After Opi had been killed, some members of the Crown Council—Rune never found out who—had wanted Princess Sanctuary or Princess Unity named heir, out of the belief that Rune was partially responsible for Opi’s death. But the law of primogeniture was absolute.
Still, there were many people in Honor’s Keep who believed Rune wasn’t worthy of the title. Well, they were not alone.
“Your Highness?” The voice came from the doorway, and Rune looked up to see the grand priest standing there. “Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts.”
“It’s fine,” Rune said stiffly. “But if you’re hoping for a meeting with Lady Nadine, you’ll need to request it from whomever Grand General Emberwish puts over the east wing.”
Grand Priest Larksong shook his head. “No. I mean, I would like to speak with her, but I couldn’t help but overhear you and your parents arguing.”
A smile twitched at the corner of Rune’s mouth. “Well, that’s what happens when you lurk outside the door after you’ve been dismissed.”
“Indeed.” Dayle touched his bottle of obsidian again, his (very noticeable) nervous habit. “I think you’re right to want to save the princess.”
Of course he was. And of course Dayle would think so, too. He was committed to peace, and he believed that the Numen he served—and all Numina—would return to this world someday and put an end to the constant warring. But people had to want it, he always said, and they had to be ready for it.
Rune wasn’t so sure he believed in that particular prophecy, but he and the grand priest had other shared interests.
“And,” Dayle went on, “I think you’re right about the one who can help us.”
Rune’s breath caught, and longing twisted inside his chest. “And have you come to make a case for summoning her? Knowing that my parents have already forbidden this course of action, and that disobeying their wishes could have serious consequences beyond simply angering them?”
“I serve Elmali, first and foremost,” said the grand priest calmly. “They, and the other Numina, gave us a single weapon with which to battle the forces of darkness. If we do not use her as they intended—to cut down the malsites, to end the coming Incursion—then we won’t have to worry about the alliance or the war for much longer. Darkness will sweep across the land and put an end to all of us, as it has done to the rest of the world. You say it is coming, and I agree. I have had the same letters, heard the same fears. The people who come to the temple for help—they do not mince words.”
Hadn’t Rune been making this very argument to his parents just minutes before? But they had reasons to be concerned—even he had to admit that. The danger of actually doing this was so high. “I know,” he said. “I know that we need her, but if she brings disaster, then I’ll be the one at fault. I’ll carry the burden of whatever happens to my family. My sisters. They’re so young.”
Dayle nodded slowly. “Decisions like this are different when they rest solely on your shoulders—when there’s no one else to bear the weight of failure or success. But one day, you will be king, and decisions will be yours alone.”
Rune closed his eyes. “Her arrival would put the world into a fresh state of panic.”
“Perhaps the world needs to panic,” said the grand priest. “Perhaps if people see their crown prince summoning someone so dangerous, so feared, they will begin to understand the gravity of our true situation. You would not make such a dire move unless there was no choice. There is a rancor in the Deepway Woods. Numina know what more chaos it will cause. It’s already put our alliance in peril.”
“Yes,” Rune agreed.
“She wasn’t always such a terrible figure,” Dayle went on. “You know what she was like before the Red Dawn. She was our hero—our savior. I believe she could be again. It is what she was made for.”
Rune turned his gaze out the window and pressed his fist to his chest, where his heart was tight with wanting. For years, he’d listened to every whispered story, read every tale of her valor. Secretly, of course, because so many books had been burned four hundred years ago. And even more secretly, he’d imagined escaping the confines of this castle and his complicated role here. He’d imagined fighting at her side, engaging in uncomplicated heroism, battling evil, finding friendship with someone so good, so worthy.
The Nightrender. She who banished death and darkness. The champion of dawn.
But her story had such a terrible, violent end. And that was the only thing people remembered about her now.
“It was divine judgment,” Dayle murmured. “She is a divine creature. If she—” He couldn’t seem to form the words. “There must have been a reason.”
Rune had told himself the same thing a hundred times. The Red Dawn had happened four hundred years ago. What did he—or anyone—really know about what happened then?
It was a risk, though. Waking her. Inviting her into the castle. The Nightrender was dangerous, everyone knew, and if she was still angry…Rune could hardly bear to think about what would happen to his family.
But his people complained about the Malstop constantly—and now a crown princess was caught in a malsite. Even on the way here, things hadn’t been right. He’d noticed little loops of time, snow that fell even though it was summer, and a whole flock of geese flying backward. Everyone had pretended to ignore these things, as though acknowledging them would make the threat real.
The threat was real whether or not they acknowledged it.
His parents refused to stop these travesties, and no one else could.
Perhaps—
Perhaps the council had been right to want one of his sisters instead of him. Perhaps he wasn’t worthy of the crown. But that was because he’d never done anything to become worthy. That needed to change.
His kingdom was counting on him.
The entire world, in fact.
He had to take the risks others could not. He must be the kind of prince who earned his crown.
“All right.” Rune turned away from the window. “I’ll do it.”
* * *
The moment he left the council chambers, Rune—still covered in road grime—went to the Forsaken Tower.
He went immediately, because he didn’t want to think too much. He might talk himself out of it. He might consider again how dangerous this was.
There existed only three keys to the Forsaken Tower: the heir’s, the queen’s, and the king’s. Rune fingered the key where it hung—as always—around his neck. The hall at the tower’s base was deserted—few people ventured to this corner of the castle anymore—so there was no one to witness as he fitted his key into the lock and turned.