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O ppressive heat filled Cora’s lungs, pressing in all around her, as if the air itself had grown heavy. With a gasp, she tore away from Darius. He released her, and she launched a few steps back. She hadn’t been prepared for him to take her so quickly, and the surprise sent shock waves through her legs.

She kept her eyes locked on Darius, who merely straightened the sleeves of his coat.

“Don’t look at me with such suspicion,” he said. “I’ve done nothing but take you to Syrus like we agreed.”

Her breaths began to calm, and she dared to look away from him. They stood on a cobblestone walkway on a quiet street. Sleeping storefronts lined one side while a stone wall rose waist high on the other. A soft breeze blew across her cheeks, carrying with it more of that smothering heat.

It wasn’t an unnatural kind.

It was merely the temperature of her surroundings.

The Southern Islands were known for their balmy climates, even in the winter. Which must mean they truly were in Syrus. She hazarded a glance at Darius again, but he kept his distance, posture straight, hands clasped at his waist.

“Welcome to my hellish domain,” he said. “Please, look around. See what a dark and miserable prison I’ve subjected my citizens to.”

His mocking tone grated on her nerves, but she studied her surroundings. They were dark indeed, but that was only because it was evening. The Southern Islands were a few hours behind Khero, so it was sometime before midnight. As for miserable, there was nothing to suggest an ounce of misery. Strains of conversation and laughter floated on the air, while light streamed from homes, terraces, and nearby buildings.

She stepped closer to the stone wall and found a sloping, layered hillside beyond it, edged with streets like the one they stood on, and tall blocky buildings made from colorful stucco. It was too dark to see the hues clearly, but she caught hints of orange, tan, blue, and pink. Some of the rooftops were flat while others boasted terracotta shingles. She even spotted an ornate domed building far below.

The bottom of the hill cut off in a steep cliff, where the first rows of houses appeared to be carved straight from the stone. Beneath that stretched an endless sea dancing with starlight and the lamps of fishing boats.

Gods, she hated to admit it, but her enemy’s island kingdom was beautiful.

She did her best to mask her awe as she faced Darius again.

“Come along,” he said, starting off down the street.

“To where?”

“I want to give you a closer look at my people.”

“Meaning…”

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’re going to a public house. Having a few drinks.”

She pulled her head back. “A public house?”

“What, surprised a king would deign to interact with his own people? Don’t think too highly of me. My people haven’t seen me looking this healthy before. No one will recognize me as their beloved monarch. To them, I’ll be just an old soldier out for a drink.”

Annoyance prickled her skin. “I wasn’t thinking about you at all. I was more concerned with the fact that I’m dressed in a night robe.”

He wrinkled his nose as he studied her, as if he hadn’t truly looked at her until now. “Worry not. You’ll do. People from all around come to Syrus, either to visit or take up residence. I offer my citizens a way of life not often found elsewhere—but you’ll see for yourself. The point is there are no standards of fashion here, with so many outside influences. No one will look twice at your clothes.”

With that, he proceeded again.

Gritting her teeth, she followed him. She was barefoot too, but the streets were surprisingly clean, and the cobblestones were well-maintained. Besides, being barefoot outside wasn’t an oddity for her. The Forest People valued physical connections with nature and relished any opportunity to set their shoeless soles on soil.

As they navigated the narrow, winding street that lined the sloping cliff, Cora cast her attention up the hill this time, taking in the ever-climbing incline. More rows of buildings stretched above her, and at the very top stood a bell tower beside a crenellated wall. Behind that rose an enormous white dome. The entire structure was illuminated with lanterns, making it a beacon of beauty. She wondered if that was Darius’ palace.

She looked from the bell tower above to the sea below and determined they were only midway up the hill. She couldn’t imagine how breathtaking the view might be from the top. As much as she craved such a sight, she was grateful they kept to the outer street that ran horizontally across the hill and not one of the streets that led to the higher levels. She was in no mood for a hike.

Sounds of raucous laughter and the clink of plates and glasses grew louder, as did the frequency of light streaming from the windows. Crowds filled the streets ahead, either from groups of men chatting or couples dining at the small tables set beside the wall. Cora hadn’t had many experiences in cities, as she’d often stayed behind with the commune when the Forest People had gone to trade in nearby villages. To see so many figures gathered around so late at night, so animated, so energetic…it was a bit overwhelming.

That reminded her to reconnect with the elements and strengthen her mental shields. She wanted to keep a close read on Darius’ energy, but that could wait until they’d settled in at their destination.

She wove through the crowded sidewalk. He was right about no one noticing him as their king. In fact, the people barely noticed either of them. Finally, Darius paused outside a building of pink stucco. More sounds of chatter and laughter echoed from behind the heavy wooden door, above which hung a sign.

The Dragon’s Arms Public House .

“Here we are.” Darius pushed open the door and strode inside.

Cora followed, anxiety fraying the edges of her mental wards. The pub was packed with patrons filling nearly every table in the room. Ale and smoke infused the air, making the dimly lit room seem even darker. The walls were a cream plaster, recessed with small alcoves that held decorative bottles or oil lamps. The red tile floor was sticky beneath her bare feet.

Darius swept through the crowd with ease, while Cora shuffled in his wake, her heart racing as she skirted around the busy tables. A trio of men rose from their table at the same time, chatting as they closed in toward her, paying her not a lick of heed. She was forced to go around and lost sight of Darius. She shuffled this way and that, then finally spotted him at a small table at the back of the room.

With a weighted glare, she rushed the rest of the way there and planted herself in the empty seat, making an effort to pull it as far away from him as space allowed. She fought to catch her breath, seething at being put in such a position.

Darius leaned back in his chair, as if the pub were his home and not a loud room filled with inebriated strangers. His ease mocked her, making her want to hide her discomfort. If she admitted how flustered she was, she’d have to confess she’d never done this before. Never entered a public house or dined with commoners.

She’d never considered herself a sheltered person. Her early hardships had matured her in many ways, while life with the Forest People had given her the sense that she was self-sufficient and well-traveled. Only now did she realize how few of life’s mundane experiences she’d had. How truly sheltered she was. How little she could relate to the average citizen.

She was a terrible queen.

True, she’d only been queen for a matter of months, and before that, she’d lived with a secretive commune. Guilt plagued her nonetheless.

A willowy serving woman approached their table, dressed in a floral-patterned skirt and white top that hung off her shoulders. A red kerchief tied back auburn hair to display a sun-browned face adorned with freckles. Her eyes dipped to Darius’ black coat, with its high collar and stiff shoulders. Now that Cora was closer, she noted the gold pins at his lapels, showcasing a dragon in a circle of flame. That must be Syrus’ sigil. A strange sigil for a king who was rejected by every dragon he’d tried to bond. Did he still hold out hope he’d gain their approval after he became Morkaius?

Something brightened in the serving woman’s expression. “Welcome, esteemed soldier. You honor us with your great presence. What can I get for you this evening?”

“Zaran wine, 170 Year of the Eagle,” he answered with a charming grin.

The woman arched a brow at Cora.

“Nothing for me.”

“Ale for her,” Darius said.

The woman flounced off, slapping a patron upside the head when he pinched her backside.

“Lively, happy, healthy.” Darius gestured toward the nearby tables. “No one has been beheaded in the streets or drawn and quartered by moonlight. Who would have thought?”

She maintained a stony expression at his continued attempt at sarcasm. “Just because I don’t trust you doesn’t mean I assumed you were a bloodthirsty king.”

Though she had imagined something like it. How could she not when he’d produced such progeny as Morkai? The mage’s takeover of Ridine had resulted in an understaffed castle, dusty halls, and countless soldiers who’d been compelled to obey him by blood magic. She’d imagined Syrus would be like that too. Unkempt. Lifeless. Filled with cowed citizens with glazed eyes.

Nothing suggested the pub patrons were enjoying themselves by force. They drank. They laughed. Some even sang bawdy tunes. There was an array of people in different states of dress, different fashions, though all shared an aura of informality.

The serving woman returned with their drinks. Darius accepted his glass of wine with one hand and passed a couple of coins to the woman with the other. Cora’s eyes locked on his palm as he withdrew it. All she could see of the cut he’d made the blood promise with was a smear of dried blood. Not a gash or scar to be found. So he truly did have rapid healing.

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, not daring to drink the ale before her. “So, you’ve shown me Syrus. Why else are we here?”

“Yes, I’ve shown you Syrus, but you’ll look at neither me nor my kingdom with unclouded eyes until you have good reason to discard your prejudices. You have questions for me. Ask them. I’ll answer with honesty.” He took a long pull of his wine.

She did have questions, though she still needed to be careful how she asked them so as not to give too much away. Regardless, she’d take advantage of his offer.

Breathing deep, she pried the smallest hole in her mental shields and focused on his energy as she asked, “How long were you in Khero before you got caught as a pretend spy?”

“Not long,” he said, and his energy remained steady. “I’d learned about the spies from Norun who’d been caught in your kingdom so I made the same mistakes they did. Spoke to the same traitorous informants. Asked too many obvious questions. I was caught within a week. But I know what you’re really asking, and no, I didn’t tour all over your kingdom to secure key locations to worldwalk to. I only did that at your castle.”

“How long were you wandering around Ridine? Did you worldwalk out of your cell from the start? Where have you been hiding since you faked your death?”

“I haven’t been hiding in your castle, cousin.”

She bristled at the nickname. They may be distantly related, but they weren’t cousins. Allied monarchs often called each other cousin , but she and Darius weren’t allies either.

He continued. “First of all, I stayed in my cell like a good little prisoner until I was ready to leave. I only left to retrieve a replacement body, and after I planted the decoy, I returned to my soldiers in Norun. I’ve hardly set foot in Ridine since, aside from the last few days when I was getting the lay of the castle and trying my luck to meet with you.”

His energy continued to pulse with the steady hum of truth, but the last part tingled with something sharp and jagged. Maybe there was a lie hidden there, or more to what he was saying. She hoped it didn’t mean he suspected where she’d been on the nights he hadn’t been able to find her.

“I was lucky to finally find you this evening,” he said.

She gave him a pointed look. “In the middle of the night.”

“Yes, well, I prefer to avoid witnesses.”

“As do I,” she said through her teeth.

“Are you embarrassed about my stamina comment? Ah, I see you are.” He took an annoyingly long sip of wine, an obvious test of her patience. “I didn’t lurk and watch, if that’s what you’re wondering. Yes, I first worldwalked to your castle this evening at an inopportune time and chose to attempt my visit later when I thought you’d be more amenable to a chat. I made my presence known almost as soon as I appeared in your bedroom, so don’t paint me as a pervert.” He said the last part with a chuckle.

She thinned her lips to show just how little amusement she found in this. “Pervert or no, the fact that you worldwalked straight to my bedroom proves you’ve been there before. Maybe you didn’t spend weeks wandering my castle, but you spent enough time there to orient yourself, as you’ve already admitted, and one of those locations was my most private space.”

With a cold grin, he leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, and laced his fingers. “You really are a worldwalker. You know exactly how my magic works.”

She sucked in a breath but tried to keep her expression even. Damn, even with her precautions, she’d given too much away. “Just because I know how your magic works doesn’t mean I’m the same as you.”

He perched his chin on his laced hands and stared at her with unblinking silver-blue eyes. “Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

What…

What the hell did that mean? Sounds of the busy pub continued to blare around them. There was no way he could hear her heartbeat in such a loud room. Unless…

Was he…clairaudient?

He was half witch, which meant he had a sensory affinity of some sort. Could it be that while she’d been sensing truth and lies from his energy fluctuations, he was doing the same, but with her pulse?

Darius leaned back from the table and swirled his glass. “How is Ailan?”

Cora’s heart lurched before she could steel herself.

He snorted a laugh. “That reaction tells me you have met my sister indeed. I won’t ask where she’d been hiding, for I haven’t given you enough reasons to trust me yet. And I assume she is behind the Veil by now. Does she look younger than me? I imagine aging has been far gentler on her than it has on me, if she’s stayed in Lela this whole time.”

She refused to address Ailan. Refused to admit any affiliation with her. Instead, she trained her voice to speak with level curiosity. “You aged poorly because you lived in Syrus?”

“Yes,” he said, making no comment on her change of subject. “Living in Syrus, so far from El’Ara’s heart, aged me horribly, yet my body refused to die. As soon as I set foot across the Khero-Vinias border, though, I felt healthier than I had in centuries. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I’d learned enough from Desmond’s report to understand that the mora —my birthright—was healing me. Then the Veil tore and my aging began to reverse—just the slightest bit—and pieces of memories slowly snapped into place. My magic grew stronger. I believe I’ll regain the rest of my youth once I become Morkaius.”

Cora couldn’t keep the glare from her eyes.

“Ah, of course. You still don’t believe I deserve to be Morkaius. To you I’m still an evil Elvyn overlord who murdered his mother and seeks vengeance on his sister. So let’s face these misbeliefs head-on and start with where it all began. Let’s talk about my darling mother.”