She had so many questions. Mainly, why did they fear her? She had always desired a healthy respect from mortals—some distance was best for both her and them—but she had never hurt them. She had never—
An image spiked through her: blood seeping from the walls of Honor’s Keep, screams muffled in the distance of time.
It vanished in an instant.
Her knees buckled, but she squeezed her eyes shut, slowly breathing around the horror of that violent illusion. It wasn’t real. It was the wisp of a nightmare, a fragment of her long dreaming, and that was all. Nothing like that had ever happened in Honor’s Keep—not while she’d been awake.
She shoved the image aside, burying it along with her questions, with that sense of wrongness that had been tugging at her since she’d awakened. She had a duty to fulfill.
After all, she was humanity’s sole weapon against the darkness.
She could not be broken.
6.
RUNE
It was done. Whether she was truly here to help, Rune would soon find out.
As he made his way through the royal wing, the pounding of his heart began to ease and the rushing in his head began to subside. She’d said that she didn’t intend to hurt anyone. He would have to trust that for now.
Perhaps Dayle had been correct and the Red Dawn had been divine judgment. The Nightrender hadn’t said anything about what happened four hundred years ago, and if she wasn’t going to bring it up, then neither was Rune.
Anyway, he was already going to be in enough trouble when the Nightrender stood before his parents in the throne room. There would be no hiding his insubordination then. So much for that fantasy of presenting a newly rescued Princess Johanne to the court, before anyone ever realized the Nightrender was here.
Burn it. He hadn’t expected her to demand to see Opus and Grace. Perhaps if he’d been able to speak in complete sentences, he could have explained the situation to her. But every moment he’d spent in that room had been so charged, so uncertain, so terrifying.
Well, ultimately, they wanted the same thing: to end the Incursion. And if they could do that—as well as rescue Princess Johanne—perhaps the king and queen would forgive him and come to understand that war did not have to be the only solution to their problems.
Finally, he reached his door to find John Taylor standing at attention.
“Your Highness?” John’s throat worked. “I thought you were inside.”
For a moment, Rune felt sorry for the man. The guard, or any number of maids, should have noticed Rune wasn’t in his chambers. He hadn’t planned to get knocked out by that overwhelming light and sleep on the floor until morning. If anyone had come looking for him, if they’d charged into the tower—that could have gone poorly.
“It’s all right,” Rune told John, even though it wasn’t all right that his personal guard hadn’t known he was missing. “I need you to send a message to my parents. The Nightrender is here. She wants to see them.”
John’s hand went to his sword. “The Nightrender? For your parents?”
“Yes.” Rune glanced toward the Forsaken Tower. “She’s here to save Princess Johanne.”
“She said that?” John’s breath hitched; he was being too familiar. “Your Highness.”
“She will save the Embrian crown princess,” Rune said. “And she will fix the Malstop.”
John looked uncertain. “I don’t see how we can possibly believe her.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” But Rune understood John’s fear, because again he was thinking of the way the Nightrender had loomed over him when he’d awakened. She’d been so beautiful, but so strange and formidable. He’d wanted to reach up and touch her—until suddenly he’d realized who he was staring at, and his whole body had gone cold. If he hadn’t opened his eyes when he did…“Send the message to my parents. Alert the palace guard. And tell the staff to have all her spaces cleaned. The gallery. The tower. Whatever else used to be hers. We should make her feel welcome.” It was too late for that, really, but perhaps she could forgive them if she saw they were trying.
The guard saluted and—once Rune opened his door and started inside—went to send the messages.
* * *
An hour later, Rune was washed and wearing fresh clothes as he strode toward the throne room, John following behind him. A nervous energy filled the castle hallways, but he couldn’t tell if it was because people knew the Nightrender was here, or if it was simply because Princess Johanne was still missing and the threat of war loomed heavier than ever.
He could fix this. He would persuade the Nightrender to help him free Princess Johanne before marching on the Malstop (although she didn’t seem very persuadable…), and then they’d all three put an end to the wars and the Incursions. Then, when he became king, he would be a worthy king—someone who’d earned his place, someone who had proved he could protect his people, rather than simply inheriting the crown.
Anticipation made Rune’s heart thrum as he stepped into the throne room.
The space had always been intimidating, with its high ceiling and marble pillars, its black-and-gold banners hung from the four in-use galleries, its stained-glass windows that held images of kings and queens past. Sometimes, Rune felt those ancient monarchs could see through the glass eyes. He felt as though they watched him, judged him, and found him undeserving of the crown he would one day wear.
But today, those eyes looked down on a crowded chamber. There had to be five hundred people here, stuffed into every corner they could find. The galleries—all except the Nightrender’s gallery—were packed with the noble houses who’d let those spaces from the crown, while the main floor held merchants and upper-class families who typically didn’t come to court. All the window seats—meant for those who had trouble standing for long periods of time—were full, and there was even a section close to the western wall where the Embrians had gathered. Lady Nadine was among them, standing with Princess Johanne’s other ladies-in-waiting; all of them had haunted, red-rimmed eyes.
Rune made his way up the center aisle, ignoring the probing looks and accusing stares. Members of the Crown Council were scattered about, too, also watching him. There was Rupert Flight, murmuring instructions to one of the spies in his employ, while Dayle Larksong gazed up at the Black Gallery, his small jar of obsidian clutched in his wrinkled hand. As Rune passed by, the grand priest met his eyes, then nodded slightly.
People had gathered here awfully fast, summoned by the crown, and it was hard to blame them for their interest. No one had seen the Nightrender in four hundred years. No one had wanted to see her.