Page 79

R yton finished his lean meal of scallops infused with sour coralweed and looked out the window of his bedroom.

His hands shook, and he knew why. The Earth Queen, the one he had been ordered to kill, the true enemy of his kynd and friend to the one who had murdered his sister, had surprised him by being… likable.

She’d been like one of his own. Courageous. A personality touched by dark humor. Tenacious.

And he’d been unable to end her terrible march toward overpowering Astraea and slaying the sea kynd.

Ryton’s brother would have fought Ryton over this.

After all, on his deathbed, he’d made Ryton swear to avenge Selene, and permitting the Earth Queen—the one who could ensure the dragons’ final win over the sea kynd—to live certainly wasn’t upholding his oath.

Ryton swallowed, the taste of scallops bitter at the back of his throat.

Passing his hammock, he lifted the carved image that showed him and his siblings when they were young.

He ran a finger over their eyes, their smiles.

“I failed you. I wish I could tell you why,” he whispered.

“I wish you could be here, that you could see this Earth Queen, that you could know how very much like us she truly is.” It was shocking.

An abhorrent thought. But it was the truth, and he couldn’t deny it.

She didn’t seem like a monster. He wished she did.

It would’ve made his mission so much easier.

The brass bell outside his front door clanged.

Frowning, he swam through the bedroom and living quarters. Who would be visiting him now? He’d heard Grystark was gone on some mission. No one else bothered with Ryton, as he’d designed his life to one of service, not socializing.

When he swung the door open, it wasn’t Grystark, but Grystark’s wife, Lilia. She was dressed in an unusually drab color, and her eyes were swollen and pink. Scars laced her cheeks in pale stripes.

He pulled her into a hug. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She was healed and had been for a while.

Shaking her head, she started to speak but stopped, her chin trembling. “What is this?” Grimacing, she touched one leg of the black beast, a joint that crossed his collarbone.

“Don’t fret. I will be through with it soon enough. It was a part of my mission.”

His failed mission. He was lying to Lilia.

He knew well he’d never rid himself of the creature that hissed in his mind and morphed his body into a land kynd when necessary.

He’d almost grown used to the pain of its dark presence, the pulling at his heart and soul.

And for what had he given up his normal life?

He hadn’t killed the Earth Queen. It had been a waste.

“Please, tell me who attacked you.” He touched her cheek gently, his stomach turning as he imagined the pain she must have been in. “Was it an accident?”

Lilia blinked, staring at the thing on Ryton’s back, but it was obvious her distress went beyond that. “You, you don’t know,” she stammered. “That’s why you haven’t searched for me. You truly don’t know. I didn’t believe she would hold it from you. I didn’t think she could. But—”

“What is it? Come in. Tell me everything.”

He gestured to a stool, but she didn’t sit. Whispering to herself, she paced over the knotted rug, bubbles caught in her hair and streaming around her fingers and ankles.

“Lilia. You’re scaring me. And that’s no small thing. Please, tell me. I’m here for you and Grystark, no matter the situation.”

She spun and gripped his forearms, her fingers biting into his flesh. Her mouth turned down at the edges and quivered. “The queen, she made the army take your tunnel to attack the elves.”

“I know. I imagine it was a difficult trip under the isle. The tunnel wasn’t yet ready.”

“He’s gone, Ryton. Grystark is dead.”

Ryton’s ears rang like Lilia had clanged the outside bell a thousand times.

He’d heard her wrong.

“No.”

“Ryton.” She gasped, bowing her head. “Yes, he is dead. Our Grystark is dead.”

Ryton stared at her weeping form, his mind rushing to the tunnel he’d designed, envisioning how dark it had been and how the cracking of the bedrock above had sounded like a monstrous squid from the wide, open waters.

“She demanded that they go when she knew it wasn’t ready.

” Lilia beat her hands on Ryton’s chest, her hair coming undone and her eyes wild.

“Echo told me everything. How he warned her and how the ceiling had already begun to fall when she ordered him to lead the charge, to continue onward. She didn’t care.

She doesn’t care that she killed one of her greatest generals and fifty-three of her own soldiers.

We lost fewer warriors in our last attack.

Queen Astraea is no better than a filthy, soulless dragon! ”

Ryton pulled her head against him and ran a hand over her back, trying to calm her frantic sobbing. Words refused to rise to his lips. His heart froze over like the waters in the far northern realms.

Lilia allowed herself to be led to his hammock. Ryton tucked her in like she was a child, giving her an overlarge kelp blanket and promising her he wouldn’t leave, that they would talk more after she’d rested.

“The queen gave me these scars when Gry argued with her,” Lilia whispered. “But they are nothing compared to…” Her shoulders shook as she wept.

Normally, Lilia would never permit Ryton, or anyone, to treat her like this, comforting her and coddling her. But she seemed beyond argument, taking the comfort he offered like a starving creature would a morsel of food.

Propping himself against the wall to keep an eye on her, he allowed what she had said to wash over him like a red tide, filled with noxious growth and stinging nettles.

Grystark, his one and only friend, had died.

In the tunnels, where Astraea had demanded Grystark go, he had been crushed by rock, pummeled and smothered by Ryton’s own creation.

Ryton’s heart remained frozen. He couldn’t feel the loss. But distantly, he knew the pain would arrive with lashing claws to rip him apart.

He felt as though he’d been bound and thrown into Scar Chasm to fall and fall, forever in the darkness.

Lilia woke, gave Ryton one last hug, then left, saying she had a safe place to stay with a friend, a place out of Astraea’s sight.

Ryton’s heart thawed, then began to catch fire. Like the horrible dragons’ flames, it sparked and burned. Shaking with rage, he took up his spear.

Astraea may have been his queen. He may have made an oath. But she had broken all ties by sending Grystark to his death and treating the loss as something that could be hidden away, tucked into a convenient place until she was ready to reveal it.

Ryton blasted through his door and into the open sea.

The sea kynd could deal with the dragons on their own. They didn’t need this mad tyrant. Now, nothing would hold Ryton back.

Astraea would pay.