Page 62

62

Within the throne room, Zolya hovered at the base of the stairs.

His gaze was fixed upon the vacant seat high above.

Morning light poured in through the large skylight, illuminating the polished marble and casting a severe spotlight on the empty seat of power.

Unease—Zolya’s now-constant companion—churned in his gut.

He had yet to allow himself to sit on the throne.

Something he would not attempt with his father still alive, unconscious or not.

The seat held too many tainted memories.

In fact, this entire room did.

Zolya’s gaze danced over the opulent adornments.

He remembered all too vividly the countless occasions he had witnessed his father’s cruel displays of authority in this room.

A surge of resentment mixed with sorrow worked through Zolya, a whirlpool.

He hated that his father could not have been different, better, fairer, or kinder. If only he had been, perhaps Zolya wouldn’t be here now, praying for his death.

The kingdom needed to be reawakened, cleansed of the centuries of oppression his father had placed upon it. But none of that could be done with King Réol still alive.

“My child,” said a sympathetic yet commanding voice.

Zolya’s magic leaped in his veins as he turned, finding Queen Habelle gliding into the throne room.

She was a vision of emerald silk, her dark-brown skin luminous, her braided hair loose around her shoulders, reaching her waist, while her dazzling jeweled crown adorned her head.

Zolya couldn’t remember the last time his mother had worn her crown. Nor could he remember the last time she had been back on Galia.

Zolya’s disquiet grew, though he flawlessly masked it as he greeted his mother.

“My queen,” he said, taking her outstretched hand and bowing over it. “I was not expecting your visit.”

Queen Habelle’s brows rose. “I could hardly stay away after everything that’s transpired. How are you, my darling?”

A cacophony of replies filled his mind, but he settled on honesty. After all, this was his mother. “Tired,” he admitted.

Queen Habelle raked her gaze over him. “Yes, you look it.”

“Thank you,” Zolya muttered.

His mother ignored his sardonic tone. “How is the king?” she asked.

“Still unconscious.”

It was subtle, but Zolya caught her flash of delight. “How very tragic this all is,” she remarked in mock sorrow.

Zolya fervently surveyed the kidets standing around the room before returning his gaze to his mother. Careful. He sent her a silent warning.

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “You have inherited quite a mess, my son,” she unhelpfully observed.

“Yes,” he agreed, tone holding an edge. “More than I had even anticipated.”

“I hear Orzel has destroyed what had been built of the new mine.”

Zolya frowned, disliking the brazen way his mother could discuss such a tragedy. “Yes,” he replied stiffly. “It appears he doesn’t take kindly to being stood up for his wedding.”

A drastic understatement, of course.

As soon as Orzel had learned his bride had fled, the High God had disappeared into his basin of water, hardly remarking on the king’s attempted murder.

Within moments, reports had flown in of the rise in the Aspero Sea.

The waters that Orzel had agreed to hold back at the excavation site had surged, landing a quick but devastating blow.

But what had hurt Zolya more than the loss of expense that had so far gone into the build was the loss of lives.

Nearly sixty Süra had perished in Orzel’s attack, innocent workers who had been unaware of what was about to ascend upon them.

Which had caused only more problems.

“And what of these fires at the Volari checkpoints on Cādra?” asked his mother. “I hear almost all of them have been attacked.”

“Yes.” Zolya tightened his hands into fists at his side, a new tension flaring across his shoulders, grief and guilt. “It was retaliation from the Süra families who lost loved ones at the new mine.”

It was the Dryfs all over, but this time King Réol wasn’t around to slam down his unyielding hammer to stop an impending uprising.

The world was holding its breath, waiting to see how the new prince regent would retaliate.

The problem, of course, was that Zolya didn’t want to retaliate. He wanted to make things right.

Not a popular opinion for the royal council to swallow—or his people.

It had been a week since the incident and the longest one of Zolya’s life.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept.

The royal advisers were demanding in their wavering faith, clearly wondering if Zolya had what it took to command in the king’s absence.

The treasury was even more suffocating, though for good reason.

As for his court, well, they were one complaint away from their own revolt.

Evidently, there were servants growing defiant in the wake of King Réol’s incident. Unhappy recruits who were using the opportunity of instability within the royal family to voice their needs and concerns to their employers. A quicker way to disturb the aristocracy, Zolya could not imagine.

There was truly too much for him to juggle at once and keep a clear head.

Zolya hardly even had time to absorb the reality of his losses, in both Azla and Tanwen.

Their whereabouts, along with Gabreel’s and Aberthol’s, were unknown.

A blessing he knew he should be happy for, despite the pain he was suffering with their absence. His heartache was too great to contemplate, like trying to measure the depths of the oceans or expanse of the sky. It was merely endless.

The only solace he held on to was that they were alive. They had to be. His heart would certainly have known otherwise.

“Fear not, my child.” Queen Habelle laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I am here to help.”

Zolya blinked, a surge of a new emotion filling his lungs, one he wasn’t accustomed to—relief.

He had not known he needed those words—and from someone who actually could help him—until they were spoken.

“I would be honored for your counsel,” he replied.

“You should be, darling,” she retorted. “I am much older and wiser than you.”

Zolya almost smiled, his mother’s energy a fresh intake of air.

“Now,” she began, smoothing her skirts. “I must visit with my husband,” she announced, forcing her features to be somber.

Despite his father’s current state, Zolya didn’t much enjoy the thought of his mother anywhere near the king.

“He’s not much for company,” he admitted.

Queen Habelle’s eyes sparkled as she leaned in. “All the more imperative that I see him.”

His mother strode from the throne room, leaving Zolya standing as she had found him, alone.

However, this time, he didn’t feel as lonely.