Max’s feet flailed in the empty space beneath him, making it harder to haul him up. Making it harder to hold on.
“Max, stay still!” Andreus’s grip began to slip.
“I’ve got him!”
Another hand clamped onto Max’s forearm, keeping him from dropping. Then a second hand grabbed hold. “Pull, Your Majesty.”
Andreus shifted his hold on Max, took a deep breath, and pulled. It felt like an eternity before finally Max’s tear-streaked face appeared over the ledge. He whimpered as he landed on the stone.
Safe.
Heart pounding, Andreus wrapped his arms tight around the slight figure and sank to the ground. The boy buried his face in Andreus’s cloak. Sobs racked Max’s body. Andreus’s own tears choked him as he held the boy in his arms and rested his chin atop the boy’s head.
Max was alive.
And Andreus was going to make sure whoever had tried to kill him would die a slow painful death.
“Perhaps we should get the boy inside, Your Majesty.” The guard who had given aid knelt on the ground next to them. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. His vaguely familiar face searched the battlements for signs of danger.
Max’s skinny arms tightened around Andreus’s neck, making it impossible for him to rise to his feet. Andreus sank back down, gently pried Max’s hands off him, and looked directly into the boy’s tear-streaked face. “We need to get you off the battlements and out of the cold. Guardsman . . .” Andreus looked up at the youth who had come to Max’s rescue.
“My name is Graylem, Your Majesty.”
“Graylem, did you get a look at the man who . . .” Andreus couldn’t say the words, but Graylem didn’t need to hear them.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I was too far away. I heard the cry, and I ran toward it.” Guardsman Graylem bowed his head. “I saw you struggling to pull the boy back up and didn’t think to give chase.”
“You made the right choice.” Andreus wiped his palm against his cloak, remembering how he had been losing his grip before Graylem arrived. “Max.” He waited for the boy to open his eyes. The tears had stopped. Max was pale, but his breathing didn’t appear to be labored. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Max gulped air and bobbed his head. “I was doing what you told me. Honest.”
“I know you were,” he assured him. “But you didn’t take the most direct path.”
Max sniffled. “I thought I saw Chamberlain Oben near the far tower. I wondered if he was meeting Elder Ulrich, but then . . .”
“Wait a second.” Andreus stopped Max’s rambling words. “Elder Ulrich was here?” He looked toward Graylem. “Did you see him, who he spoke to, or which direction he or my mother’s chamberlain went?”
Graylem swallowed hard and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I . . . I was just taking a walk.”
“You were just taking a walk?”
Graylem’s eyes flicked downward as he nodded.
Slowly, Andreus let go of Max with one hand and reached under his cloak for the hilt of his sword. “You had the urge to take a walk in the cold at the same time both the Masters of Light are meeting and an Elder of Eden’s Council decided to get some fresh air?”
“I . . .”
Andreus drew his blade as he sprang to his feet and pushed Max behind him. “What were you really doing up here? Are you one of Ulrich’s men or aligned with another?”
“No, Your Majesty. I was not here because of Elder Ulrich or the Masters or any of the other members of the Council. I was . . . following you.”
“Me.” Andreus raised his sword and searched the guard’s freckled face. As the blade neared him, the guard’s eyes went wide and his cheeks paled under the light of the orb. “You are not a member of the King’s Guard. Only a handful have been chosen and all are my elders by at least ten years. So why were you following me?”
“I . . . it . . .”
“Who are you working for?” Cestrum? Ulrich? The Kingdom of Adderton?
“No one, Your Majesty. I just thought the Princess . . .”
“What about the Princess?” Andreus asked.
“Princess Carys was concerned with your safety.” Graylem swallowed again and shuffled his feet. “Now that she’s gone, I wanted to honor her by doing what she no longer could.”
Andreus’s sword dipped downward as he stared at the guard who looked so much younger than Andreus’s seventeen years. “You knew my sister?”
Graylem nodded. “I was one of her guards. I was with her on the night the lights went dark.”
When Andreus said nothing, Graylem continued, his words so quiet Andreus could barely hear them over the pulse of the windmills above. “We were at the entrance to the palace when . . . it happened. My legion captain gave me the task of protecting the Princess. She grabbed my knife and ran off. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed her. She was fast.”
She’d been faster before the Tears of Midnight or the withdrawal he’d forced her to go through.
“She didn’t slow, not even on the stairs. Not until she got to the battlements and found you.”
With everything that had happened since the lines to the orb were cut and restored, Andreus had forgotten that moment on the battlements when his sister appeared, weapon in hand. He could tell the minute she spotted him. Her shoulders had slumped, and relief filled her face.
“And because my sister stole your knife, you are now shadowing me?” It didn’t make sense.
“No, Your Majesty. It wasn’t just that.” Graylem frowned. “I was there when King Ulron’s and Prince Micah’s bodies were . . . returned. Everyone else was watching the sword when the Princess took it from your hand. I was watching her face. I’ve seen that expression several times before, and she wore it when she took my knife and ran to find you. Princess Carys did what she did to protect you, my King. She was willing to risk her own safety for yours. I know what that feels like. I had a sister, only . . .” Graylem shook his head. “Princess Carys succeeded where I failed. I wanted to honor her strength and bravery by continuing what she is no longer here to do.”
“Andreus?” Max coughed and Andreus let the tip of the sword tilt to the ground as he glanced at the boy, who seemed to be struggling to catch his breath.
He glanced back at Graylem, who was standing with his shoulders straightened as if resigned to the harsh punishment that his actions would demand. Suddenly, it wasn’t Graylem that Andreus saw, but Carys standing with her head high, sword in hand, knowing what she was doing would exact a heavy price, but doing it anyway because she believed it was right.
Andreus shook the image away. Whatever the reason Graylem was on the battlements, he had saved Max’s life tonight. The guardsman had a lot of questions to answer—like what he knew about Andreus’s curse. But on the question of whether Graylem would protect Max, Andreus already had information. “Guardsman Graylem, take Max to my old rooms and stay with him until I arrive.”
Graylem frowned. “Of course, Your Majesty, but the person in the black cloak still might be nearby. Would it not be best if I stayed with you?”
“What would be best is if you followed your King’s command,” Andreus barked in the way his sister often had to cut off complaint or dissent.
And it worked. Graylem snapped to attention and said, “Yes, Your Majesty. Max, let’s get you out of the cold.”
Max grabbed Andreus’s cloak as Graylem tried to lead him toward the steps. “What if something happens to you?”
“A King has to put the good of the kingdom above the good of himself.” Andreus looked down at Max’s tense face. “But I promise I have no interest in dying tonight. I will take care. Go inside. I will come check on you as soon as I am done speaking with the Masters of Light.” Andreus turned to Graylem. “Speak with no one until I arrive.”
He gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. Then, sword at the ready, he strode across the battlements to the turret windmill where the Masters of Light were currently meeting. Afte
r a few steps, he glanced over his shoulder to watch Graylem escort Max into the stairwell.
The guardsman Graylem was young and clearly untried, but he had guts. Did he know Andreus lived with a curse? Was he aware of the old seer’s prediction and what it could mean for Eden now that Andreus was King? How much had Carys—wittingly or not—revealed to him?
With war raging and his Council weaving their own plots, Andreus couldn’t risk his secret being used as a tool to undermine his authority. Removing Graylem would rid him of that threat. Elder Jacobs would surely advise that course of action if Andreus sought his counsel.
But Graylem seemed relatively harmless. Even innocent. And the guard had saved Max’s life. Andreus wondered, would he be able to harden his heart to order Graylem’s death? Uncertainty gnawed. He studied the shadows as he crossed the battlements. Mere weeks ago, the place he felt happiest in the castle was at his sister’s side or up here with the windmills. Now his muscles tensed with every rattle of the slowly turning gears and shift of the shadows.
He spotted two guards in the distance at a lookout post near the southwesternmost tower. The men scanned the grounds beyond the wall for the Xhelozi or other possible attackers. The Masters, if they hadn’t adjourned, would be inside the northwesternmost tower Andreus approached now.
The men in gray jumped to their feet as Andreus threw open the door to the windmill. The musty space was filled with pieces of line and insulating wool and tar. The room was lit only by a single wind-powered orb, which dangled from above.
“Your Majesty.” Master Triden shuffled forward and bowed his head. “We were just finishing our business for the night. The Council of Elders did not inform us that you would be attending.”
“The Council of Elders did not invite me to this meeting,” Andreus said, glancing around at the men he had worked alongside for years. None of them could meet his eyes. “In the past few days I’ve detected minor flaws in the flow of the wind power.”
Master Triden glanced at the other Masters before nodding. “We have . . . been working to reroute some of the lines to make sure the lights on the walls remain bright.”
“Has there been additional sabotage?”
“No,” Master Triden assured him. “There has been no further attempt to attack the lights. We promised the Elders they would be informed if we noticed anything.”
“You promised the Council of Elders?” Andreus asked. “Why not discuss the matter directly with me?”
Master Triden’s eyes widened. “You are now the King. The Elders have made it clear to us that your interest in the wind and the lights could distract you from other, more pressing problems that require your attention.”
“We are going into the heart of winter. The Xhelozi seem to be awake earlier than normal and are roaming the countryside in greater numbers than ever before. If the lights fail us, the entire city could be in danger. The lights, Master Triden, if compromised, are our most pressing problem.”
It had been years since the Xhelozi had last breached the walls of Garden City. When they did, the Palace of Winds escaped unscathed, but the people of the kingdom paid a terrible toll. Especially the poorest, who lived on the outer rim of the city, closest to the barrier wall, and farthest from the protection of the castle. Coins and titles bought influence in addition to a safer residence in the chance of attack.
As long as the lights held, there was little reason for anyone to fear. But Master Triden was casting nervous glances at the other assembled Masters, and Andreus knew there was something not being spoken.
“Master Triden,” Andreus said. “I cannot fix what I do not know is wrong.”
“Unfortunately, Your Majesty,” Master Triden sighed, “what is wrong technically cannot be fixed. The windmills and the lines are working as they should, but the wind . . .”
“What about the wind?” Andreus asked.
Master Hulkar stepped forward. “The air has oft been quite still in recent days. People in the city have taken to making sacrifices at the shrines, as if burning their favorite ribbons and hunks of bread will help.”
“We have reworked the power allotment to compensate,” Master Triden reported.
“Have you adjusted the position of the windmills?” Andreus asked.
“Aye,” Hulkar answered, “we have. But the wind has not been this still since the days before you and your sister were born.”
Master Triden frowned. “We have tried everything to capture the air. And we have been working on other options in case the lack of wind continues.”
Heart pounding, Andreus concentrated on the creaks and groans of the mill. Normally, the sounds comforted him, but now that he was listening with greater care, he could tell the grinding of the blades was slower. Fainter than it had been even yesterday.
“Masters, we must continue to conserve as much power as possible until the wind patterns return to normal.”
“We are doing what we can, Your Majesty. We have lowered the power allotment to the merchants in the city for a second time not long ago, but it might not be enough.”
“You lowered it twice? When?” Andreus asked.
“Just before King Ulron and Prince Micah rode to the battlefields to the south. And then again the night the orb went dark.”
The same day his father’s and brother’s bodies were returned by the then surviving members of the King’s Guard.
“You should have told me. I would have insisted we use torches in the palace.” Instead, he and the court had been draining resources that they would need to keep the Xhelozi at bay. “How much wind power do we have in reserve?” How long could they go without the wind gusting until the darkness of the night brought danger to them all?
“A week,” Master Hulkar said, drawing looks of anger from the rest. “If we are very careful.”
Seven nights. Maybe less.
“Why did you not come to me sooner,” Andreus shouted, panic rising as he tried to come up with a solution.
“We were told that—”
“Were told? By whom? Master Hulkar, I say one last time, the Council of Elders does not speak for me!”
“It wasn’t the Council,” Master Triden said quietly. “It was your mother. The Queen.”
5
Carys sat down on the cold cave floor next to Larkin. “Have you ever been to the Village of Night?” she asked. Her friend’s surprised expression was lit by the flicker of the small fire. “Can you find it for me?”
“You can’t be serious,” Garret said from the other side of the cave. He climbed to his feet and cracked his head against the rocky ceiling. He swore as dust and bits of rock fell at his feet. “If a new seer hasn’t presented himself at court, your brother and the Council will be sending a messenger along with a guard to bring one to Garden City. The Guild of the seers has always served those who sit on the Throne of Light. You are naïve if you think they will stay silent about your presence—or let you leave once they have you in their grasp.”
“Naïve is the one thing I am certain I am not. There is little chance I will be able to live as if I am dead for very long.”
Garret stooped his head and stepped forward. “That is why the only choice is to follow my lead to Bisog. My guard will be the strength you need to take back the kingdom from Andreus. “
“There is more than one kind of strength in the world, Garret,” Carys said, studying the flames. “I will need a great deal more than swords if I am going to reclaim my kingdom. Andreus is not my only enemy, and swords cannot defeat what cannot be seen.”
“But Andreus has the guardsmen of the Palace of Winds and Garden City at his command,” Errik offered from the entrance to the cave. “You will need swords. Not that I agree with Garret.”
Carys shook her head. An outright attack would force the people of Garden City to take sides and die in a war for which they shouldn’t have to shed blood. And whoever was working against Eden inside the Palace of Winds would welcome the distraction of battle, using it as the p
erfect opportunity to strike.
“No. You have offered me your way. I have found my own.” Carys pulled her eyes from Errik and turned back to Larkin. “Can you find the Village of Night?”
“I have traveled much in the southern districts. My father and I never visited the seers . . .”
Garret scoffed.
Larkin’s eyes flashed. “But there was a town we traded in that claimed to deliver supplies to the Village. I will be able to find the town again.”
“Then it is decided,” Carys announced. The weariness she’d been holding at bay seeped through her, helped along by the warmth of the crackling fire. “We will eat. Then Larkin will lead me to the home of the seers.”
“But . . . ,” Garret started. Carys cut him off.
“You can always leave if you have no faith in the choices of your Queen.”
“I will not leave you,” Garret said quietly. “You will take your place in the Hall of Virtues. It is inevitable. It is fated, and I will be with you when you ascend to the throne.”
Carys wished she had his faith as Larkin stood up and brushed the dirt off her skirts. “Since no one cleaned Carys’s kill before bringing it in, I guess that chore will be left up to me. This whole journey is starting to feel more and more like traveling with my father than I would have expected.”
“I’m sure I can handle skinning the rous,” Errik said as Carys closed her eyes and sank into the warmth of the cave. The fire wasn’t large, but after the shuddering brought on by the cold of the elements and her body being denied the Tears of Midnight, the meager flames felt like a blaze.
“Carys?”
She jerked her head up toward Larkin, who was standing in the entrance with the rous in her arms.
“Would you like to keep me company as I work?” Larkin asked. “You can watch me, like you did when you decided to learn how to use a needle and thread by watching me sew.”
That never happened. Larkin’s father would not have allowed her to do anything of the sort when she attended fittings at the palace. Which meant Larkin needed a moment—a private one, and this was her way of asking.