking like he’d never heard of such a thing.

“Well, yes.” Ignatius seemed surprised. “While there have been few studies published concerning the legend of the Nine, the most highly regarded interpretation is indisputable on that point.”

“ What point?” I asked carefully.

Ignatius looked like it was obvious. “That the powers of the Nine are as one, joined to their very core around a central member for the sake of saving the world.”