Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

MIRELLA

T he next few days fell into a pattern.

Every morning, Andrin emerged from his bedchamber and left without speaking to me. Shortly afterward, Ginhad showed up, freed me from the cage, and filled the next few hours with breakfast, court gossip, and gown selections. “Please, anything but green.”

His duties took him elsewhere for lunch, which meant returning to the cage.

“I’m so sorry, Mirella,” he said the first day. “If it were up to me ? —”

“It’s not,” I said, taking his hands. “And you shouldn’t feel bad about it. I’m comfortable enough.”

It wasn’t a lie. Considering the alternatives, the cage wasn’t a terrible place to spend an afternoon. I selected a few books from Andrin’s shelves, fluffed the pillows, and read as the fire crackled and leaves tumbled past the window. If I braced a foot on the bars and shifted my weight, I could even set the contraption gently swinging.

At night, the court feasted in the Great Hall. Andrin ordered me to sit at his feet, but he didn’t force me to serve the nobles again, and he didn’t feed me by hand. With Rane absent, Andrin was a brooding presence on his throne, only breaking his silence when the blond-haired elf drew him into occasional conversation.

With each passing evening, the mood in the hall grew wilder…and more carnal. Men pulled women onto their laps and kissed in the open. A platinum-haired lord bent another lord over one of the tables and swatted his backside while their tablemates cheerfully counted the strokes. A woman straddled a chair, her skirts hiked scandalously high as she plucked grapes from a tray and fed them to a blushing maiden kneeling in a low-cut gown at her feet.

I observed all this from the base of Andrin’s throne, my face hot and my body buzzing. Laughter mingled with the minstrels’ lively music. The scent of wine and roasted meat drifted in the air. Flickering torchlight cast wild shadows on the walls.

Night after night, Andrin remained aloof, his blue gaze occasionally landing on a scene of revelry before moving to another part of the hall. He ate and drank, seemingly unaffected by the crowd’s growing bawdiness.

When the evenings wound down, he touched my shoulder, wordlessly ordering me to rise and follow him back to his quarters. Once there, he gave me a few minutes of privacy to see to my needs before locking me in the cage and disappearing into his bedchamber.

The afternoon of the fifth day, I expected the pattern to continue. But shortly after Ginhad left, Andrin strode from his bedchamber and settled behind a big desk tucked in the corner.

I froze, a book in my lap and one foot propped on the cage’s bars. Wood creaked as I swung back and forth in front of the window.

Andrin ignored me, his brow furrowed as he pulled a thick ledger toward him and opened it. His hair was knotted at his nape, revealing his firm jaw and pointed ears. He was dressed as casually as I’d ever seen him, in simple trousers and a plain linen shirt open at the throat. He’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, exposing the thick sigils that covered his forearms and stopped at his wrists.

And I was staring. Shifting on the pillows, I went back to reading.

Moments later, a clinking sound brought my head back up. Across the room, Andrin dipped a quill in an inkwell. Then he bent over the ledger and wrote, his quill scratching against the parchment. After a second, he paused, his brows pulling together. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he studied the ledger.

Maybe he was writing a letter. Or a diary entry about what an asshole he was. In that case, he was going to be at his desk for a while.

I worked my foot against the bars, making the cage sway again as I turned the page in my book.

Andrin’s chair scraped the stone. I watched through my lashes as he stood and went to the bookcase behind his desk. Hands on his hips, he studied the shelves. Then he went on tiptoe and selected a thick volume. He turned slowly, his head bent as he flipped through what appeared to be another ledger.

I focused on my book. Leaves drifted past the window, some disappearing mid-flight. The cage creaked rhythmically.

The chair scraped again, followed by the scratch of Andrin’s quill. He cursed softly, and the scratching paused, only to pick up again.

I reread the same paragraph, my burgundy-colored skirts rustling as I continued working my foot against the bars. A sigh built in my chest as I flipped back a page and started the chapter anew.

“Will you stop that?” Andrin barked.

I jerked my head up to find him scowling at me. He’d tossed his quill down and planted his elbows on the ledger.

“You’re going to get ink on your shirt,” I said.

He looked down, then jerked his arms off the ledger. Twisting his arm, he examined his elbow. Sure enough, a small ink stain spread over the cloth.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He snatched the quill from the desk and gestured toward me. “It’s your fault. I can’t think with all that creaking.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quieter in my cage.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You do that,” he said after a second. He went back to writing, one big palm flat on the opposite page. A tendril of red hair escaped his queue and dangled over the parchment. “I should make you look at this,” he mumbled after a second. “Give you something to do besides irritate me.”

“What is it?”

Andrin looked up. He stabbed the quill into its holder and sat back. “Household accounts.” He stared at the ledger books spread over his desk. “I’m…not the best at reconciliation.”

Curiosity drew me forward, and I curled my fingers around the bars as I peered at his desk. “Isn’t that a job for Ginhad?”

Andrin raised his eyebrows at me. “You have spent more than five minutes around Ginhad, yes?”

I couldn’t hold back my smile. “I guess I can see your point.”

“He has his strengths, but ciphering isn’t one of them.” Andrin sighed, rubbing at his jaw again. “Unfortunately, it’s not one of mine, either.”

I bit my tongue. Then I shrugged inwardly. “It’s one of mine. I could try to help if you want.”

He stared at me. I tensed, ready to withdraw the offer. I’d been stupid to even think of it. Andrin hated me, and I hated him. I was his prisoner. He’d threatened and insulted?—

“All right,” he said, rising and crossing the room. My heart fluttered as he ran a hand down the cage and popped the door open. He helped me climb out, then swept an arm toward the desk. “If you think you can balance my books, have at it.”

I hesitated, waiting for him to declare the whole thing a joke and order me back into the cage. When he merely lifted an eyebrow in apparent challenge, I went to the desk and studied the ledgers.

Columns of figures marched down the page, several scratched out with different numbers scribbled next to them. Immediately, I picked out mistakes that threw the totals in other columns into question.

Andrin leaned against the desk, an air of expectation around him as he observed me.

“Here,” I said, pointing to one of the notes. “I see why you changed this, but your original number was correct.”

He craned his head, confusion clouding his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“I’ll show you.” I reached for the quill. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

I carefully dipped the quill in ink, then began correcting mistakes. I moved quickly, lining out entries and writing in new numbers. Ciphering had always been one of those routine but satisfying tasks that calmed my brain, and the tension left my shoulders as I worked down the page. The rapid scratch of the quill mixed with the occasional pop from the fire.

Andrin was a quiet, watchful presence. He leaned a hip on the corner of the desk as he followed my progress with growing interest.

After several minutes, I straightened and then ran my gaze down the columns a final time. Nodding in satisfaction, I offered Andrin the quill. “There. Everything is balanced now.”

He accepted the quill, then came slowly around the desk. Shoulder almost brushing mine, he ran a light finger down one ledger, then the other. Sunlight slanted over him, putting golden highlights in his hair and gilding the sigils around his forearms. The scent of oak and woodsmoke teased my nose.

Nerves tightened my stomach, which was ridiculous. My numbers were right.

I’ll be damned,” Andrin said softly. He lifted his head and met my gaze. “You fixed everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We stared at each other, dust motes stirring in the shafts of sunlight that fell over the desk. A shadow tumbled between us, and we both looked toward the window, where a leaf spun through the air before touching the glass and vanishing.

“Does it always rain leaves in Autumn?” I asked, searching the sky for others. When Andrin didn’t answer, I turned back to find him staring at me.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. The enchantment dates from the time of the Covenant. Othor wrote a book about it.” Andrin turned, gesturing to the shelves behind us. “I believe it’s here.”

“And Othor is…?”

“The High Priest of the Autumn Court.”

Surprise flared in my mind. Every few months, a traveling priest made the climb to Purecliff. The household staff squeezed onto benches in the castle’s tiny shrine as he mumbled a few prayers and collected a fee.

“This Othor speaks to the gods?” I asked.

Andrin’s expression cooled. “Othor Verdalis tends the Edeloak. My house has always cared for the trees. In past centuries, we counted dozens of priests and priestesses among our numbers. Othor is the only priest left in Autumn. The others perished in the Edelfen after we lost the Kree.”

Just like that, the tentative camaraderie between us evaporated. For a moment, Andrin had seen me as someone other than Walto Lornlark’s daughter. That moment was gone.

As an awkward silence stretched, I inclined my head. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for allowing me to look at the ledgers. I love reading, but it was nice to do something else for a change.” I moved around the desk.

“Where are you going?” Andrin demanded.

I froze, then turned enough to meet his stare. “I’m returning to the cage.”

He frowned, his eyes shifting to the cage behind me. Then he moved swiftly, flipping the ledgers closed and stuffing them back on the shelves. He pulled a different book from the stacks and tucked it under his arm.

“Ginhad will be along shortly to help you dress for this evening’s feast,” he said tightly. “You might as well stay out of the cage until he gets here.” Before I could react, Andrin strode to his bedchamber.

I stared after him, confusion whirling through my mind. He’d gone from threatening me to ignoring me. Then, for a few brief moments, he’d seemed almost…normal. Or, at least, as normal as an immortal king could be.

And now, after a week of forcing me to sit at his feet in the Great Hall and sleep in the cage at night, he gave me the run of his quarters?

The fire popped, pulling me from my musings. I pivoted slowly, taking in the expansive, richly furnished space. My gaze landed on a large tapestry on the far wall. As I drifted toward it, more details emerged. The tapestry depicted a large forest dotted with a variety of trees. Red, gold, and orange leaves decorated their branches. All sorts of animals leaped between the trunks. Foxes and squirrels appeared to play a game of chase. A speckled fawn peeked from behind a clump of tall grass.

Reaching the tapestry, I traced the outline of a fuzzy white rabbit with my fingertip before moving to one of the trees. Tall and majestic, its branches stretched like giant arms over the forest floor.

Abruptly, I realized it was the same tree I’d seen in the King’s Grove. Or perhaps one like it. I stepped back and ran my gaze over the tapestry. Sure enough, the same tree appeared over and over. Some were taller than others. Several looked like saplings. But all boasted the colorful, oversized leaves of the tree in the grove.

The chamber’s doors swung open, and Ginhad rushed inside with a dress draped over one arm.

“You’re going to call me a hypocrite, and I’m telling you right now I do not care because this gown is—” He stopped, his eyes popping wide as he stared at the cage. “Oh, fuck.”

“I’m here,” I said, rushing from the side of the chamber. “It’s all right.”

Ginhad swayed on his feet, the color draining from his face. “I might faint.”

I hurried to him and took his arm. “Come on. You need to lie down.” He nodded weakly, and I helped him to the nearest sofa, where I urged him onto his back. Then I untangled the dress from his elbow and thrust a pillow under his feet.

Ginhad lay with his eyes closed and one hand pressed to his forehead. Gradually, his breathing evened out, and his skin lost its waxy hue. After another moment, he slit an eye open, his gaze fixed on me.

“Are you real, or are we in the afterlife because the king executed me for letting you escape?”

A smile tugged at my mouth as I pulled a chair next to the sofa and sat. “I’m real. You’re alive.”

“That’s nice. Why are you out of your cage?” He held up a finger. “I didn’t know how bad that would sound until I said it.”

I couldn’t help a glance toward Andrin’s bedchamber. “The king was struggling to balance his ledgers. He let me out so I could help him cipher.”

“And did you? Help him, I mean?”

“Yes. Afterward, he said I might as well stay out of the cage until you arrived.”

Ginhad appeared to turn this over in his mind. “That’s…kind of sweet, actually. You bonded over math.” He winced. “Not bonded bonded. Not like a shadow bond.”

“I know what you meant,” I said, struggling not to laugh. “Although, I’m not sure it was sweet.” My smile faded as I cast another quick look at the opening across the room. “Nothing about him is sweet,” I mumbled.

Ginhad sat up. “The king is under a great deal of pressure,” he said in a low voice. “It’s hard for him when Lord Rane is away.”

“How long have they…?” I cleared my throat, my cheeks heating.

“A long time.” Ginhad gestured to the gown I still held. “It’s green, but I’m prepared to defend my choice.”

I recognized the deliberate change of subject—and I’d spent enough time around Ginhad over the past week to know when he was finished talking about something. The steward was charming and mischievous, but his playfulness masked a sharp wit and deep loyalty to Andrin.

Sighing, I smoothed a hand down the dress’s shimmering skirts. “Another night of frivolity.”

Ginhad stood, motioning for me to rise with him. We were long past the modesty I’d felt my first night at the Embervale, and I rose and obediently presented my back.

“I did warn you,” he said, unlacing me with quick, expert fingers. “This court only knows how to do three things. And let’s just say it’s been a while since anyone led a sewing circle.”

I gnawed at my lip, memories of the past few nights parading through my mind. The feasts had grown progressively unrulier as the week wore on. “I’m waiting for someone to strip naked and start coupling on the tables,” I said under my breath.

Ginhad made a soft sound, his fingers stilling on my ribbons.

I looked at him over my shoulder. “That’s going to happen, isn’t it.”

He offered an apologetic smile. “Just about everyone at court has a were , and almost no one can leave. I’d say it’s like a zoo in here, but that would be a little too on the nose.” He went back to tugging at my laces. “I know! I’ll sing to cheer you up.”

I lifted my arms so he could pull the dress over my head. As I maneuvered my way out of the yards of fabric, he launched into a bawdy, off-key tune. By the time he helped me into the new gown, I expected Andrin to charge from his bedchamber and kill Ginhad for real.

“…and the ladies doth ply the men’s rods!” Ginhad finished, drawing out the final word with an eye-watering flourish. He spun me around and gave me a hopeful look. “Did that help?”

“Um… Truthfully, no.”

He nodded, a sage look in his eyes. “But you feel better now that I’ve stopped singing, right?”

“Yes?”

He brightened. “Then it helped! And, my gods, I was right about this dress. When will everyone accept that I’m always right?” He darted behind me, then guided me toward a large mirror with his hands on my shoulders.

My breath caught. The gown fit like someone had sewn it just for me. Layers of sheer green skirts flowed from a curve-hugging bodice embroidered with golden leaves and rosettes. The embroidery continued down the skirts, making it appear as though leaves tumbled down the dress as I walked. Ginhad had swept half of my hair into an elegant twist with the rest left to cascade down my back in soft waves.

Ginhad rested his chin on my shoulder, a soft smile curving his lips. “You could steal quite a few hearts in this gown, my lady.”

“We should all hope she leaves the thieving to her father.”

Ginhad jerked away from me as if he’d been burned. Together, we turned toward the bedchamber. Andrin stood in the doorway, his expression hard and arrogant. His dark green jacket accentuated his wide shoulders and large frame. Tall boots rose to just below his knees, the polished toes reflecting the firelight.

Ginhad bowed at the waist. “Good evening, Your Majesty. I was just helping Lady Mirella with her gown.”

Andrin flicked his gaze over me. “It appears you’ve finished.”

“Uh…yes,” Ginhad said. “Yes, sire, I have.”

“Then you may go. Please stop by the kitchen on your way to the hall.” Andrin waited a beat. “Make sure the cooks are sober.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Ginhad offered another quick bow, then nodded to me and left.

A heavy silence fell after the doors closed behind him. Andrin approached, his legs slicing through the shafts of waning sunlight that poured through the windows. His hair and beard gleamed brighter than the fire. He stopped in front of me, his boots brushing the hem of my voluminous skirts.

“You wear my colors,” he said, his blue eyes drifting down my bodice.

My pulse picked up, and a strange heat prickled over my skin. “Yes, Your Majesty. Although, Ginhad chose the gown.”

Andrin met my gaze. “He chose well.” Andrin stepped around me and started toward the door. As I moved to follow, he stopped and turned his head. “But Mirella?”

“Yes?” I said, lifting my chin.

“Don’t ever forget you wear my collar too.”

Minutes later, I trailed Andrin through the Embervale’s endless corridors. Distant laughter and music drifted toward us, indicating the feast was already underway.

Andrin didn’t seem eager to reach it. He maintained a sedate pace, his boots ringing out on the stone. Anger simmered in my veins as I kept pace with him. If he was angry about my gown, he had no right to be. It wasn’t like I had the luxury of choosing my own clothes—or what I ate or how I spent even a second of my time.

But I’d spent time helping him with his ledgers. And he’d thanked me by pointing out the metal around my neck. As if I could ever forget.

He also gave you the freedom to move around the chamber, a little voice reminded me.

I huffed.

Andrin stopped. Frowning, he turned slightly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said, kicking myself for drawing his attention. “Probably just noise from the feast.”

He shook his head, his frown deepening. But he didn’t look at me, and he didn’t seem offended. “There,” he said, jerking his head forward. “Do you hear it?” Without waiting for a response, he started walking again, this time with a sense of purpose in his steps.

Confusion swamped me as I hurried to keep up. Fading sunlight streamed through the windows. Candles danced in the chandeliers overhead. After a few more twists and turns, we rounded a corner and entered a short corridor leading to a single wooden door. Like others in the castle, it was richly painted, its panel covered in a lush apple orchard.

A child’s wail sounded from somewhere behind it.

I stopped, my confusion growing. Andrin went to the door and pushed it open.

“Oh! Your Majesty!” a woman’s voice called out. Elodie appeared in the doorway, a little boy no older than two years old in her arms.

My breath caught, and I drifted forward, my gaze riveted to the child. He turned his head and rested his cheek on Elodie’s shoulder. One small, pointed ear peeked from his chocolate-brown curls.

Pink tinged Elodie’s cheeks as she offered Andrin an awkward curtsy. “I apologize for the noise, sire.” She cupped the child’s head, hugging him against her. “A few of the little ones have been restless today.”

“Don’t apologize,” Andrin said. As I drew closer, he stroked the child’s rounded cheek. The little boy lifted his head, then held out his arms. Without hesitation, Andrin scooped the child from Elodie and settled the boy on his hip with a familiarity that indicated he’d done so many times before.

“What’s wrong, Finian?” Andrin asked softly.

“Play,” the little boy said.

Andrin nodded. “You can play.” He looked at Elodie. “Yes?”

She smiled. “Of course.” She stepped back, opening the door wider in obvious invitation.

Andrin started to enter, then paused when Finian stared at me. The boy’s brown eyes widened, and then he thrust a chubby finger toward me.

“Ees.”

“Oh, no no, Finian,” Elodie said. “It’s not nice to point.”

“Ees!”

“I think he noticed my ears,” I said. On impulse, I moved to Andrin’s side. “My ears are different,” I told the little boy. “See?” I pushed my hair back and angled my head to give him a clearer view.

Finian rewarded me with a gummy grin. He touched his ear, then waved a dimpled hand. “Ees!”

“That’s right.” I couldn’t help but return his smile. “We both have ears. Just a slightly different design.”

Finian wriggled in Andrin’s arms. “What…?” Andrin gasped, a puzzled look falling over his face. When Finian began to struggle in earnest, he set the little boy on his feet.

“Play!” Finian said, grabbing my hand. He tugged me toward the open door with a surprisingly strong grip. Elodie and Andrin watched, both seemingly at a loss as the determined little boy pulled me past them and into the room.

The scent of pine and fresh air hit my nose. My mind whirled as a sunlit forest spread before me. Birds chirped. Butterflies fluttered among colorful mums and towering oak trees bristling with orange and red leaves. The sound of rushing water mingled with the trill of birdsong. A gentle breeze tugged at my hair.

Hesitating, I looked over my shoulder to find Elodie and Andrin watching from the doorway. The corridor stretched behind them, the stone walls of the Embervale as solid as ever. More stone framed the door and covered the floor before gradually transitioning to grass scattered with leaves.

“It’s an illusion,” Andrin murmured, moving forward. He stopped beside me and gestured toward Finian, who’d stopped to watch a butterfly perched on a low-lying branch. “The little ones are too young to understand why they can’t leave the castle. So we bring the forest inside for them.”

My heart squeezed as I watched Finian. “He’s a beautiful child.” A sudden thought gripped me, and I looked at Andrin. “Is he…yours?”

Andrin shook his head. His blue eyes were solemn as he pitched his voice lower. “Finian’s parents died in the Edelfen.”

The fist around my heart squeezed tighter.

“It’s not my fault you can’t count that high!” A little girl stomped from the trees. Ten at the most, she wore a dark blue gown that stopped just above her ankles. Long, golden ringlets cascaded down her back. Her heart-shaped face was clouded with anger. Glancing at the forest behind her, she kicked a pile of leaves and loosed a stream of profanity detailed enough to make a sailor blush.

I covered my mouth, just managing to stifle my shocked laughter.

The girl jerked her gaze to Andrin and me. Her eyes widened, and she sank into a deep curtsy. “King Andrin! I didn’t see you!” She peeked up through a frame of ringlets. “I wouldn’t have said most of those things if I had.”

Andrin chuckled. “It’s all right, Valina.” He went to the girl and motioned for her to rise. “But what did the leaves do to offend you?”

The girl made a face. “It’s not the leaves that offend me, sire.” Looking toward the trees, she raised her voice. “It’s idiot boys who don’t follow the rules!”

Andrin followed her gaze. “You can stop hiding, Yendorn. I won’t bite.” He slanted Valina a look. “I can’t promise the same for your sister, though,” he said under his breath.

The little girl blushed. Seconds later, leaves crunched, and a boy a year or two her junior plodded from the trees. He cast a curious look at me before bowing to Andrin.

“I wasn’t hiding, Your Majesty.”

“ No ,” Valina said pointedly, “because you’re terrible at it.”

The boy’s mouth twisted. “Aw, come on, Lina. It’s not fair making me count all the way to a thousand!”

Impatience flashed in Valina’s eyes. “You?—”

“Wait,” Andrin said, holding up a hand. “You’re playing hide and seek, yes?”

Both children nodded.

Andrin looked at Valina. “Why does Yendorn need to count so high?”

The children exchange a look. Then Valina drew a deep breath. “It’s hard to find a good hiding place, sire. There are only so many trees in the playroom, and…” She chewed on her lip, the blush in her cheeks deepening.

Andrin cast a troubled look around the forest. “You don’t have enough room.”

Finian abandoned the butterfly and toddled toward Andrin on unsteady legs.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, hurrying after him. Instinct kicked in, and I swept the little boy into my arms before he could fall. Finian grinned up at me as I carried him to Andrin.

“Ees!” Finian said, grabbing for a lock of hair that had escaped Ginhad’s arrangement.

Valina and Yendorn stared with the unabashed yet innocent curiosity only children could muster.

Andrin cleared his throat. “Lady Mirella, this is Lady Valina and Lord Yendorn. Children, this is Lady Mirella. She’s a…guest at the Embervale.”

The children dipped a bow and curtsy. I returned the gestures, gratitude for Andrin’s discretion making me feel like I’d swallowed one of the butterflies. He’d left my surname out of the exchange, allowing me to interact with the children without the shadow of my father’s actions hanging over me.

Elodie appeared at my side, her lips curved in a gentle smile as she extended her arms toward Finian. “I can take him, Lady Mirella.”

Finian immediately glued himself to my body, his chubby arms warm around my neck. “Play,” he said.

“Um…” I said, helplessness and affection stirring within me.

Elodie offered me an exasperated look. “That’s the one word he manages to say perfectly.”

Valina and Yendorn regarded Andrin with hopeful expressions.

Andrin stared at them. Then at me. Then he nodded. “Right. Come, children. We could all use some fresh air. The real kind.” He turned and strode toward the door.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” Elodie exclaimed. “You’ll miss the feast!”

Andrin stopped and swung back. “You go ahead. Let Ginhad know I’ll be a bit late.”

Elodie’s eyes lit up. She seemed torn as she looked between Andrin and the door. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. Your king commands it.” Andrin gave Valina and Yendorn an expectant look. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

The children whooped and then raced to the door. As they thundered down the corridor, Andrin looked at Finian before meeting my gaze. “Do you need me to carry him?”

“No,” I said. “I can manage.”

Andrin nodded. “This way, then.”

I followed him into the corridor and through the castle, emerging into the courtyard. Valina and Yendorn ran ahead, disappearing under the massive stone arch I’d passed under the day Rane led me into the Embervale. My heart picked up as Andrin and I followed. Why wasn’t he stopping the children? They were headed directly toward the Edelfen.

Anxiety gripped me as I cuddled Finian more closely to my chest. “Is this safe?”

Andrin glanced at me, something that might have been amusement dancing in his eyes. “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

Anger flared. It was one thing for him to toy with me, but Valina and Yendorn were children. My anger turned to outrage as Andrin walked faster, leaving me behind and striding through the arch.

What an asshole. Wrapping my arms around Finian, I doubled my pace. My skirts swished around my legs, and my heart beat faster as I passed under the arch.

I stopped so abruptly that Finian lifted his head. The meadow stretched before me the same as before. But the eerie shadows of the Edelfen were gone, replaced with a vibrant forest. The trees were tall and straight, their canopies crowned with red and gold leaves. The ever-present enchanted leaves spun and eddied in the air, but now they were tossed by a soft breeze. The setting sun spread a soft, golden glow over everything.

Valina and Yendorn laughed as they played a lively game of tag in the meadow. Yendor stopped, then jumped into the air and swatted at a leaf. It disappeared, and he pumped his fist.

“Got one!”

Valina rolled her eyes.

Andrin stood watching them a short distance away, his hair gleaming with a thousand copper lights. As if he sensed my regard, he turned enough to meet my eyes. A mysterious little smile touched his lips. Before I could say anything, he melted into shadow. Then he slid into an enormous, solid elk with antlers as wide as a doorway. With a flick of his tail, he charged after the children.

Delighted screams went up. As one, Valina and Yendorn turned and fled toward the forest. Andrin charged after them, his hooves kicking up grass and dirt.

Finian stirred in my arms. Lifting his head, he patted my cheek. “Play.”

An odd mix of emotions spun through me. Wonder. Affection. Something else I couldn’t pinpoint. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “You want to play?”

The little boy nodded.

“All right.” Setting him on his feet, I took his hand and led him toward the trees. “Let’s go find the king.”

We went a few steps, and my foot landed next to a tree. Disorientation swept me, and I thrust a hand against the trunk to keep from falling. Trees rose around me, their branches dappled with sunlight. Somehow, I’d been transported dozens of feet in the space of a few strides.

The sounds of the forest invaded. Birds chirped. Wind fluttered the leaves. A squirrel dashed up a nearby tree and plunked down on a fat branch with a nut in its paws.

The thunder of hooves rumbled the ground, and then Andrin burst from the trees with a laughing Valina and Yendorn on his back. Valina clung to Andrin’s antlers while Yendorn wrapped his arms around his sister’s waist. The children bounced up and down as Andrin galloped around shrubs and weaved between trees.

The game continued, with Andrin treating Valina and Yendorn to separate rides. Hand in hand with Finian, I helped the toddler gather flowers and find insects that crawled over the forest floor. When Valina tired of romps through the forest, she joined us, casting me shy smiles as she sat cross-legged at my side and helped me weave a flower crown for Finian.

“We should make one for you too,” she said. “Your hair is such a pretty color. Like the king’s.”

Ignoring the heat that touched my cheeks, I smiled at her. “Only if you’ll wear one with me. Your hair is just as lovely.”

She beamed at me. “I’d love one.”

I fashioned a crown, weaving sweet-smelling blossoms with long strands of grass. When I placed it on her head, she gave my neck an inquisitive look.

“Do you always wear that?”

I touched the collar. “I…” Potential answers whirled through my mind. How could I explain the collar to a child? No matter what I said, it was likely to prompt more questions—maybe ones I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know the answers myself.

Valina tilted her head. “You don’t want to say?”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just something I wear sometimes. To remind me where I come from.”

“Are you from very far away?”

I nodded.

“From where the humans live?”

“Yes.”

She appeared to absorb this. “Do you miss it?”

Abruptly, I realized I hadn’t thought of Purecliff once since arriving at the Embervale. Freedom, yes, but home? No, not once had I longed to return to Eftar.

I straightened Valina’s crown. “I’m glad to have a chance to see the Embervale and meet you.”

She grinned. “Me too.” She went back to braiding grass, and I breathed a sigh of relief that she’d accepted my response.

When Andrin returned with a sleepy Yendorn on his back, twilight had fallen over the forest, and Finian was sound asleep in my lap.

Valina rose and draped a chain of flowers around Andrin’s antlers. He snorted, tossing his head and making pitiful bleating sounds while she giggled. At last, he settled, apparently accepting his fate. When I stood with Finian in my arms, Andrin jerked his flower-adorned head toward the meadow. I helped Yendorn from his back, then shifted Finian to my hip and extended a hand to Valina. She took it, and the children and I followed Andrin from the forest.

Steps later, the arch leading to Embervale’s courtyard loomed ahead. Moonlight splashed over the grass and the stone steps leading to the Embervale. Rapid footsteps rang out, and Elodie rushed through the arch with the blond-haired man on her heels. He didn’t carry his staff as he strode to meet us, his robes flaring behind him.

“Children,” he said in a brisk tone. “It’s time to go inside.”

Elodie surged forward and spoke to Valina and Yendorn in a low, urgent voice before pointing them toward the courtyard. Andrin stood stiffly through the exchange, his antlers gleaming in the moonlight. The children chirped polite goodbyes, then headed for the castle.

“Take the little one,” Othor snapped, and Elodie came to me and disentangled Finian from my arms.

Worry and confusion swept me as I surrendered the toddler. The blond elf observed Elodie with an air of impatience, his blue eyes flicking briefly to me.

“Will there be anything else, Lord Othor?” Elodie asked.

I stiffened, but part of me had already known the man’s identity. He’d sat at Andrin’s side during every feast, and he’d eyed me with more than mere curiosity when I followed Rane into the crowded courtyard. Now, his attention made sense. If Othor was Andrin’s relative, then the high priest was my relative—albeit a very distant one—too.

“Not tonight,” Othor said. “But I’d be overjoyed to see better judgment from you in the future.”

Elodie blanched. “Yes, my lord.” Clutching Finian against her, she dipped a curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, then turned and hurried under the arch.

The second she vanished from sight, Othor went to Andrin. He yanked the flowers from Andrin’s horns, irritation flashing across his features. Then he grasped either side of Andrin’s muzzle and tugged Andrin’s head down until they were eye to eye.

“Let go,” Othor ordered. “You must release it.”

Andrin shivered, the muscles under his coat rippling. With a deep groan, he dissolved into shadow. The thick cloud swirled around Othor, and then Andrin reformed on two legs. Immediately, he collapsed into the high priest’s arms. Othor grunted, staggering under Andrin’s weight.

A soft cry broke from me as I lurched toward them, only to stop when I caught sight of the Edelfen. It was a black, twisted mass once more, the trees barren and cold. Ominous shadows hovered between the trees. A pair of glowing eyes appeared for a moment before winking out of sight.

“I’m fine,” Andrin gasped, drawing my attention back to him. He pushed free from Othor’s grip, then waved off Othor’s attempt to help him again. Pale and sweating, Andrin swiped at his forehead. “I’m well. I simply waited too long.” He started toward the courtyard, got two steps, and stumbled.

Othor grabbed him again, then shot me an impatient look. “Help me.”

I sprang forward. “What should I do?”

“Get on his other side. Help me hold him up.” Together, Othor and I draped one of Andrin’s arms around each of our shoulders. Andrin’s fingers brushed mine, and I yelped as magic snapped against my skin.

Othor gave me a sharp look as he adjusted his grip on Andrin’s arm.

“Upstairs,” Andrin rasped. With a determined expression, he shuffled forward.

“Shouldn’t we call the knights?” I asked, grunting under his weight.

“No,” Andrin said. “No knights. Just…get me…upstairs.” He rallied a bit, growing steadier on his feet. But it was still slow going as Othor and I helped him under the arch and across the empty courtyard. When we entered the castle, music and sounds of revelry echoed off the stone.

Andrin leaned more heavily on my shoulder as we made our way up staircases and down corridors flickering with candlelight. The sounds of the feast faded, and moonlight slanted across the passageways in thick, silver shafts. Sweat dampened my hairline. The scent of woodsmoke and spruce swirled from Andrin and into my lungs. His arm was a warm, solid weight around my shoulders and nape. My side brushed his, and my skirts swished around his legs.

Finally, the doors to Andrin’s chamber swung open, and Othor and I helped him shamble inside.

“Get him to the bed,” Othor panted. Slowly, we crossed the main room and entered Andrin’s bedchamber. A single lamp burned low on a table beside the bed. Someone—Ginhad, probably—had turned down the bedding, and Othor and I helped Andrin collapse on his back.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Moonlight from two wide balcony doors streamed across the thick carpet and over the bed, highlighting the lines of strain on Andrin’s face.

“You know better than this,” Othor said, rolling up his sleeves. His demeanor was brisk as sat on the edge of Andrin’s bed and unbuttoned Andrin’s jacket.

I hovered behind Othor, uncertainty rooting me to the floor.

“You were reckless,” Othor continued, his fingers flying down the buttons. “Careless.”

“Anything else?” Andrin murmured with his eyes still closed.

Othor spread Andrin’s jacket open and then started on Andrin’s shirt. “I sit on your council. It’s my job to tell you when you’re stupid.”

Andrin’s teeth flashed white as he gave a crack of hoarse laughter. Then his smile fled, and he groaned. “Hurry, please.”

Othor pulled the halves of Andrin’s shirt wide. He hesitated, turning his head and meeting my gaze. “Go in the other room.”

“No,” Andrin said. When I looked at him, his eyes were still shut, his fingers still tight on his nose. But authority radiated from him, and his voice was steadier as he added, “She stays.”

Othor’s lips thinned, but he faced Andrin and rested his palms on Andrin’s bare chest. Bending his head, Othor closed his eyes.

My heart sped up. I stared, my gaze riveted to Othor’s hands. Light flashed under his palms. Andrin jolted, and his color flowed back like someone turning on a spigot. His chest expanded as he drew a deep breath. After a second, he lowered his hand and opened his eyes.

Othor sat back, a soft groan slipping from him as he pulled his hands away.

Sitting up, Andrin reached for him. “I’m sorry?—”

“It’s nothing,” Othor said, rising in one smooth movement. His jaw was tight as he straightened his robes.

Andrin frowned, then swung his legs off the bed. “It was a lot.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Othor’s sigils gleamed black against his pale skin as he looked from Andrin to me. His gaze moved over my hair, and his jaw tightened further.

Abruptly, I realized I still wore Valina’s flower crown. Self-consciousness flooded me, but I kept my chin high as I pulled the flowers from my head.

Tension stretched. Othor stared a moment longer, then seemed to arrive at some sort of internal decision before swinging his gaze back to Andrin. “If that’s all for the evening, I’ll return to the feast.”

“How is it tonight?”

Irritation flitted through Othor’s eyes. “When I left, Ginhad was supervising the castle guard in a sword-measuring contest. There were no weapons involved.”

Andrin grunted. “Yes. Return right away. And…thank you again, Othor, for your assistance this evening.”

Othor offered a short bow. Then he turned on his heel and left the bedchamber.

Awkwardness lingered in the silence that followed. The lamp sputtered, throwing a dancing shadow on the wall behind the bed. Andrin waited, his palms on his thighs, and his gaze on the opening leading to the main chamber. When the sound of the outer doors closing reached us, he looked at me.

“It seems I owe you thanks, as well.”

I cleared my throat. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Moonlight glinted in his eyes. “Nevertheless, I will say my thanks. Did no one ever tell you to avoid being in debt to an elf? The reverse is also true. My people dislike being indebted to others.”

“No one told me much of anything about elves,” I said.

Andrin studied me. “But you’ve always known you were elfkin.” He flicked a glance at the darkened doorway. “You have the gift of healing, the same as Othor.”

Denials were pointless when he’d clearly already guessed my ability. Perhaps he’d known from the start, when my magic sparked against his.

“Yes,” I said. “I can absorb the pain of others. For a time, I feel their pain as keenly as if it were my own. It weakens me, but it passes quickly.” Hesitating, I looked at the balcony doors behind him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Is that what you did tonight? You healed the land somehow, if only for a little while.”

Andrin shook his head. “It’s a different sort of magic. Like Othor, I have the gift of healing, although my skills pale in comparison. But not even Othor’s gift could heal the Edelfen. When my ancestors created Ishulum, we poured all our magic into Autumn. It’s a place of life and death. Shadows and light. You can’t have one without the other.”

Memories of the dungeon in Nordlinga crashed through my mind. The ghosts of blazing light and unrelenting heat circled me as I said,

“That’s not true. Light can exist without shadow.”

“Not in Ishulum,” Andrin said, his gaze unwavering. “Before we lost the Kree, Autumn was a place of balance. Light and shadow intertwined, each necessary for the other to exist. Many outside Autumn feared darkness…and death. But we embraced it. Every stage of life holds beauty, even when beauty fades. How can you appreciate light when you’ve never stumbled in the darkness?” He lowered his eyes to the flower crown in my hands. “How would you ever experience happiness if you didn’t know what it meant to be sad?”

I listened, caught in the spell of his deep voice and steady gaze. Leaves drifted past the balcony doors behind him. Moonlight haloed his head and broad shoulders.

He stood slowly, unfolding his big body in a rustle of cloth and the soft creak of leather. My pulse picked up, and I fought the impulse to step back as he loomed over me.

Leaning slowly, he turned the knob on the lamp. The flame leaped higher, casting a shadow that climbed to the top of the wall. The flame crackled and danced.

Andrin watched the shadow writhe against the stone. “We lost our balance when we lost the Kree. The shadows overwhelmed us. They can’t sustain life, only devour it. And the more they consume, the more they want.”

The leaping shadows filled the walls, spreading to the ceiling. The flickering darkness cast deep hollows across Andrin’s face. I clutched the flower crown, dread sliding down my spine. Just when the dancing, twisting shapes threatened to overwhelm me, Andrin reached out and flicked off the lamp.

Moonlight flooded the bedchamber. Andrin looked at me. “I command both shadow and light. It’s what made my branch of House Verdalis kings. Before the Edelfen fell into darkness, I helped the land stay balanced. But I was never meant to do it alone. The Kree was the breath of life in this kingdom. Without it, I fight an endless battle against death and shadow. I didn’t heal the Edelfen tonight. I merely cast an illusion. The forest you saw was nothing more than a reflection of the light that used to spread over Autumn.”

A sweet, delicate fragrance teased my nose. Looking down, I saw that I’d crushed one of the flowers in Valina’s crown. Confusion swirling, I lifted the plaited grass and blooms. “If the forest was an illusion, how did I carry this into the Embervale?”

“Belief is a powerful thing,” Andrin said quietly. “People cling to it for all sorts of reasons. Love. Denial. Fear. Some people carry their beliefs with them all their lives, even when others can prove those beliefs are wrong.” He touched the edge of a petal. The crown twisted into shadow, a sound like a sigh flowing around me as it faded from sight.

I stared at my empty fingers even as the scent of flowers lingered in the air. Swallowing, I lifted my gaze to Andrin’s. “What of the Edelfen? Is it an illusion too?”

His expression hardened. “The Edelfen can project illusion, but the darkness within it is very, very real. The shadows hunger for light. They won’t stop until they devour every last flicker of life in Autumn.”

Life. That meant Finian with his chubby hands and soft curls. It meant Elodie and Ginhad. Everyone in the Great Hall. If the shadows reached the Embervale, everyone would die.

A crow’s sharp cry pierced the silence. Andrin turned toward the balcony as a gust of wind swept the doors wide. A second later, a massive crow fluttered into the bedchamber. It twisted mid-flight, shifting into Rane, who hit the ground at full stride as if he’d simply stepped into the room.

He stopped at the end of the bed, his purple eyes going from me to Andrin. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Andrin said. His demeanor changed, a mantle of authority settling over him. “You’ve returned.”

Rane looked between us. “Clearly.”

Wind swept from outside, dropping the temperature and fluttering the curtains. Andrin strode around the bed and went to the balcony.

Rane kept his gaze on me as Andrin shut the doors and latched them. Goosebumps lifted on my skin as Rane took in my green and gold gown.

Andrin turned from the doors. “It’s late, and we have much to discuss.”

Tension shivered between the men. At last, Rane inclined his head. “As Your Majesty commands.” He spun and disappeared into the bathing chamber.

Andrin watched him go, a frown marring his otherwise smooth forehead. When he finally looked at me, he seemed briefly startled to find me still in the room.

“Come,” he said, moving toward the main chamber. “You can refresh yourself in the privy down the corridor. Then you’ll seek your bed.”