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Chapter thirty-nine

Seraphina

E very inch of her sparked with an awareness of the Crow’s nearness.

Sweat glistened on the man’s brow. Blood stained his lips. He looked pale. Disheveled. A strong breeze might have very well knocked him over. But he clung to the arms of her throne so tightly, his knuckles were white.

Like that, he lingered on within her personal space. Staring at her mouth.

Her stomach fluttered as she sat there, waiting for him to look elsewhere. To say something. She didn’t understand why he was even looking at her lips in the first place when she knew he was more likely to return the favor of a dagger to the leg than try to steal a kiss .

In the wake of her latest words, the Crow dragged his gaze away from her mouth at last to stare straight into her eyes instead. As ever, she couldn’t quite read the expression written there.

But she could hear the disdain edging his words easily enough when he whispered, “By what authority do you claim to be able to name me King of Drakmor?”

Seraphina swallowed and pressed herself deeper into her throne, trying to escape his continued nearness. It wasn’t unpleasant, that nearness. Even bloodied and unwashed, Aldric didn’t make her skin crawl as Edmund had.

But that was what frightened her the most. The fact that she didn’t mind him standing so near she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She was becoming too familiar.

And familiarity with such a dangerous man surely brought more risk than reward.

“I would support your own claim,” she whispered, luring a sneer from her betrothed. She continued all the same. “I would appeal to the High Shepherd on your behalf. The Church would support your claim as well.”

“The Church cares nothing for me,” the Crow hotly countered.

“The Church cares for the truth,” Seraphina insisted. “And the truth is that you are the rightful King of Drakmor, as revealed by the Lord’s light. You were written out of the line of succession on false pretenses.” Her eyes searched his face when she softly added, “And I imagine your mother was divorced on equally false pretenses.”

The Crow’s eyebrow twitched, though he said nothing .

“Which means,” she concluded, “Edmund is illegitimate.”

The silence that bloomed between them was a nearly palpable thing. In that silence, Seraphina became aware of movement elsewhere in the throne room—Father Perero being led out by one of her Queensguard. Guilt weighed heavily on her at the sight. She had asked too much of him.

But her attention shifted back to the Crow when he observed, “If you support my claim to the throne of Drakmor, you will break the treaty you signed with my brother.” He searched her face in turn while warning on a breath, “Edmund will declare war on you in retaliation. I saved you from one blade, kirei , but I can’t save you from all of Drakmor’s armies.”

Her silly heart fluttered at the imagery—that of the Crow standing between her and a Drakmori horde. Protecting her, as he had done the night prior.

She smothered the thought at once. By his own admission, he had been there to kill her. But he had also risked his life to save hers.

And neither of them knew why.

Still, Aldric Hargrave remained a puzzle she had yet to solve.

Offering a tight smile, Seraphina explained, “As a part of the treaty I signed with your brother, I promised to name you king after our wedding.”

“Yes,” the Crow hissed. “The King of Elmoria.”

“ No .”

The man’s brow furrowed. She could nearly taste his confusion. But her godparents looked on with matching grim expressions .

Duke Percival had warned her against trying to play coy with the wording in the treaty when they'd presented their fresh terms. He had feared Edmund might notice and turn his wrath upon her.

But the young King of Drakmor had missed it entirely, too distracted by her stunt with the proposal. Just as she had hoped.

“I simply promised your brother I would name you king , Aldric,” Seraphina whispered down to him. “But I never specified what manner of king. Nowhere in the treaty does it state I will name you King of Elmoria.”

Silence reigned again as her fiancé simply stared at her. When her words finally seemed to finish soaking in, he laughed. Like a madman, he laughed.

Over his shoulder, she saw the way his Twelve Sons shifted from foot to foot and exchanged looks with one another.

She could only guess what they were all thinking in that moment.

Her eyes returned to the man in front of her, though, when he finally ceased his laughter.

On a dark rasp, he observed, “You’re a good deal more clever than my brother gives you credit for.”

Against her better judgment, she let a small smile ghost its way across her lips. “Thank you.”

“But your little plan will never work,” he swiftly added, with all the usual venom he seemed to reserve especially for her. “What? You think you can just sit there and dangle my stolen birthright in front of me and I will melt at your feet? Swear my blade to your service?” His lips peeled back in another snarl. “What if I die on the front?”

Seraphina arched an eyebrow and asked, “Do you have so little regard for your infamous prowess on the battlefield?”

“War is unpredictable, woman.”

She frowned. Again, she searched his features. Within that continued nearness, she finally realized his eye wasn’t simply dark—so brown as to be almost black. It was flecked with gold as well. Her Crow had a gaze made for smoldering.

But that eye was now a closed window. His mouth a shut door.

Uncertainty stirred in the pit of her stomach, creeping its way toward dread. “Is this your final answer, Aldric?” she whispered.

He rumbled without pause, “It is. Enjoy your war, kirei, but I want no part in it.” His eye skimmed down her face one last time and briefly hitched on her mouth before he abruptly pulled away. He retreated from her nearness at last, shaking all the while.

But still, his voice carried with a renewed strength when he called out to the chamber, “I hereby release you, Seraphina de la Croix, from our marital contract. You are a free woman again. You owe nothing to me and I owe nothing to you.” He flashed her a glance laced with a sudden heat when he hissed through clenched teeth, “We are even. I wanted you dead. You stabbed me. There is no blood debt between us, and I will expect you to let me and my men leave your court unimpeded.”

Surprise lanced through Seraphina’s heart, stealing her breath straight from her lungs. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t right. She knew in her bones—she felt in her soul—something about this was so terribly, terribly wrong .

“What?” she couldn’t help but ask, though she had heard him perfectly well. He had said it loud enough. All of Goldreach had probably heard him.

But it didn’t change the fact he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t simply undo with words alone what had been promised between them before so many witnesses, before even Oracle Tsukiko. They were engaged. They had to be wed.

For the sake of the treaty, if nothing else.

She still needed Edmund’s aid for now. She needed Drakmor’s friendship until she could appeal to the Church and to the Emperor of Lothmeer again.

But if Aldric simply wrote himself out of the equation, the treaty would be null. Drakmor would become her enemy.

And Elmoria would fall.

Seraphina leaned forward in her seat and reminded her Crow on a whisper, “We are bound by a de facto betrothal—”

“Then say I died in the assassination attempt,” he snarled. “No one can fault you if I’m dead.”

She frowned, hardly believing his words. She saw his lips move. She heard what he was saying. And yet, she still couldn’t believe it. “You can’t be serious, Aldric.”

He didn’t relent. He didn’t yield. His jaw hardened when he declared, “I’m afraid I am.”

Seraphina drew in a shaky breath. Suddenly light-headed, she gripped the arms of her throne and slowly reasoned, “But the treaty. I must marry you to uphold Elmoria’s end of the treaty. Edmund will not continue to support us in Mysai with you dead.”

Aldric hesitated at that. She couldn’t read him well, but she read him well enough to see a thought had just skimmed through his mind.

But then he scoffed and drew back in close. His fingertips brushed hers by accident when he gripped the arms of her throne again himself. Within that renewed nearness, he whispered, “Then lie . You seem to be rather good at it. Tell the world I am injured. I am confined to a bed.” He tilted his head to the side and added, his warm breath brushing her cheek, “Then wait for good news from Mysai to come before you reveal I’m actually dead.”

“I can’t do that,” she murmured as desperation clawed its way through her. She still had Olivia’s poison ring on her hand. She had forgotten it last night. But she remembered it now. Perhaps she should use it on her Crow. Perhaps she should bind him in chains, like in her vision, and lock him in his room. “I can’t just lie to the world and say you’re dead.”

His nose wrinkled at her words and disgust laced his voice when he snapped back, “My father managed well enough. I’m sure you will, too.”

Seraphina’s heart twinged in a strange way as she searched the scarred expanse of Aldric Hargrave’s visage up close. Was this truly happening?

Was he truly leaving?

“Aldric,” Seraphina implored, even as the man pulled away from her yet again. She reached for him. Her fingers caught on his sleeve. But he jerked his arm from her grasp and shakily descended from the dais with a hand pressed against his stomach.

In silence, he limped toward his men.

Duke Percival reached over and laid a hand on her arm, yet he said nothing.

Behind her, Olivia whispered, “Good riddance. We don’t need him.”

But Seraphina wasn’t so sure. “Where are you going?” she called after him, earning for herself a few glances from his Twelve Sons.

Aldric himself didn’t turn around to look at her again, though. He didn’t answer. He didn’t pause. He just kept going.

“Aldric!” Seraphina called out to him a second time as he made for the double doors leading out of the throne room. His Sons cautiously followed, walking backwards so they might watch her Queensguard during their egress.

They left their blades where they lay on the floor.

But again, her Crow did not stop. He did not look back. He was leaving.

He was truly leaving.

And wasn’t this what she had wanted all along? To be free of him?

She could remain an unwed woman. She could continue to lead Elmoria in her own right. Alone. A queen without a king.

With any luck, lying to Edmund would solve the problem of Mysai.

But what about the Arathian troops in Arlund?

What about her vision ?

“Let him go, darling,” Duchess Edith whispered. “We’ll find another way. There’s always another way.”

“No,” Seraphina exhaled as she shoved herself to her feet, her body shaking. Though the wound swiped across her stomach had seemed to improve in the wake of her own Truth-Reading, she still felt weak.

Tired.

But she had to do something. This was wrong. All of it was wrong. She couldn’t just let him leave.

She couldn’t let it end this way.

“Stop!” she cried out again. “Aldric Hargrave, I forbid you from leaving this room.” Those words were met with just as much of a reaction from the Drakmori prince as her last had been, though.

None at all.

Time seemed to slow in the moments that followed. The walls of the throne room pressed in close. The air shifted. She smelled ash on an unseen wind.

It was coming.

The vision was coming.

“Please, no,” she whispered to no one in particular. Not now. She couldn’t stand to watch it again now. The end of all things. The streets filled with bodies.

The blood. The smoke. The darkness.

But the vision did not listen. It never did.

It swept over her, consuming all in its path. The throne room fell away. Her godparents melted into nothing. Olivia was nowhere to be seen. Sir Tristan was gone. Her guards were gone. The Twelve Sons vanished while she watched.

There she stood on blackened sands as the stars fell from the heavens. At her feet, the one-eyed crow lay dead in its chains. At the sight, a great dread crawled its way up her spine. She knew in her heart all was lost in that moment.

She didn’t know how she knew. But it was done.

It was over.

She had failed.

“Aldric,” she whispered while that great darkness swept across the land, devouring everything it touched.

Screams echoed on the wind.

Smoke billowed across the midnight sky.

“Aldric, please.” Fingers shaking, Seraphina stretched out a hand toward the dead crow. Perhaps if she could just reach him, perhaps if she could touch him, she could undo what was done.

Perhaps she could free him from his chains at last.

But the corpse of the crow crumbled into ash before her fingers could ever touch its bloodied feathers. It was gone.

A rumble of thunder cracked across the world, bringing with it an ominous peal of laughter that echoed from the darkness surging ever closer. The sound chilled her to her core.

She had truly failed without even having learned what it was she was supposed to do in the first place.

What strength was left in her legs gave way and Seraphina fell to her knees on the ebon sands. Wind howled. The crow’s abandoned chains clattered against one other within that gale .

She bowed her head against the rising storm and waited for the darkness to finally consume her. Any moment now, it would wash over her and swallow her whole.

But before that moment came, a hand suddenly shot out and gripped her forearm. A hand bound by heavy chains about its wrist.

“Aldric?”

Seraphina blinked against the swirling sands stinging at her eyes and lifted her head just enough to stare at the sight of the Crow of Drakmor now kneeling in front of her. He looked as he had the night prior—wearing naught but his nightshirt and a pair of trousers, with blood soaking the fabric from collar to hem.

Except now it was he bound in chains, just as the one-eyed crow had been.

“What?” he asked her over the howling of the wind. “What do you want from me, woman?”

What did she want from him?

Nothing , she wanted to scream. She wanted nothing—nothing beyond the ability to finally be free of that vision. Free of all the uncertainty that now haunted her night and day.

But perhaps asking what she wanted from him was the wrong question. Perhaps it had never been a question of what she wanted at all.

Perhaps it was a question of what she needed .

That realization left a great bitterness smoldering on Seraphina’s tongue. She didn’t want to say it. She would rather be back in that pavilion on Nerina Reef with Edmund, enduring the feel of his fingertips clawing against her bare back, than say it.

In her silence, the wind howled louder. The thunder rumbled closer. And Aldric’s touch began to recede.

His hand loosened its grip on her. His fingers withdrew.

“No,” Seraphina bit out through clenched teeth. “Wait. Please.”

But there was no more waiting. The end of the world would not wait for her.

Like the storm-tossed waves of the Straight, that darkness suddenly crashed down upon her and Aldric both, snuffing out what meager light was left by which she might see. He was lost to her sight. She could barely feel him.

Within that darkness, she drowned.

And Aldric drowned right along with her.

It was too late. But still, she finally swallowed her pride and whispered, “I need you.”

In the wake of those three little words, a single pinprick of light flickered into being within the inky nothingness. It was such a small flame. Weak.

Within the harsh gale, it flickered, on the verge of being snuffed out at any moment.

“…What?” her Crow’s voice rumbled from the darkness, barely audible over the howling of the wind.

Seraphina bowed her head. Her stomach roiled. Shame burned its way across her cheeks. She had always wanted to do this on her own. She had wanted to save her people by herself. But now, she realized she couldn’t. She simply wasn’t strong enough to do this on her own.

What did she know of war? What did she know of being a queen? Nothing . No one had prepared her for this life.

But there before her knelt the Crow of Drakmor. One of the most dangerous men alive. Infamous. Deadly. Underestimated by all.

The king who was meant to be, but never was.

At last, she Saw him.

But it still pained her. It still burned like the very heat of the Lord’s light when she parted her lips and repeated, “I need you, Aldric Hargrave.”

Before the last word dripped from her tongue, the vision was gone, and she was back in her throne room, kneeling on the marble floor. With him.

Aldric.

She was aware of her family surrounding her as well. As if from a great distance, she heard her godparents, Olivia, and Sir Tristan all asking if she was all right. She felt their collective worry, like an oppressive weight about her shoulders. Or perhaps that was simply Alyx.

No . Alyx was in the Roost, resting.

Disoriented, exhausted, all Seraphina could see in that moment was him—the man destined to help her save the world.

She still didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand any of it. But clearly, there was a plan. And she was not the navigator. Nor was she the compass .

She was but a player in a much larger game far beyond her understanding.

“What?” Aldric repeated, his single eye wide as he stared at her.

But Seraphina was having none of it. He had heard her the first two times, she was sure of it.

Twisting her mouth, she looked away long enough to reassure her godparents, “I’m fine,” before she turned her attention back to her Crow.

It was a lie, of course. She wasn’t fine. How could she possibly be fine?

Her kingdom was at war. Her enemies were nearly at her doorstep. A short time ago, she had been attacked. She had nearly been killed.

And now, there she was, on her knees. Begging a man for aid who just a short time ago had declared, under the compulsion of a Truth-Reading, that he had entered her bedchamber last night to kill her.

But that was the funny thing about Aldric Hargrave. Dangerous man he was, ruthless he was rumored to be, and yet he seemed to do a lot of talking about how easy it would be to kill her without ever getting around to doing it.

“You need me to die for you,” her Crow abruptly hissed, though she could see the uncertainty within his gaze.

Setting her jaw, lifting her chin, Seraphina corrected him, her voice little more than a thread of sound, “I need you to survive with me. No games. No loopholes. You have my word. ”

He frowned at her, and his one eye searched her own. “Your word means nothing to me, kirei.”

“Then you will have my hand.”

Behind her, Olivia insisted, “You don’t have to do this, Your Majesty.”

But she did. She knew now that she did.

“Marry me, Aldric Hargrave,” Seraphina softly commanded as she extended her hand to him. “Marry me and help me save Elmoria. And then I will help you claim your rightful throne. You may mistrust my words, but you can trust this: as your wife, I will bind my fate to yours. If you fail, I fail with you.”

Again, the Crow responded with yet more silence. His frown lingered on. His gaze searched her features. After a time, he sat back on his heels. “I have already asked too much of my men,” he rasped, shooting a look over his shoulder toward where his Twelve Sons stood, watching. “I can’t ask them to go to war for me. I can’t just ask them to die for me in some ill-fated coup.”

The oldest of them—the one with too few teeth—cocked his head to the side and asked, “Well, what if we want to die in some ill-fated coup?”

The largest Son nodded his head and agreed, “It seems we should have some sort of say in the matter, boss, since it’s our lives on the line.”

Seraphina looked in between each of Aldric’s twelve fighting men, breathless, as she waited to see what they would decide.

The fate of everything hung in the balance .

It was the half-Kunishi one, Master Fitzjesmaine, who decided first. Lowering himself to a knee, he saluted with his fist over his heart and said, “You have always been my king, Aldric Hargrave.”

“And mine,” the large one added, also sinking to his knees.

“And mine,” Master Kyn agreed, following suit.

One by one, every Son to a man knelt and swore his allegiance to the true King of Drakmor.

Seraphina’s heart threatened to wing from her chest. She barely dared to breathe when she looked back to her Crow to see what he might say.

But he remained silent, his head bowed.

She softly prompted him, “Well, there you have it.”

He surely could have no further objections. There was nothing else keeping him from reaching out and taking what should have been his in the first place.

And yet, still, he would not look at her. His gaze remained averted even when he asked, “And how can you be sure I will not simply smother you on our wedding night, kirei?”

That question earned an indignant huff from her godfather.

But Seraphina merely wrinkled her nose. Surely, he was jesting. “That is bold of you to assume there will even be a wedding night,” she countered, arching an eyebrow.

For some odd reason, that response was the one to earn a faint smile from Aldric’s lips and lure his gaze back her way. Finally, he reached out and clasped her hand. Within the first rays of dawn breaking through the stained-glass windows behind her, his one good eye shimmered .

Tears. The Crow of Drakmor’s gaze housed unshed tears.

“Agreed,” he conceded at last, his voice husky and low. But his touch abruptly withdrew from her hand with his voicing of that single word. As if her skin had suddenly scalded him.

Goosebumps prickled her arm in the absence of his warmth. But she gritted her teeth and ignored the sensation. “We have come to an agreement, then?” Seraphina asked instead.

“Yes,” her Crow breathed without pause. “It would seem we have.” Tilting his head to the side, he observed, “It would seem we are allies, after all. For now.”

Seraphina sat back on her heels and turned her head to look toward her family, where they stood nearby. Duke Percival wore his customary frown. Sir Tristan looked uncertain, while the very air around Olivia seemed to crackle with her displeasure. She would need to speak to her friend later. But her godmother looked on with a small smile on her lips and tears of her own shining in her eyes.

Duke Percival was the first to break the sudden silence between them when he groused, “It seems we’re going to war, then.”

Duchess Edith made a face, her smile gone in an instant. “We’ve been at war, darling.”

But her godfather shook his head. “This is a different sort of war, my star. Coups and conquering.” Duke Percival narrowed his eyes, looking down at her Crow. “Let us pray the High Shepherd supports this man’s claim. We will need the Church to stand with us in the days to come. ”

Olivia stepped forward, her lips pressed into a thin line. Stiffly, she eased herself down to her knees at Seraphina’s side. “To war, then,” her best friend whispered, though her gaze remained hard.

But still, she was with her. Even angry, Olivia was with her.

Seraphina reached over and took her friend’s hand. “Thank you, Olivia.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Duchess Edith echoed, “To war, then.” Stepping closer, the elderly noblewoman grasped both her and Olivia by the shoulders. “We’ll face whatever comes, together.”

Like that little flame from her vision, a sudden warmth sparked within Seraphina’s heart. It was small, that warmth. Weak. But she held it close as she leaned into her godmother’s touch and looked back Aldric’s way.

His gaze met with hers, unreadable as ever. He had no smile for her. No inspiring words. He did not place his hand back upon her arm. But he was there. He had stayed.

And that meant everything.

“Together,” Seraphina repeated, certain now this was the path forward. That word felt right, lingering in the air between her and her Crow.

She still didn’t understand her vision. There were still so many questions that needed answers. But this, at least, felt right.

Together, they’d face whatever might come next.

Together, they’d save the world.

Or they would die trying.