35
Breakfast is waiting in the foyer of my quarters. It’s set on a silver tray, atop intricately painted porcelain plates. The pastries are still warm, stinging my fingers as I pull them apart, steam curling. Butter melts across my lips and I groan as the sugar-crusted top scrapes gently against my tongue. I recognize cinnamon—a rare spice my mother let me try once, from her coveted collection. It’s folded in between the layers of this bread. There’s another similar pastry with orange-blossom icing that sticks to the top of my mouth.
I eat every single one, accompanied by a cup of steaming lavender- colored tea.
What must it be like to wake up every morning like this? My thoughts drift to Raker, hungry in the stables, but then I remember the fury in his gaze and force myself to forget him.
He took the medicine. His fever was already improving. He’ll be fine.
When I’m done with every single crumb and every drop of tea, I sit back in the chair, slumping against the pillows. That’s where I am minutes later, when there’s a knock on my door.
Vander is standing there, looking as though he’s already been awake for hours. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He just says, “If you don’t have a creature—you need alliances.”
A knife twists within me as I remember my dragon. I frown. “Alliances?
How will that help me?”
He turns to stride down the hall, and I slip on those shoes I found downstairs, then follow. “How much do you know about swords?”
“I know how to make them,” I say. He nods, an understanding between us that Stellan taught me what he knew. He was a blacksmith even before
the quest. “I know how to summon mine now.”
“You knew how to summon me.”
I nod, remembering how the forest had stilled. Remembering that, no matter how much Stellan trusted him, I cannot. Not fully, at least.
We turn a corner. The halls are empty. We only pass that same woman attendant—Ethel—who glares at me and bows to Vander before hurrying away, in a rush. I remember her mentioning being too busy with something else to host a guest.
“Not every sword can summon,” he says. “Not every immortal can hear a summoner’s call.” He turns another corner. “All swords can make oaths.”
I think about the king, asking for oaths on the blades he provided his challengers. I wonder how many of those challengers are still alive.
At my silence, Vander continues. “Oaths bind to the blade itself. If the oath is broken … so is the sword. And depending on the connection … so is the wielder. You see, after much time, a wielder and their blade become almost one. The bond is just like riders and their creatures. Especially for great swords like ours.”
“Okay. How will oaths help me?” I ask, as he finally leads me into a room.
I go still, taking in the rows and rows of books. We’ve entered a sprawling library. In the middle sits a long table made of ancient wood. I can almost feel its history, its power.
Without a word, Vander plunges his sword into the center of the table, and a map spills from its metal.
A living, silver map. It has all the places I know now from memory. The Prism Path. The Beast Tree. Some places we haven’t reached yet, like the City on Fire. I reach out and can feel the heat of the burning city. I swallow.
If Raker ever saw this, he would leave me. I know that. He’s told me. It’s a
good thing he’s locked in the stables.
I look over at Vander in question.
“On foot, it’s a long journey still,” he says, trailing a finger through the metal, all the way from his home to the Land of the Gods. Vander’s estate is in the center of Starside, to the south. We’ve gone backward more than two weeks’ worth of travel in just portaling here.
Fuck. Even if I expected to return to Stormside before the fifty days are up … now, it seems impossible. It might even be impossible to reach the gods in time.
Vander seems to have a plan, though. He points out various homes that sit between his and the archway where we’re heading.
“The Great Estates,” he says. “From the Great Houses of Starside.” There are far more than there are left on Stormside. They had the magic necessary to keep and hold their power. “They are all enchanted and connected. If you’re able to get an invitation to a Great House, your sword can take you to its gates.”
Portaling across this much land … it would make a huge difference in our journey. It would almost make it easy.
“My sword … could portal me?”
He nods. “But invitations are forms of oaths and are rare, of course. They aren’t given up lightly. An heir of a Great House swearing on your blade would be at great risk.” He turns to face me. “But there are those among us who would like to see the gods dead.” He frowns. “To what lengths will you
go to get your revenge?”
“Any length. I’ll do … anything.”
He looks pensive. His expression grows serious. “Think about what you might promise these heirs. It’s your choice.”
Dread settles, knowing his meaning. What would I offer? Would I truly do anything?
“How would I even meet them in the first place?”
“You’re in luck.” His eyes glimmer, but I don’t miss the shadow of a frown. “There’s a ball happening in four days. Here, at my estate. It’s been planned for a while now.” The attendant’s preparations—that’s what she must be working on. “Heirs of most Great Houses will be in attendance.”
A ball. The way he says it, with irritation, makes me think it might be more than just a grand party. Still, if what he says is true … it offers an incredible opportunity.
He tightens his fist on the hilt of the sword, and the map retreats into its metal in a glimmering wave. He pulls the blade out of the table and makes to turn, but I whirl to face him. “Am I losing my mind?” I ask, remembering the bath, and the clothes that weren’t there at first, and the shoes by the door. “Or is your estate … is your house …. alive?”
I know Great Houses have magic. But this is something more. It’s like a consciousness. It’s like eyes are buried in the walls.
His lips pull up with near-amusement. “Something like that,” he says.
“Don’t antagonize it.” Then he frowns, scowling. “It can get an attitude.”
He looks at me. “I’ll leave you to your plotting,” he says, before he strides out of the room.
Each Great House has a crest, just like the gods.
According to Vander’s endless texts, they were formed by sons and daughters of the gods were strong enough to claim the first skylarks. Some also bonded with creatures who wielded magic.
Over millennia, some of the swords were lost, won, or—most interesting —combined with other swords to create even greater weapons.
Each have names. They are famous. I trace their illustrations, marveling at their designs, techniques and carvings that seem impossible to create,
with human hands, at least.
Family trees are helpful.
So is Vander. He comes to visit me the next afternoon, his sword dripping blood.
He cleans it off and says, “Every time a head of House dies, there is a duel, which decides which heir will claim the blade. The heir is thought to be the strongest of the line, and they become the head. It’s often a bloody affair.” He points to the family trees. “Age doesn’t matter. The one with the star is each generation’s heir.”
“Which are expected to attend the ball?”
He sits. “I suppose I should tell you it isn’t simply a ball,” Vander says, finally cleaning his blade with an equally bloody rag. “It’s the beginning of a long and tedious courting ceremony.” I remember the hunter mentioning the start of courting season.
I blink. “Are you—are you auditioning wives?”
Vander flashes his sparkling teeth. “Why, human? Are you interested?”
I give him a look, and he chuckles. “Not just me. Every eligible heir and heiress will be here for months, to make matches. All staying in this castle.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Sounds tedious,” he says, clearly not looking forward to it all. It almost makes me smile, seeing an immortal so annoyed.
Until I realize what he’s saying. What I can promise. “You think I should …”
“I think you should dance with them. Talk to them. See what they want … and if you can give it to them.”
I open my mouth. Close it. There are a million things I have to say to that, but the one that comes out is, “I don’t know how to dance.”
At that, he rises. He offers his hand.
It’s covered in blood. I raise a brow at him, and he takes off his gloves.
Tosses them onto the ancient table will little care.
“Come on, mortal, I don’t have all day. And I don’t particularly enjoy dancing with anyone, let alone a clumsy human.”
“How charming,” I say, taking his hand. He only grins.
“Here are the steps.”
It’s been two days since I’ve visited Raker. I mean to forget him, the way he so clearly wants me to, but at the last moment, I make a plate at dinner and sneak it out to the stables.
Raker is there, of course, still chained. I don’t even bother with insults as I stride over and touch my palm to his forehead. He hisses at my touch. “I told you not to visit me,” he snarls.
“And I told you to stop ordering me around,” I say, happy with his progress. His fever is gone. “Better. Here.”
I pick up one of the pieces of meat on the plate, then pause, frowning. I should have brought a fork or something, I think, as juices drip down my hand. Too late now.
Raker’s eyes are still narrowed and locked on mine as I press the food to his lips. He takes it with his teeth, and I swallow. I don’t know why I swallow.
He chews. I watch him. In silence, I feed him, and we’re both glaring at each other, as if to communicate how much we hate this.
Then the food is gone. I lift the cup to his lips. When it’s empty, I leave without another word.
I eat breakfast with Vander, who between bites tells me tidbits about this world, before heading off to whatever mysterious duties heirs attend to. The ball is in just two days. I spend all the daylight hours in the library, that night practicing the dancing steps, and then when everyone is asleep, I
sneak food to Raker.
He isn’t sick anymore.
We don’t talk. Every time I get an urge to say something, to let him know what I’ve discovered, I stop myself. I can’t trust him. We are contingent
partners, nothing more, nothing less, and if he knew my plans, I worry he might try to make alliances on his own sword, all by himself.
Maybe I don’t need him, I think, if I’m able to actually get oaths on my metal. Maybe this is where we part ways.
I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought.
The next morning, just one day before the start of courting season, Vander stands from breakfast and says, “You’ll need a dress. Heartfall is full of dramatics.” That’s the name of the months-long courting ball, I’ve learned. He rolls his eyes. “A person’s clothing signifies their importance.
You are human … already lowly. You’ll need to show your strength in your outfit.” He looks at my weapon, considering it. “One that will showcase your sword.”
I think about all the hideous dresses in the wardrobe. Those won’t do.
He seems to hear my thoughts and frowns. He sighs. “There’s a room.”
I raise a brow. “I’m listening.”
“A dress … can be made for you there.”
Does he have tailors? I nod happily. Then the rush of excitement dies when I think through exactly what that might entail. “I don’t … I don’t like anyone seeing me naked,” I say quickly. “I could take my own
measurements.”
“That won’t be a problem,” he says.
Relief floods through me. “Okay. I’ll need something … that covers.
Covers everything but my face.”
He looks like the last thing he wants to be talking about is a gown. “Also
not a problem.”
He motions for me to follow.
The room Vander spoke of is small and rounded. It’s in one of the turrets of the castle. Besides large, open windows, with long, sheer drapes, it’s empty. But not completely.
There’s a magic to this room. A force. I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.
Vander frowns as he presses a hand against the stone. “A dress that covers everything but her face,” he tells the room. “In any color other than silver.” Of course. Silver is the color of the gods. “Don’t be too fussy.”
Then he turns and closes the door.
I blink, dumbfounded. Am I supposed to wait? Is something supposed to appear?
After moments of silence, I walk slowly to the center of the room, toward the drapes that curl gently in the wind. They reach out, tickling my ankles before they blow back toward the wall.
A whisper sounds close by, followed by more. It could be the breeze, but no … these are words. They have a rhythm. I listen as closely as I can, but I can’t make out anything specific. The tone changes, though. It sounds a little like an argument. Many voices, weaving together, until it melts into one single sound.
The wind blows harder. The curtains lift higher, brushing my arms.
Smoothing against my skin.
Then, all at once, they violently uncurl, whipping toward me with a crack. I gasp and stumble away, but they wrap around me like arms, tightening, until all I see is fabric. The whispers have returned, and they’re louder now. Many voices, locked in a debate. I don’t breathe, trying to listen, but I gasp as something tightens around my waist. Then fabric is torn. I feel the breeze upon my bare skin for just a moment, before it’s erased, and the curtain become a flurry again, ballooning around me.
Then the drapes settle, and the room goes quiet.
I blink, not knowing whether to thank the room or cut its curtains with my sword. But then I look down and decide on the former.
I’m wearing the most stunning gown I’ve ever seen. It’s deep blue, with delicate white stitching, a tight bodice, a high collar, and a silky-smooth skirt that just barely kisses the floor. I admire myself in the reflection of the partially open window, blinking, questioning if this can even be real. If I could even look like this.
I’ve never—I’ve never felt beautiful until now.
The door opens, and I see Vander leaning against the doorframe. He nods. “That will do.”
In the last few hours, I’ve visited the room more times than I can count.
Vander hasn’t stopped me. And the room … I think it’s starting to like me.
It’s made me all sorts of dresses that I know I’ll never wear, but I like to look at them. I like to pretend, even for a few seconds, that this life could be mine.
It isn’t. I know that. It’s just a break from the endless hours spent researching in the library.
That’s where Vander found me a few minutes ago, far after midnight. He asked me if I would join him for some tea, and here I am, sitting on a thick balcony, knees pulled to my chest, overlooking the gardens.
“Your house is magnificent,” I say, glancing at Vander.
He looks at me curiously. “They don’t have homes like this on Stormside?”
A pang of sadness hits me. “They did, once.” I swallow. “The ones that are left … they’re nowhere near as grand as this.”
Vander Evren might be slightly terrifying, and have a massive ego, but he has shown me kindness. He has told me more than I thought the heir of a Great House would. I turn to him. There’s something I’ve been wondering for days now. “Have you ever been to the Land of the Gods?”
Vander blinks, as if pulled from a thought of his own. He shakes his head.
I lift a brow at him. “You are the greatest heir alive, as you and everyone in this house has reminded me.” I roll my eyes. “Why not journey there yourself during the quest? Why not try to get the magic?”
“The gifts of the immortal cup are unpredictable,” he explains. “It’s the same reason humans often don’t drink it for immortality. Few are strong enough to survive the Turn. For our kind, drinking the cup can lead to greatness … but it can just as easily become a curse. There are horror stories throughout the years that keep most of us from trying.” He lifts a shoulder. “We immortals value our lives more than you do. When you live this long, death isn’t an inevitability … It becomes something to fear.” I remember when Daphne said something similar. Daphne.
“I didn’t take you as one to be afraid, Evren,” I say.
A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Not for me,” he says. “I don’t have an heir. If I fall, the future of this house and my people is uncertain. They rely on me to protect them.” I get the sense he’s going to have to find a match at this ball. I wonder who will be enough for this impatient, prideful
immortal heir.
“Protect them from what?” I ask.
His head tilts. “So many questions, human.”
Yes. So many. He doesn’t answer more of them as we walk back to the library. I expect him to leave me here, as he usually does, but he walks to the center of the room. The map pours from the silver of his sword again, melting across the table. “This is the farthest I’ve gone,” he says, pointing
at a stretch of desert far east of here. The bottom of the sands Raker and I chose to avoid. “I made it all the way here … and turned around.”
“Why?” I ask, not imagining this immortal warrior turning away from anything. Especially so close to the Land of the Gods.
He rubs at his jaw. “There is a creature there that is deadlier than all the rest. It makes men their own worst enemies.”
I don’t know what that means. With the expression on his face, I know Vander won’t tell me. He looks haunted. Wounded.
“Why are you helping me?” I finally ask. Yet another question that has stirred in my head in the last few days. I know it isn’t just Stellan. As Vander said, he’s responsible for much more than just himself.
“Because the gods took something from me too,” he says. “And I’d like them to pay for it.”
The door whispers closed as he slips out of the room.
The morning of the ball, I’m in the library when Vander says, “Not him.
He’s a snake. Try him.” He points at the list of Houses I’ve made.
I jump. “I didn’t even hear you coming,” I mumble under my breath, cursing his immortal speed and quiet.
His eyes sparkle with amusement. He offers his hand. “Let’s see what you’ve learned, human.”
I oblige him. While we get into the steps, he says, “Why did you take House Rodin off your list?” I know why he’s asking. It’s the house closest to the Land of the Gods.
“It serves the God of Death, according to your books,” I say. “He’s the god after me.”
Vander seems to consider that. “Put him back on. House Rodin historically has served the God of Death, but secretly, the last few centuries,
he’s been working against him.”
“You think he’ll help me?” I say.
“If it means opposing the God of Death he hates so much … then yes.” I nod.
And we dance. In the middle of these books, in the muted light, we dance. Vander adds some variations, but I know the pattern well by now and
adapt. That seems to shock him.
“Impressive. For a human,” he says.
I give a poisonous smile. “Kind. For an immortal,” I say, as he twirls me.
I see his sword, leaning against one of the shelves. He doesn’t ever carry it unless he has to. I wonder why. I also wonder about something else.
“How can you make that map, with your sword?” Is it something I could learn with mine?
In response, Vander uses our joined hands to summon his blade. It floats right above us. Then, in mesmerizing slowness, I watch as the metal turns liquid.
The paladian peels apart, and long silver curls begin to swim around us, sparkling and casting light like they each contain galaxies.
“This is a morphblade,” he explains. “A sword that can change properties.” All at once, the metal melts into a half dozen daggers. Then, a mess of throwing stars. Finally, it fuses again, forming a sword, and glimmers as Vander makes its blade longer, curving it into a scythe.
“It’s also a godsword,” I say, and Vander’s brow raises. He doesn’t ask where I learned that.
“Correct. A blade can be more than one thing, Aris. They can be just as multifaceted as people, gaining skills and powers over time.”
We continue our dance, with his blade still floating above us. “Just like people?” I say. “Is this you trying to convince me you’re misunderstood?
You’re not the monster everyone whispers about?”
His lips twitch. Mouth already open in retort, he gently turns me for my first spin.
But whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.
He’s still gripping my hand. I turn back toward him, smiling, before I see that his gaze is fixed firmly on my wrist. And the sleeve that has ridden up over it.
I pull my arm back, stumbling. His sword is still gleaming above. I’ve seen how easily he can bend the metal to his will.
There’s no escaping him, but I try. Slowly, I step away, until my spine hits the books. My heart hammers in my chest.
Vander just looks at me. A moment passes.
Then he takes a slow step forward, with all the smooth gracefulness of a creature happening upon easy prey.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says, as if he can smell my fear. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” He says it so matter-of-factly, I swallow.
He reaches toward my hand again. I should cut his damn hand off. But his sword is just as good as mine, and I have nowhere to go.
I don’t dare breathe as his fingers grip my sleeve.
He hesitates. “Is this okay?”
No. No, it’s not. It shouldn’t be. Still, I might be afraid … but not of him.
Not anymore. I nod.
He lifts my arm, so it’s right between us. I close my eyes as the fabric slowly rips, down my wrist. Lower. Lower. Cold air spills across my bare skin as it’s revealed, inch by inch. He stops right above my elbow. And I
hear a sharp inhale.
“Silver” is all he says. It’s enough.
I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me like I’m not some lowly street rat, or thief, or blacksmith’s apprentice. He’s staring at me like I am something to marvel at, in this castle where everything is ancient and priceless.
“Now you see …” I say, my voice raw and brittle. “Now you see why I need to hide. Why my dress … why my dress needs to cover.”
“No,” Vander says, with pure conviction. “You don’t need to hide. You never need to hide, Aris. If you want to survive, you won’t hide at all. You will show them exactly what you are.”
I take a shaking breath. His eyes are still on my wrist. “And what is that?”
His rough fingers gently scrape down my pulse, down my knuckles, down my markings, and I gasp. No one’s ever seen me and marveled.
He leans down, and I can feel his breath right against my pulse.
“Magnificent,” he says.
Then he pulls away. “I’ll have something sent shortly.” He walks out.
And I’m left gripping the wall, wondering if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life, trusting an immortal heir.