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T eryn stared down the stairwell, even after Mareleau had gone. He and Emylia had witnessed her exchange with Morkai, and it left Teryn with a hollow pit of dread where his stomach should be. Teryn had realized something when they were talking; Cora wasn’t Morkai’s final option for getting everything he wanted. Mareleau could provide it in the same way—everything from her two kingdoms to a body he could use for Emylia.

All Morkai would have to do was get Verdian and Larylis out of the way. Force Mareleau to be his bride.

Teryn’s lungs felt tight. While he’d managed to protect Cora somewhat, he now needed to find a way to save everyone else. Larylis. Mareleau. King Verdian.

“Teryn.” Emylia’s voice, pitched with urgency, stole his attention from the empty stairwell. Morkai had now returned to the tower room and was poring over a book on the cluttered table. Emylia stood beside the sorcerer, watching the pages that flipped by.

Teryn made his way inside, eyes locked on the sorcerer’s waistcoat pocket. He and Emylia had projected themselves outside the crystal in time to catch him lifting the hidden stone in the floor and extracting the two glass vials. Emylia had been right; Morkai had hidden stores of his original body’s blood. A necessary ingredient for Teryn and Emylia’s plan. Only one essential remained: the pattern that would allow Teryn to unravel the spell on the crystal.

“What is he doing?” Teryn asked, standing at the other side of the table. His eyes fell on the pages of the book Morkai thumbed through. Each was either scribbled over in an elegant script—one he had a feeling belonged to Morkai himself—or bore intricate patterns rendered in ink. He lifted his gaze to Emylia’s.

She gave him an affirming nod. “This is his personal book of spells and blueprints.”

“What’s he looking for?”

“Probably the weaving he utilizes for his Roizan. Now that he has his blood, that’s his next step.”

Teryn tried to recall what Emylia had told him about the Roizan. He knew Morkai used it as a vessel for magic, and Emylia had said the creatures were born from death, neither alive nor dead. “How exactly does he create a Roizan? What is it made from?”

“In short, a Roizan is forged from two living creatures who suffer violent deaths during combat with each other, resulting in the two dying at the same moment. Morkai utilizes blood weavings to control the time of death for each animal and prolong the fight.”

Teryn’s lip curled into a sneer. “He makes them suffer?”

“Pain and violence fuel the forbidden Arts.”

Teryn shouldn’t have been surprised. This was the sorcerer who’d commanded his bands of hunters to capture and torture unicorns. He cast a dark glower at Morkai, though the mage couldn’t see it.

Emylia returned her gaze to the pages Morkai continued to flip through. He paused on one that was filled with notes cramping every spare inch of the margins, scanned it briefly, then turned to the next.

Morkai suddenly went rigid and slammed the book shut with a force that made the table shake. Emylia jumped at the sound and leaped to the side. Morkai’s head snapped up, eyes locking on Teryn’s. Teryn took a stumbling step back, but Morkai’s gaze didn’t follow. Instead, it hovered straight ahead.

Teryn released a sigh. Of course he couldn’t see them.

Morkai narrowed his eyes to slits. His voice came out cold. Slow. So unlike Teryn’s own, it made him shudder. “You’re watching, aren’t you?”

Teryn’s eyes found Emylia’s; she looked just as startled as he.

“I know you are,” Morkai said. “You’re hoping you can fight me. Stop me. Well, I assure you, your hope is futile. Watching me will only make it hurt more when you fail. When you breathe your last breath and I take over your lungs. Your life. Your name. You will be nothing. You’ll have nothing.”

Teryn’s fingers curled at his sides. He was half tempted to step into his body and wrestle control then and there, even if for a short time, out of spite alone. But the edges of his rage cooled as he took in his silver-shot hair, the dull green in his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks. Considering how much damage his single instant of repossession had done to his body, he likely only had one more shot. While he could continue to practice strengthening his connection to his cereba, it would be foolish to fully take control again until they had everything in place.

With a slow exhale, he focused on his breaths, his pulse, his pounding heart.

Morkai’s lips curled into a cruel grin. “How about I grant you mercy? Trust me. You don’t want to see what happens next.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted one of the vials. With his other hand, he lifted the leather-wrapped crystal from under his shirt and let it rest on top of his waistcoat. Lifting the stopper, he dropped a single drop of ruby liquid onto the tip of his finger and brought it to the surface of the crystal.

Everything went white.

Panic crawled up Teryn’s throat as the blinding light surrounded him. He tried to will his ethera outside the crystal, but…he couldn’t. No matter how he tried, he remained in place.

“Teryn, it’s all right.” Emylia’s calming tone reached him through the white light. Then, starting with the edges of his vision, the colors dulled. Soon brown, red, and saffron washed over the light, forming Emylia’s temple bedroom. The seer stood before him, wringing her hands.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He’s blocking us now. Remember how I said he used to block me from projecting my ethera outside the crystal when he wanted to? That’s what he’s doing to us.”

“How long will it last?”

“It’s just a simple spell. A temporary seal he created with his blood. He still isn’t strong enough to do anything permanent. Not until he has his Roizan.”

That wasn’t entirely comforting. “What if the seal doesn’t break until it’s too late? I can’t step into my body unless I can project my soul outside the crystal. I can’t practice connecting to my cereba if?—”

“Teryn.”

He frowned, noting the way she continued to wring her hands. He thought it was from anxiety, but now he saw the light dancing in her eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging her lips. “What is it?”

“We have something else to do now.”

His pulse quickened. Before he could ask her to elaborate, she waved her hand, sending the temple room scattering in a wash of light. It was replaced with a still image of the tower library, exactly how it had been moments before. Morkai stood at the table, eyes narrowed on a page in his book. If they were unable to project themselves outside the crystal, then this must be from Emylia’s memory.

She approached Morkai’s side. It was uncanny watching her move through an image while Morkai remained frozen. “Look,” she said, beckoning Teryn to stand beside her. She pointed at the page.

Teryn leaned forward, taking in the complex diagram of intersecting lines and loops that marked both pages. The pattern was the same on each page, creating a mirror image. Teryn was about to inquire what significance they held when his eyes fell on the script marking the top of the pages. The left-hand side bore the word Crystal , while the right said Unicorn horn .

He met Emylia’s gaze and she gave him a nod. Her eyes were wide, barely concealing her excitement. “We have it, Teryn. This is the pattern.”

He glanced back at the complex markings, feeling both daunted and exhilarated at once. He could barely make heads or tails of the pattern. It would take forever to learn how to replicate it. But…this was it. The final piece of their plan.

“Are you ready to learn how to draw it yourself?”

Teryn swallowed his fear. In its place, he felt relief. A growing sense of determination. That gnawing inertia he’d felt after his father’s death had compounded ever since he’d gotten stuck in the crystal. Practicing with his cereba had barely taken the edge off. But now, with such a formidable task at hand, and a clear road ahead to do it, Teryn felt strong. Sure. Tenacious.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s unravel this damn spell.”

King Larylis ached for silence, his wife, and a decent book. Only one was at his disposal, in the form of the empty balcony he stood upon, attached to his borrowed bedroom for the night. Today marked his first day of travel to Ridine Castle, and since he was still in the Kingdom of Menah, his overnight accommodations were provided by an eager lord. Lord Furrowsby’s manor was vast, but his hospitality was even more so, which included a musical performance in his grand parlor and a five-course dinner. Larylis had wanted nothing but sleep and solitude when he and his entourage arrived at the manor, but instead he’d been forced to grin and socialize until half past midnight, all while donning the persona of king.

Now that he was finally alone on the spacious balcony, he could let his posture slip, his shoulders slump. He ran a hand through his hair—which was now expertly styled by his valet each morning—loosening it from the stiff gels and waxes that had held it in place all day. He found himself missing the days when no one paid his appearance much heed. Now everything mattered. His hair, his dress, his stride. At least he’d managed to avoid the powdered wigs his valet had suggested. They were popular in Selay, especially with King Verdian. His valet had insisted they’d make him appear more distinguished. Larylis had no desire to don a wig, no matter how fashionable they were, so he’d compromised by subjecting his hair to daily styling.

With a fatigued groan, he leaned over the balcony rail, resting his elbows on the balustrade.

Six more days , he said to himself. Three more days traveling through northeastern Menah, staying at a different lord’s house each time, then another three days traveling through Khero. In Khero, he could finally be free from the hospitality of his lords and stay at fine inns instead. When that was all over, he’d reach his destination. Only then would he finally see her again.

Mareleau.

His wife.

His beloved.

What he wouldn’t give to shake free from these painfully slow travels. Were he allowed to travel on his own, he’d take a messenger horse and arrive at Ridine in two or three days. Were he allowed to oversee his own schedule, he’d travel with haste and rest only after nightfall, and reach his destination in four days. Instead, his travels had been turned into a political move, a way to engage with his noble subjects.

He understood the reasoning behind it all. He was a king now, and he had responsibilities. Protocols. Impressions to make. Loyalties to secure.

But seven gods, was he tired.

It was safe to say he far preferred reading about kings over being one.

A familiar cadence reached his ears, a soft beat punctuating the quiet night. He stared into the distance, beyond the trees that surrounded Lord Furrowsby’s manor, until he saw her. Berol. Moonlight illuminated her wings as she circled over the manor, then made her descent. She landed beside him on the balustrade, one talon curled around something.

Larylis’ pulse kicked up. He hadn’t received a reply from his brother yet, but the messenger had likely only arrived at Ridine that morning. But Berol would have reached him faster.

He extended his hand toward the falcon. She uncurled her talon and dropped a soft roll of what felt like cloth. Furrowing his brow, he unraveled it, and found a messy scribble of smeared, faded ink. Or was it ink at all? It was too dark to make out the words with moonlight alone, so he rushed inside his temporary bedroom and brought the cloth beside a lantern perched on the bedside table.

His heart leaped into his throat as he read the words. He read it over again. Again. Dread filled his stomach.

Danger at Ridine.

Teryn isn’t Teryn.

Trust no one.

What did it mean? It was signed by Cora, but why had she written this message in whatever messy substance marred the cloth? And was the cloth itself…a piece of clothing? It reminded him too much of the blood-splattered scrap Berol had brought him.

None of it made sense. None of it explained anything that was happening. He’d received no other warning. No rushed messages that told of issues at Ridine. His recent letters from Mareleau had contained her usual musings, nothing more.

Larylis bristled with tension. He couldn’t wait a week. Couldn’t bear to dine and dance when something strange was happening. When his wife could be in danger.

He strode through the room and began to dress in his riding attire. His hands trembled as he laced up his pants, donned his gloves, threw on his coat.

Royal procedure could go to the seven devils. He didn’t care if he offended nobles or enraged his guards. He didn’t care if leaving now shaved only a few meager days off his travels. If he couldn’t act on his instincts, then he was a puppet, not a king.

With hasty steps, he left his room and rapped his knuckles on the next door over. After a few long stretches of silence, a tired face answered the door. But it was the face he trusted most when it came to those who served him—Lord Hardingham. Aside from having been his father’s most loyal councilman, he’d always treated Larylis with respect, bastard or no. He’d been at Centerpointe Rock. He’d seen the same terrors Larylis had. Though Hardingham had mourned Arlous’ death, he’d stated his support of Larylis’ impossible decision, even when the other councilmen continued to question their new king in whispers behind his back.

Only Hardingham would follow Larylis’ next demand without question.

“Keep this quiet,” Larylis said. “Gather a small selection of guards and meet me in the stables. We make haste for Ridine at once.”

Hardingham’s only reply was a widening of his eyes, followed by a nod.

Soon Larylis and a modest retinue took off under the blanket of night. His heart raced with fear, the excitement of his rebellion, and a pinch of shame. He knew he could be overreacting. He could be compromising everything.

But with every inch of distance he closed between himself and Ridine, he felt lighter. Freer. He let his thoughts go, lulled by the beat of horse hooves and Berol’s wings flapping high overhead.