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A s much as Cora wanted to avoid listening to Darius drone on about his mother issues, she couldn’t deny her curiosity. She’d heard Ailan’s side of what had happened, as well as Garot’s tale. But how did Darius see those same events? The fact that he used a dragon as his kingdom’s sigil, despite never succeeding in bonding with one, suggested his perspective may be far different.

Perhaps the perspective of her enemy could give her an advantage.

Cora released a bored sigh so as not to appear too eager. “Fine, justify your actions. Let’s hear it.”

He smirked, and his expression held something like admiration. “I’m confident you’ll feel differently once you’ve heard my side.”

“Do tell.”

He swirled his glass, drained its dregs, then lifted the empty cup. Yet another test of her patience as he waited for the serving woman to return. Cora still hadn’t sipped her ale and had no intention of doing so. Her arms remained folded over her chest, her jaw tight.

Finally, the serving woman filled his glass and Darius took a sip, a satisfied look on his face. “The Dragon’s Arms is the highest value public house in Syrus under the principles of leisure, liberation, and inebriation. Should the pub stand for other values, such as quietude, relaxation, and propriety, The Dragon’s Arms would be a low-value establishment. Whereas the Golden Shore Inn, a few streets down, exemplifies those values to the highest standard.”

Cora frowned, unsure of what this had to do with his mother.

He continued. “When stripped of principle, neither establishment is better or worse than the other, just different. You can see that, right? Take your personal preferences away and simply see each of those public houses for what they are. Under its own set of principles, each establishment is considered high value. Given the opportunity to demonstrate those principles to clientele who seek the same, each business is allowed to thrive. That is what the Kingdom of Syrus stands for. No one is limited by birth, bloodline, or social class. Instead, everyone is judged by merit and how they serve certain values.”

“Syrus is a meritocracy?”

He nodded. “That was all I ever wanted for El’Ara. And the first person who ever put that idea in my head was my mother, Satsara. From as early as I can remember, she’d whisper stories about my father, who was no longer a prince but the King of Syrus by then. She told me I was a prince of two worlds, and an heir to two kinds of magic. She marveled over my abilities as a worldwalker and filled my mind with visions of the future. One day I would be Morkara, and the most unique one El’Ara had ever had—one with the blood of human royalty and the power of a witch, as well as all the powers that came with directing the mora . I could bring advancement to the fae realm, find ways to utilize my witch magic to blend with the mora .

“Satsara was the first person to use the term Morkaius. My little Morkaius , she’d call me. It was supposed to be a secret name, one I’d never speak aloud, but it filled me with so much pride. I wanted to be High King of Magic. I wanted to fulfill the vision she had for me, be the grand king she said my father was. She supported me. Continued to whisper stories about my father, telling me how much she missed him despite having woven the ward that had banished him from El’Ara for good. ‘At least I have you,’ she’d say. Her pride and joy. Her little High King of Magic.”

His expression turned to a grimace and he took a long swallow of wine. “Then my sister was born. She told stories about my father less and less and turned more of her attention to her consort and pureblood child. By then, I was old enough to understand the prejudices the Elvyn held against me. Etrix, the tribunal, and everyone but my mother eyed me with disgust, even as they bowed. Soon my mother’s eyes began to dull when she looked at me too.”

“Did you give her any reason to doubt you?” She remembered what Ailan had said about the pranks he’d pulled, the way he’d snuck humans into El’Ara for pleasure and amusement, often to their demise.

He huffed a cold laugh. “Mother was easily swayed by those around her. Once the tribunal no longer had to pretend to pin their hopes for the future on me, they shifted their glowing approval to Ailan. The perfect pureblood they’d wanted all along. They urged her to name Ailan heir, or at least wait until she came of age before making her final decision. I was patient. I waited, confident that when Ailan reached maturity, Mother and the tribunal would see that she could offer only a fraction of the value that I could. Mother’s words still rang in my head, after all. I knew how much I could do for El’Ara. Knew I could be a Morkara unlike any other.

“Yet it didn’t turn out the way I expected. Ailan was named heir and I was set aside. I was crushed, enraged, heartbroken. Then the unthinkable happened. Mother tried to banish me from El’Ara. Do you want to know how it happened?”

She said nothing, for he’d surely tell her anyway. It didn’t escape her that he’d avoided mentioning anything about the prank he’d pulled on Berolla and the injury that had almost killed Ailan. A convenient omission.

After another long sip, his eyes grew distant. His voice fell, and she had to lean forward to hear what he said next over the noise of the pub. “She hugged me. Mother took me to the grove she’d once kept as a sanctuary to meet my father in. She showed me the trees, recounted her fond memories. Then she faced me, told me she loved me, how proud of me she was, and hugged me. It was the first time in a long while that I felt loved by her, and it softened the hurt I’d felt after she’d chosen Ailan as her heir. I hugged her back, reveling in the warmth, in the hope that maybe Mother would change her mind. Then I heard it.”

His expression darkened.

Cora was still leaning forward, unable to hide her curiosity. “Heard what?”

“The sound of magic weaving around me.”

She arched her brow. Wait, did that mean…

“I’m clairaudient,” he said, confirming her earlier suspicions. “My magic is fueled by sound, just like my father’s was fueled by scent. That’s how I worldwalk. I can travel to any place I can visualize, either from memory or physical sight. I activate my magic by forging a sound connection and control the distance by imagining the sound of my destination as near or far. Just like Father, the first time I worldwalked was by accident. I traveled to him the same way he accidentally stumbled upon El’Ara.”

His demeanor eased a little at that, a sad smile forming on his lips.

“Did you travel on Samhain too?” Too late she realized she’d given something away, admitting that she knew about his history.

He didn’t seem surprised, however, and just continued to grin at his memory. “No, it wasn’t the thinning of the veils between worlds that brought me to him, but a memory of waves. Before Mother banished Tristaine, she let him take me to Syrus. I didn’t consciously remember being there, but one day, when I was still just a boy, I unexpectedly recalled the sound of waves, ones so different from the lakes and oceans in El’Ara. Suddenly, I could visualize where I’d been when I’d heard those waves. I was so startled, so overwhelmed, that my magic took over. The next thing I knew, I was standing before an old man in a palace on a sunny hillside, the sound of waves crashing far below.”

Cora was relieved at his explanation, for it further confirmed that their magic worked the same way. She too had worldwalked unexpectedly the first time, her magic taking over before she knew what had happened. His magic may be more powerful than hers, but at least she understood its strengths and limitations.

He shook his head, the mirth fading from his face. “I always thought my similarities to my father were what endeared me to my mother, but just like him, I lost her admiration. As soon as I heard the telltale sound of Mother’s magic wrapping around me in that grove, I knew what was happening. She was trying to banish me from El’Ara. Not just that, but she was attempting it in the exact same place she’d banished my father in, and in the exact same way. With a hug.”

A bitter ache struck her, and for a single breath, his pain was hers. She could almost feel the shock of betrayal he must have felt when his mother hugged him, made him feel loved…and then wove magic to expel him from his home.

Yet she knew the other side. She knew what he’d done. The dangers he’d posed to not only Ailan, but El’Ara as a whole. Cora may not know Satsara, but both Darius’ and Ailan’s descriptions made it seem like she loved him deeply. Perhaps too much. It must have killed her inside to banish her son, no matter how dangerous he was.

But of course Darius didn’t see it that way. To him, he was the sole victim.

He continued. “I worldwalked to Syrus before she could finish her ward, but by then, my father had died. There was no home for me there, and I soon learned that the human realm was just as flawed as El’Ara. It was yet another domain ruled by blood, not merit. Yet another place where I was considered impure. The new King of Syrus—one of my half brothers—called me a bastard. A monster. An abomination. Had either realm judged me for my merit, they would have seen that I was the most capable. I could bring the most value as a ruler. I could do more, be more, create more.”

“Under the assumption that their values were wrong and yours were right,” Cora said flatly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pretend you can’t relate. Have you ever questioned the values of your kingdom? Its principles? Its expectations?”

She couldn’t deny that. Time and again she’d faced outdated notions. Prejudice. Scorn. Much of a queen’s value lay in her husband and—even more importantly—her ability to bear heirs. Even as the monarch of her kingdom, Cora bore the skepticism of certain nobles who’d rather see a man on the throne.

The mere thought boiled her blood.

Yet just because Darius claimed to be better didn’t mean he was. His kingdom seemed idyllic, but there were always shadows lurking behind the brightest corners. Even now, she sensed an undercurrent of unrest weaving through the boisterous atmosphere of the public house. As narrow as a splinter, yet strong enough to feel as if it were buried in her side. She hadn’t been conscious of it until now, as she’d been more focused on Darius’ tale. With every breath, it was growing. Deepening. Creating fissures in the too-perfect cheer filling the room.

The fissure widened. Cracked.

Cora angled her head toward the source of the anomaly.

“Don’t you dare report me!” A panicked male voice contrasted the joyful strains of conversation. Cora couldn’t see the speaker through the crowd, but she sensed him strongly now. He lowered his voice, but she could still make out his muttered words. “I can’t take another demerit this month. You know this.”

A deeper tension constricted the energy of the room—a dark and scornful glee at the man’s plight. It was coming from those closest to the man and spread farther and farther, from patron to patron, even cutting off some of the conversations?—

Darius rose from his chair and set his empty wine glass on the table. “Come, I grow weary of this place. You make for a poor drinking companion.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he grasped her shoulder. Vertigo seized her, and she found herself stumbling over her feet. Sound cut off, as did the stench of smoke and ale. Darius released her, and she managed to regain her balance, but as the dizziness cleared from her eyes, she found their surroundings had changed.

Her bare feet rested on the smooth white marble of a long rectangular balcony. Behind her was an enormous open-air space with several seating areas, potted plants, and ornate rugs. Before her was an elegant balustrade interrupted by thick marble columns.

Darius stood before the rail, as unflustered as ever, gathering lungfuls of air. Cora glanced beyond the balustrade and found they were high above the sloping hillside, with a full view of the multi-layered city beneath them. She must have been right about the opulent building she’d glimpsed on their way to the pub; this must be Darius’ palace. There were no guards or servants near the balcony, no nearby strains of emotion to suggest anyone was close by. It made sense that his palace would be so quiet at present, considering the king was supposed to be in Norun.

“Look around,” Darius said. “My kingdom is beautiful. What I’ve created is fair. Syrus flourishes even when its king is not at home. You can see that with your own eyes.”

She scoffed. “If it’s so beautiful, why didn’t you want me to hear more of what that man was saying?”

“He’s none of my concern. His peers and the principles of his chosen establishment determine his value. If he’s so worried about being reported for a demerit, he should have worked harder to prove his worth.”

“You let your people police each other?”

“I give them the authority all citizens should have.”

“You encourage a mob mentality. What happens to those who receive demerits? What happens to those you and your society deem of low value? What happens to those born without able bodies or minds?”

“And you’re back to clinging to your prejudices. Look with your eyes, Aveline. Look at this peaceful city. This is all I wanted to bring to El’Ara.” He gestured toward the sloping hillside. “I succeeded in Syrus, after I won the throne from my brother, and this is all I wanted for the fae realm too. Yet the elite—the Elvyn—wouldn’t see reason. Just like you refuse to see reason.”

“The Elvyn refused to see reason, as you call it, because you invaded their realm.” Wind blew over her cheeks, colder than it had been farther down the hill.

“Such is the way of war and progress,” he said. “It is a dark and treacherous thing, and not something to take lightly. You don’t want war, do you?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Nor do I. I value the lives of my people. I want to see a bright future for all of them. As monarchs, we should do whatever we can to ensure the least number of casualties, don’t you think?”

“This is where you propose an alliance between us, isn’t it?”

He turned away from the balustrade and faced her fully. “I’m not coming to you empty-handed. I will offer you the very thing the Elvyn want to take away.”

“What’s that?”

A confident grin stretched his lips. “Lela.”

She blinked a few times. “What are you saying?”

“You, Aveline Corasande Caelan, will be Queen of Lela.”