Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

MIRELLA

T he Great Hall looked a lot different now that it was full of immortals.

Leaves tumbled through the air. Knights stood on either side of the double doors, which were flung open to allow courtiers to come and go.

Andrin sat on the throne on the dais. Rane sat at his side, one black leather-clad leg slung over the other. They had both eaten the moment they sat down. No one had offered me food. Neither man had said anything about the violent way they’d entered the chamber earlier. Not that I’d expected them to. But Andrin’s unnatural growl lingered in my memory. He’d seemed…not himself.

He appeared fully in command now. Large and imposing, he presided over the gathering like a muscular, brightly colored beast of prey. The blond man from the courtyard occupied another chair on the dais. The carved wooden staff rested over his knees. Once again, he wore long robes open to show his trousers and embroidered jerkin. When I’d attempted to fill his cup, he’d placed his hand over the rim.

“I don’t partake.” His blue eyes had held mine for a long moment before he focused on the hall. “Save your efforts for the rest of the court.”

Efforts was an understatement. The pitcher grew heavier every time I filled it. Sweat dampened my hairline and trickled down the back of my chemise. The yellow gown, which had been such a welcome change from my dirt-stained dress from Purecliff, gleamed like a beacon under the chandeliers. No matter where I went, the vibrant color ensured I was the center of attention.

Lords and ladies lined the benches. The tables overflowed with food. Chatter filled the air, punctuated by frequent laughter. A gallery of musicians played lively music. According to the giant clock above the hearth, the feast was in its fourth hour.

Hunger gnawed at me as I hurried back and forth from the kitchen with a sweating pitcher in my hands. My feet ached, and pain stabbed at my lower back. I’d tread the same path between the tables so often, I half expected to see a rut worn into the stone the next time I left the kitchen.

But there was no rut—and no respite. Eyes followed me as I refilled glasses that seemed forever on the verge of empty. Some of the elves regarded me with a mix of tolerance and mild amusement. But most were aloof and unfriendly. One pair of eyes was the unfriendliest of all.

Rane’s stare was an ever-present weight as I moved around the hall. More than once, I wanted to march to the foot of the dais and ask if I had something on my face. But I clenched my jaw and did my best to ignore him. Apparently, he had nothing better to do than watch me pour wine over and over.

The only bright spots in the dark experience came from Ginhad, who dined with a rowdy group of lords near the large double doors. When I refilled their glasses, he touched my arm and spoke under his breath.

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he hadn’t offered more warning about what to expect at the feast. But I swallowed the question. A warning wouldn’t have helped anything. On the contrary, knowing what lay ahead would have only made me anxious.

Ginhad leaned close, his gaze on the crowd as he spoke to me. “Don’t wait to refill their glasses. Keep them topped up, so they get drunk faster. Half of them will fall under the tables. The other half will find somewhere to stick their di— Ah, attention.”

I nodded as I was called to another table. And the night wore on, the feast growing louder and more raucous.

The Embervale’s inhabitants weren’t shy about discussing me. They didn’t bother to keep their voices down as I weaved among the tables, filling their cups.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” a woman behind me observed. “I’d forgotten how charming humans can be. Adorable, really.”

“Too busty for my taste,” a man said.

I clenched my jaw as I kept my back to him, my fingers tight on the pitcher.

Another man spoke in an amused drawl. “Come now, Lord Darnius, you’re hardly in a position to criticize. Your tits are bigger than any woman’s at court.”

Laughter split the air. My face flamed as I moved to another table. A nobleman held his cup aloft, not so much as glancing at me as he continued conversing with his companion.

Blocking out the noise around me, I focused on the wine as it streamed into the cup. My stomach rumbled, the breakfast I’d eaten with Ginhad a distant memory.

The wine rose to the top of the cup, and I righted the pitcher. The nobleman flicked his fingers at me, wordlessly ordering me to move on.

“Girl!” a familiar feminine voice called. When I turned, Lady Vivia beckoned from a table near the hearth. The diamonds she’d worn outside the stable still sparkled in her hair, but she’d changed her armor for a tight-fitting, high-necked black gown. She sat with three men, all of whom wore black and radiated menace.

Unease knotted my stomach as I moved to the table. “Yes?” I asked, indignation simmering in my veins.

Vivia’s blue eyes narrowed. She shoved her goblet toward me. Wine slopped over the edge and splashed on the table. “Fill it, thief. And show the proper respect when you do it.”

My indignation burned higher. “I’m not a thief.”

“You look like a thief,” one of the men said. A long, pale braid hung over his shoulder. The sigils around his neck were a combination of twisted vines and plump badgers. The latter didn’t make him any less formidable. “You look like an elfkin who betrays his master. In Autumn, we give traitors exactly what they deserve.” He flicked a hard glance toward the dais. “At least, we used to.”

Vivia put a hand on his forearm. “I agree, Kassander.” She lowered her voice, her eyes following the path the man’s had taken. “The king has been too lenient. The cage should be in this hall, and the traitor’s spawn should sit in it until she rots.”

Another man spoke, his dark eyes hard. “First, she needs a lesson in how to address a noble.”

The conversation around us faltered as courtiers from other tables turned their attention our way. Vivia and her friends were looking for an excuse to further humiliate me. They wanted to provoke me—and in doing so, give themselves an excuse to retaliate.

Stiffening my spine, I pulled Vivia’s goblet toward me and filled it, willing my hand to stay steady despite the malice flowing around me. When the goblet was full, I picked it up and placed it carefully in front of her, careful not to spill a single drop.

“Where I come from,” I said, “true nobility is measured not by titles but by how a person treats those under their authority.”

Vivia stood in a rustle of sleek black skirts, two spots of color on her cheeks. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about nobility, you disgusting, lying?—”

“Wine!” Andrin’s voice boomed over the hall. When I turned, he watched me from his throne, his blue eyes glowing as brightly as the fire. He looked every inch a king in dark green jacket embroidered with delicate gold thread. His trousers were brown leather. Boots the same color rose to his knees. He wore his hair in another intricate braid, the long, fiery tail resting on his broad chest.

He gestured to the pewter goblet perched on the broad arm of his throne. “You neglect your duties, Mirella. My cup is empty.”

It was an unmistakable order. But for once, I was grateful to obey. A hush had fallen over the tables, and my footsteps echoed as I crossed to the dais.

Andrin’s stare was a weight against my face as I filled his goblet. When I finished, he motioned to the pitcher. “Put that in the kitchen and come back to me.”

Recalling his threat to dole out public “discipline,” I dipped a shallow curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty.” I obeyed quickly, ignoring the pain in my back as I stashed the pitcher in the kitchen and returned to the hall. Heat touched my cheeks as I stopped at the bottom of the dais. Andrin crooked his finger, and the heat flared hotter as I ascended the steps and stopped before his throne.

“You may sit,” he said.

I started toward the sole unoccupied chair.

“No.”

I froze, my skirts in my hands.

Andrin pointed at a spot next to his feet. “You’ll sit here, Mirella. Like a good pet.”

Murmurs raced through the hall. Rane stared at me, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. My hand itched for the knife he’d taken from me.

But I was helpless, and we both knew it. The immortals at my back knew it, too. Andrin tested me. If I refused to sit at his feet, he’d have a reason to punish me—and he’d do it in front of everyone.

Heart thumping, I moved to the spot he indicated. Facing the crowd, I sank to my knees and fixed my gaze on the double doors. My heart thumped hard, and heat seared my cheeks. But I kept my chin high as I rested my backside on my heels and folded my hands in my lap. After a few moments of staring and whispering, the nobles returned to their conversations. But glances continued to slide my way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andrin motion to a servant. The man approached, and Andrin murmured something in his ear. A moment later, the servant returned with a plate of food and placed it on the wide arm of Andrin’s throne.

The scent of savory spices and roasted meat teased my nose. My mouth watered, and my stomach grumbled. Across the hall, a group of nobles began stacking empty wine glasses in the center of their table as if they wanted to see how many they could layer before the tower collapsed.

I kept my back straight and my stare straight ahead. The boards of the dais dug into my knees, but I didn’t attempt to find a more comfortable position.

Cloth rustled. Andrin’s hand appeared before my face, a bit of meat pinched between his fingers.

I turned my head. His copper-colored beard hugged his strong jaw. His blue stare was unwavering.

“Eat.”

I reached for the food.

“No,” he said, pulling it back. “Feral little things don’t eat with their hands.”

Loathing seared my chest, the blaze so intense I thought flames might shoot from my eyes. When he offered the meat again, I turned my head away.

I received no warning. Not even a hint of movement before his hand gripped my collar and he pulled me into his lap. Yelping, I flailed for a second before I landed on a hard thigh. An equally hard arm circled my waist and clamped me tightly against him. His chest was like a rock against my back as I stared over the crowd, my pulse roaring in my ears.

“We can add obstinate to feral,” Andrin said, his breath fluttering over my nape. His lips brushed my temple. Snap! I sucked in a breath as magic stung my skin.

He plucked another morsel of meat from the plate. “I won’t have it said that I let you starve under my roof. You can eat at my feet or you can eat on my lap. Either way, you’re going to eat.” His beard brushed my ear. “See? I give you choices. It’s more than a thief and assassin deserves.”

My blood boiled. “I’m not—” My words cut off when he stuffed the morsel in my mouth. Cooked to perfection, it fell apart on my tongue. Succulent juices slid down my throat, and I chewed and swallowed before I could think to spit it out.

“Good girl,” Andrin said, his chest rumbling against my back. His hair brushed my arm as he turned his head and spoke to Rane. “It appears our feral little thing can be taught.”

The heat in my face spread down my body. I wasn’t theirs . Given how they’d spent the morning, they saw me as nothing more than an easy target for their cruelty and mockery.

Good. At the first opportunity, I’d make an offering of thanks to the gods.

Andrin held another morsel to my lips. His lips teased the curve of my ear, and an edge of warning entered his tone. “If you bite me, I’ll assume you don’t want anything I have to offer, including the gown you’re wearing. You can finish serving the court in your bare skin.”

I opened my mouth. Andrin’s satisfaction was palpable as he placed the morsel on my tongue. As soon as I swallowed, he held more food to my lips. I took it, careful to keep my teeth away from his fingers. His arm was a thick band around my waist as he continued breaking off bites of food and bringing them to my mouth. His thigh was like a rock under my buttocks, his chest warm against my back.

Across the hall, the nobles building the wine glass tower added another layer. Music swelled. Lady Vivia stared at me, her eyes narrowed with dislike.

“You have an enemy in Vivia,” Andrin said in my ear. He pushed a piece of bread into my mouth. “Her people are Shadow Eaters. Or, they were before your father stole the Kree. They’re all gone now.”

Despite my predicament, curiosity sparked. I quickly chewed and swallowed. “Where did they go?” I dared to ask.

“To their deaths,” Andrin said, his voice clipped. “They were overwhelmed by shadow in the Edelfen. She’s lost a great deal to the shadows.”

Ginhad’s voice flowed through my memory. “Only the strongest among us can enter the Edelfen.”

Rane and Andrin had returned from the forest bloodied and bearing signs of a fight. Vivia had spoken of others being injured. What lurked in the shadows? What were the elves fighting?

Andrin continued feeding me. A few times, he held his goblet to my lips, and I swallowed wine in between bites of food. At last, the plate was empty. He released my waist, and I scrambled off his lap. Before I could kneel, Rane held out his goblet.

“Wine, pet. And be quick about it.”

Fantasies of stabbing him all over again played through my head as I fetched a fresh pitcher from the kitchen. When I returned, Andrin was deep in conversation with the robed, blond-haired man.

Rane’s lips curved as I climbed the dais. He sprawled in his chair, his legs crossed and one booted foot swinging slightly. He lifted his cup for me to fill it.

“Don’t spill, pet, or I’ll be very angry.”

“Stop calling me that,” I said through clenched teeth. Stepping close, I tipped the pitcher.

He pulled his cup away.

Sucking in a breath, I righted the pitcher just before wine splashed over the rim. Our gazes collided. His smile spread, a dangerous light dancing in his eyes.

“You should be more careful,” he said. Once again, he proffered his cup.

I hesitated, nerves twisting around my anger. Apparently, I hadn’t suffered enough. Or maybe he was just jealous he hadn’t gotten an opportunity to torment me.

My heart picked up as I aimed for his cup again. At the last second, he moved it a few inches to the left.

“Are you always this clumsy?” he asked, moving it back under the pitcher’s spout.

It was a childish game. Growing up at Purecliff, I’d longed for a sibling. Desperate for companionship, I’d sneaked through the shadows to the village, where I played with the children of bakers, farriers, and tailors. No matter who joined our games, there were always one or two bullies. They liked to see how far they could push. Children who showed even the slightest reaction became an immediate target. The trick was to ignore them until they grew bored and gave up.

I stared at Rane, pouring every ounce of indifference into my expression as I held the pitcher in front of me. Dimly, I was aware that Andrin had broken off his conversation and focused his attention on Rane and me.

Not breaking my stare, Rane raised his cup. “Go ahead,” he murmured. “Pet.”

Moving forward, I tipped the pitcher.

He jerked his glass away.

My temper snapped. In one swift movement, I dumped the pitcher into his lap. Wine soaked his trousers and spilled down his chair, spreading over the dais like blood.

I stepped back, expecting him to jump to his feet. Instead, he stood slowly, casually, as if he didn’t mind the mess. Wine rolled down his thighs and into the tops of his boots. His shoulders were loose, his expression unruffled.

Except for his eyes. They weren’t angry. No, they were flat and cold. Calculating and predatory.

The sigils on his neck shifted, vines and feathers sliding over each other. Then he twisted into shadow. A second later, an enormous crow perched on the arm of his chair. The size of a dog, it cocked its head, peering at me with one bright purple eye. Red wine beaded on its feathers.

My heart raced, memories of the crows in the Edelfen rushing back. Had he controlled those? Or were they part of him?

The crow fluttered its wings, sending wine flying. It released a low, rattling sound, then jumped into the air and shifted into swirling, black shadow. Another swirl of shadow, and Rane reformed. He looked at Andrin.

“My king?”

Andrin stood. Something unspoken passed between them. Then Andrin nodded.

A chill sprinted down my spine. I’d acted intemperately. Stupidly. Maybe they’d just decided they didn’t need me alive, after all.

Andrin looked at one of the knights flanking the doors. “Ready the dungeon.”

My blood ran cold as I followed Andrin down narrow stone steps. The air grew cooler. Water dripped down the walls, and the scent of damp and decay reached my nose.

Rane was close on my heels, ensuring I couldn’t attempt to get away. Not that I had anywhere to go. Even if I managed to escape the Embervale, the Edelfen waited beyond the castle. And the collar stopped me from slipping into the shadows.

Moments later, we entered a cavernous space with low-lying ceilings. A crude wooden chair sat in the center of the room, which was ringed with flickering torches that cast eerie shadows on the ceiling. An ancient-looking table shoved against the wall was the only other furniture. The sole source of heat was a metal brazier in the corner. Barred windows high on the walls allowed weak moonlight to spill over the dusty stone floor.

Here was the dungeon I’d expected when I arrived in the Embervale. The flames atop the torches danced as Andrin led me to the chair and gestured for me to sit. Memories of the dungeon in Nordlinga flooded my mind, and my throat went dry as I sank into the chair. Despite the chilly air, sweat beaded my forehead.

Rane went to the table. He kept his back to me as he fiddled with something on its surface. Metal clinked, and I folded my hands tightly in my lap.

Andrin stood in front of me, his arms folded over his chest. Light from the brazier haloed him. Most men—especially warriors—looked ridiculous in court clothes. Once they were out of their armor, they seemed shockingly ordinary. But not Andrin. His shoulders strained the seams of his jacket, which appeared black in the dungeon’s dim light. His biceps bulged beneath the fabric, and his leather trousers molded to his thick thighs.

The dark sigils around his neck appeared to move.

No, they were moving. My breath caught as shadows curled away from his throat and extended toward me. They twisted in the air, forming into braided ropes. Andrin stayed perfectly still, his hard gaze holding mine as the shadow ropes detached from his body. For one tense moment, they shivered in the air. Then they streaked toward me.

A scream ripped from my throat as they whipped around me, securing me to the chair. One rope circled my chest above my breasts. The other bit into my abdomen. The bindings pinned my arms to my sides. Panic surged, and I struggled against my bonds. The chair rocked, the legs scraping on the stone.

“If you tip over,” Andrin said, “you’ll stay that way.”

I stilled, blood rushing in my ears. Andrin’s face swam in my vision.

“Slow your breathing,” he said, a slight frown appearing between his eyes. “You’re going to faint.”

“Maybe because you tied me to a chair in your dungeon,” I bit out.

Something flickered in Andrin’s eyes, the look there and gone so quickly I couldn’t decipher it.

Metal squeaked, drawing my attention to Rane. The table had small wheels I hadn’t noticed before, and now he rolled it away from the wall. He stopped at Andrin’s side and flipped a crudely woven cloth back from the table’s surface.

My stomach dropped. The table held an assortment of hammers, pinchers, and other tools. A set of wide manacles sat to one side. Several long rods with pointed ends extended over the table’s edge.

Nausea sloshed in my stomach. They were going to torture me for information about my father. But I didn’t have any, which meant I was going to suffer.

“Where is the Kree?” Andrin demanded.

My mouth had gone so dry that I had to swallow a couple of times before I could answer. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard that word before. Please, you have to believe me.”

Andrin said nothing, his mouth tight and his blue eyes like ice. Rane was just as still and silent behind the table. A shaft of moonlight spilled over him, picking out blue highlights in his black hair.

Finally, Andrin spoke in a low, dangerous tone. “You expect me to believe you have no knowledge of the Kree? That your father entrusted you with nothing?”

“Yes!” I cried, my voice echoing off the stone. “I’m not lying. Whatever you think my father stole from you, he never discussed it with me.”

Andrin turned to Rane and nodded. Rane looked over the table, then selected one of the long, thin rods. He tested the tip against the pad of his finger. Blood welled, the bright red dot almost obscene in the dim, gray light.

I pressed my back against the slats of the chair. “I d-don’t know anything about the K-Kree,” I babbled, jerking my gaze from the blood to Andrin.

Rane rounded the table.

“Help!” I screamed, straining against the ropes. “Gods, someone help me!”

“Stop,” Andrin said.

Rane froze. It took my fear-addled brain a few seconds to realize Andrin had addressed him instead of me.

Andrin crouched in front of me, one big hand on my knee. “It’s all right, Mirella,” he said, his gaze steady. “No harm will come to you as long as you tell us where Walto is keeping the Kree.”

My chest heaved. The food I’d eaten in the hall threatened to come back up. This was a game to them, I realized. Like the bullies I’d encountered as a child, they wanted to see how far they could push me. Andrin was prepared to play foil Rane’s aggressiveness, offering comfort to persuade me to spill my father’s secrets.

But I couldn’t be pushed. I was already at the edge, with nothing but a fall before me. In my mind, a starling took flight over Purecliff, its wings wide and a song in its throat. Maybe I had somewhere to go. Maybe, when Andrin was finished with me, I could find it.

Leaning forward as much as the ropes would allow, I looked into Andrin’s eyes. “You can torture me, Andrin Verdalis. You can even kill me. But you won’t get the knowledge you seek because I do not have it . Everything you’ve said about me is a lie save for one thing. You accused me of being a murderer, and that’s true. I killed my mother when I was born, and my father despises me for it. He speaks to me only when he can’t find a way around it. If he stole from you, that makes him a thief, and I’m sorry for it. But if you take my life, you’ll be a thief too. You’ll go on living with all your power and immortality. I’ll die before I even get a chance to live at all. And one day, you’ll be sorry for it. Because you’ll realize you murdered me for nothing.”

Andrin stared, his expression unreadable. Silence stretched, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

When Andrin spoke at last, his voice was like the rasp of stone. “You would put a curse on me.”

I held his stare, my upper body straining against the ropes. “One of your own making.”

More silence shivered between us. Then he stood slowly. The ropes slithered away, shadow rolling back to him and circling his throat.

“Take her to the grove,” he said. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Rane moved around the table. I didn’t resist as he pulled me to my feet. Andrin stepped back, his gaze inscrutable as Rane escorted me from the room.

My mind raced as we climbed the steps and entered the main part of the castle. Where was he taking me? What new terror awaited me in the grove?

I bit my tongue against the impulse to demand answers. I knew without asking that none were forthcoming.

We emerged into the night air. A full moon hung heavy in the sky. Leaves drifted through the air, their edges gilded with silver.

“Keep up,” Rane said, but his voice was soft, with no trace of the mockery he’d displayed in the Great Hall. He seemed to adjust his strides, matching his pace to mine as we moved down winding walkways lined with marble statues.

The path narrowed, and a small stone arch with a metal gate loomed ahead. A wall stretched on either side of the arch, the stone covered in vines bursting with red and gold leaves. More leaves crunched under my feet.

Like the doors inside the castle, the gate opened as we approached. Rane motioned me through, then stayed close as the gate whispered shut behind us.

I stopped, my breath hitching at the sight that spread before me. Moonlight shone over an ethereal expanse of lush grass and well-tended hedges. Dozens of paths stretched into the distance before disappearing around bends. Fireflies flitted among statues of tall, solemn-looking elves. The sound of water drew my gaze to a large, tiered fountain that glowed in the moonlight.

But it was the tree that commanded my attention. Massive and clearly ancient, it rose like a tower from the center of the garden. Hundreds of moss-covered branches spread in every direction. Roots protruded from the ground. Red, orange, and gold leaves as big as my head fluttered in a barely-there breeze.

Power hummed in the air. The breeze picked up, rustling the thousands of leaves. Magic whispered around me, brushing my skin and stirring my hair.

“This is the King’s Grove,” Rane said. When I looked at him, he gazed up at the tree with reverent eyes. “And that’s the Edeloak.”

The crunch of leaves made us both turn. Andrin moved toward us, something small and square in his hands. He stopped steps away, giving me a better look at what he carried. Moonlight shone on a wooden box covered in elven glyphs.

Unease settled over me. The box was too small to hold a weapon—at least not any kind I was familiar with. But that didn’t mean anything. Andrin commanded shadow. He could summon his ropes and strangle me before I drew breath to scream.

“Come,” he said, moving past me. Rane trailed him. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed.

Andrin led us to the base of the tree—or as close as we could get with the roots bulging from the ground. He stared at the box for a moment before meeting my gaze.

“I don’t know if you speak the truth, Mirella Lornlark. But I do.” He lifted the box’s lid away. Inside lay a skeleton’s hand. The finger bones were blackened as if they’d been snatched from a fire. Heavy golden rings studded with gemstones were melted below three of the knuckles, the gold adhered to the bone. I’d been a healer long enough to tell the difference between a male and female skeleton. This hand had belonged to a man. A man who’d lost his left hand.

A man who wore rings.

My heart pounded. Denial tripped through my mind. But I knew.

I knew.

“Walto Lornlark lost his hand in this grove two hundred years ago,” Andrin said.

I jerked my head up. “That’s impossible. My father is mortal.”

“He’s elfkin. And before he fled Autumn, he was shadowbound to me for a century.”

I knew my shock showed on my face. “But the Covenant forbids those bonds.”

“Forbids them, yes,” Andrin said. “Prevents them?” He shook his head. “Nothing in the agreement between men and elves stops the truly determined from forging a bond. Walto was born with strong magic. But he wanted more. So he lingered at the Covenant. He befriended my people, and, eventually, he made his way to my court. Magic always recognizes its like. I knew right away he descended from my line.”

“So you enslaved him,” I said, outrage building.

Andrin flashed a brief, humorless smile. “Walto begged me for the bond. I denied him for years. Go back to Purecliff , I told him. He was young, and he was his father’s only heir. I pressured him to return to Eftar and use his gifts to better the lives of his people. He would be the lord of Purecliff one day. I told him to take a wife and sire an heir of his own. But he was persistent…and charming. He was beloved in the Embervale.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Because it was all an act,” Rane rasped. Anger glittered in his eyes. “Walto wanted power. He deceived everyone to get it.”

“He knelt before me in this grove,” Andrin said, drawing my gaze back to him. “Walto pledged himself to my service, vowing to run the shadows between the Autumn Court and the other kingdoms. He promised to be my eyes and ears in places I couldn’t venture due to treaties and custom. He said he wanted to usher in a new era of cooperation between humans and elves. To my great shame, I believed him.”

The skeletal hand gleamed under the moon’s light. Visions of my father on the tower at Purecliff flashed in my mind. The memory of his golden fist forcing my chin up was so strong that I could almost feel the metal digging into my skin.

Andrin continued, his voice low and steady. “Walto served me, extending his mortal lifespan and increasing his magic. He was an excellent spy, as most shadowkin are. But power and magic weren’t enough for him. He wanted to live forever. So he came to this grove and ripped the Kree from the Edeloak.”

I looked at the tree, icy foreboding sliding through my veins. At the base of the trunk, some of the grass was brown. A branch I hadn’t noticed before bent toward the ground, some of its leaves dark and shriveled.

Andrin handed the box to Rane. Then he took my elbow and guided me forward, waiting as I hiked my skirts and stepped over roots. When we reached the tree’s base, he placed his palm on the trunk and closed his eyes.

The air rippled. Magic pulsed. The wind picked up, tossing the leaves above our heads. A gash as tall as Andrin appeared on the trunk. Red liquid trickled from the wound and ran down the bark.

Andrin’s features contorted. Sweat broke out on his face. His lips parted as his breathing grew heavier. Finally, he wrenched his hand away.

The wound vanished. But, of course, it hadn’t. The magic in my veins tingled, and the same instincts that told me when a bird’s wing was broken told me the tree’s injury was always there. The damage was hidden under an illusion. Andrin’s illusion. What did it cost him to maintain it?

Pale and sweating, Andrin looked at me. “The Kree is the heart of Autumn’s power. Two hundred years ago, it beat within the Edeloak. Your father ripped it out and fled across the Covenant. Autumn has always been a place of shadow and light. One cannot exist without the other. When Walto took our light, he plunged us into shadow.”

And then he’d done what Andrin encouraged him to do from the beginning. He’d taken his father’s place at Purecliff, found a wife, and sired an heir of his own. But the timeline didn’t add up.

“How?” I whispered. “I’m twenty-seven. If my father is as old as you say, how has he ruled Purecliff for two hundred years? We have servants. Someone would have noticed he never aged.”

Andrin straightened, his color returning. “I don’t pretend to know how Walto managed to deceive his people. But he’ll pay for what he’s done to mine.” In one swift movement, Andrin stepped into me and grasped my chin.

Magic snapped, the stinging current arcing through my jaw.

Andrin’s nostrils flared as he tightened his grip. “You would curse me, Mirella Lornlark. But you’re too late. I’m already cursed. My people are prisoners here. Every day, the shadows grow thicker. They creep closer, ready to devour the last patch of Autumn.”

Magic fired again, the sting like tiny needles piercing my skin. I gasped, my eyes watering as I gripped his wrist. “Please,” I rasped. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice as rough as mine. “Walto won’t live forever. The Kree gives him time, but it won’t give him eternity. Men achieve immortality through their children. Walto won’t let his line fail. He’ll want you back.”

Grass rustled, and Rane appeared at the edge of my vision.

Andrin released me, and I scurried back, my head spinning from revelations I wasn’t sure I could believe. But I couldn’t deny what I’d seen in the Edelfen…or the wooden box that held the same hand my father had lost.

The box was nowhere in sight as Andrin turned to Rane.

“Go now. Spend as little time on the ground as possible, and return as quickly as you can.”

Rane bowed low. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He turned and strode away from the tree.

“And Rane?” Andrin called.

Rane paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

A long look passed between the men. Andrin swallowed.

“Be careful, my lord.”

Rane held the king’s stare a moment longer. Then he inclined his head. “I will, Your Majesty.” He turned, took two steps, and shifted into a crow. Flapping his wings, he soared into the sky and flew from the grove.

Andrin turned grim eyes to mine. “What I told you at our first meeting remains true. Your father stole everything from Autumn. You’re going to help me get it back. Whether you do so in pain or comfort is up to you, Mirella. I suggest you choose wisely.”

Bitterness welled. “Those are my choices? Serve you in agony or the absence of pain? Either way, you’re forcing me to serve you not because of anything I’ve done but simply because of who I am.”

His blue eyes gleamed like sapphires as he ran his gaze over the Edeloak. “We’re all captive to the past.” He came to me and took my arm. “And everyone serves. Even kings.”