Page 42 of Reign of Stars and Fire

Davorin stepped closer and lowered his voice. “They have the power to break the ground on which we stand, brother. Is that power you want to leave unchecked? Your father won your crown, true, but it’d be a pity to lose it to the earth fae.”

“He speaks of Night Folk,” I said, not truly to Wraith, more musing thoughts out loud.

“Yes. There was such a time when the realms were united as one kingdom.”

I knew the truth of it. Night Folk were, after all, called cousins to the fae of the isles. Alvers in the East were another distant relative of fae folk and mortal. We were all connected, each with differing powers, but still similar in many ways.

Strange to think fae folk once lived as one people.

A whimper from the child drew the attention of Saga, then the queen. Davorin used the moment to tug Riot away, an arm around the king’s shoulder.

“This is my duty, brother. To protect your court and your crown. Why the sudden mistrust in my instincts?”

“Questions are not mistrust. What you are saying is I should regulate other magicks, while ruling them with my own. That is not the fair kingdom I wish to create, nor is it how my seidr ought to work. There are consequences for misusing fate’s gifts.”

“Yes, and there is a great deal of dark glamour out there, my friend. It is better to keep control than lose it. We are the people of fate, gods-chosen to overrule lesser fae. There is nothing wrong with proactively quelling any thoughts to rise against the throne.”

“When there is not even a whisper of a threat?”

Davorin looked over his shoulder, then dipped his head closer to the king. “I speak gently with your sister, Riot. I . . . I wasn’t entirely honest. The earth fae have been encouraging those with the power to bend the earth to stake a claim, as if they, too, deserve to rule their own realm.”

“Isn’t that what’s s’pposed to happen?” the boy had returned, three drinking horns hugged to his chest, and another hand precariously holding a handful of crumbled cheese.

Davorin’s eyes fell on the boy. “What did you say?”

“He meant nothing,” Riot said, a sharpness to his voice when he looked to the boy.

The child curled his shoulders a bit and pinched his lips.

“No, what did he mean that’s what is supposed to happen? Speak, boy,” Davorin shouted.

Riot held an arm out in front of the child and his battle lord, but it was too late. The boy, frightened enough he dropped his cheese, muttered the truth before the king stopped him. “I was only talking about the broken kingdoms.”

“What broken kingdoms?”

“Davorin, let it be,” Riot warned.

The battle lord didn’t. He leaned forward to meet the boy straight on. “Speak. You wear the mark of a Rave; you answer to me.”

The boy glanced at the sewn-on patch of a raven wing and tilted sword on his tunic.

Fear or obedience broke the child. and he spoke again before his king could step between him and the rage of the army’s lord. “The kingdoms broken by hate and gods-magic. Like you said would happen . . . right?”

The boy faced his king, fear in his features, as though he wanted to stop speaking and couldn’t.

“What is this?” Davorin’s face hardened. “Has something happened, are you planning something without me?”

“Not at all,” Riot insisted. “The boy—”

“The raven’s mark burns across a golden king who hails from folk of the night,” the boy rambled on, a melody beginning in his voice he tried to hide. But a small voice added to his. A high, pitchy hum, sleepy and sweet, came from across the hall.

“Is that the voice of Riot’s child?” I asked.

Wraith didn’t answer the question, simply said, “Watch.”

“What king do you speak of, boy?” Davorin insisted.

The boy’s voice softened as the humming faded. “He’ll . . . he’ll bring broken lands together again.”