Five tall thrones stood on the far side of the chamber, one for each living member of the royal family. Opus and Grace sat in the middle, on the highest thrones, while Unity and Sanctuary sat to the queen’s left. Rune’s throne waited beside his father’s. They were stone, hewn from the mountainside, same as the castle, and while the back was draped with runners that bore the family crest, the seats themselves had no cushion. Ruling a kingdom should not be comfortable.
As Rune approached, King Opus shot him a dark look. “You will answer for this,” Opus murmured. “You’ve put us all in mortal danger. What of your sisters?”
Rune’s heart kicked, but he clenched his jaw and ordered himself not to respond. He’d done the only practical thing. Of course, his father probably thought engaging in an unwinnable war at the cost of thousands of lives was far more practical than asking the Nightrender to free Princess Johanne. It was all a matter of perspective, perhaps.
Above the wide-open double doors, the Black Gallery waited in darkness. Once, that space had been called the Nightrender’s Step, and she must be there now; it was where she said she would go. No one ventured up there anymore, so unless the castle staff had been unusually fast, the space was probably filthy with dust and mold and echoes of everything that happened four centuries ago.
Shame made Rune’s face hot. He should have sent a team to scrub it spotless before he went up to the shrine.
“She’ll kill us all,” muttered Queen Grace.
Rune looked sidelong at his mother, but stopped before snapping back. Beyond her, Sanctuary and Unity—one dark haired and one light—sat stiffly on their thrones, their frightened faces soft with adolescence. For them, Rune kept his mouth shut.
They were so painfully obedient when the king and queen were present. As for when they were alone…Rune didn’t know. He’d forged a bond with his brother, and the girls had created their own. It did not include him. When Opi died, Rune couldn’t have imagined connecting with anyone else—not even his grieving little sisters. And now, now that he wanted that, it seemed too late to act.
There was no space for Rune in his sisters’ lives.
A few minutes later, the shuffle of footfalls and the buzz of conversation quieted, and the royal guards placed a rope barrier outside the double doors to prevent anyone else from entering. (Often, they’d close the doors all the way, but given the heat of so many bodies packed in on a summer morning…And just as likely, no one wanted to be trapped, in case the Nightrender was still upset.)
A mousy man in castle livery stepped in front of the door and unfurled an ancient scroll, coughing at the dust that puffed off the tattered parchment. Rune could only imagine the hasty research the servants must have done this morning, diving into the Grand Temple library to find the centuries-old protocol for introducing the Nightrender.
The Champion of the Three Kingdoms. The Sword of the Numina. The Hero Eternal. The—
Well, he didn’t want to tempt her by even thinking it.
He gazed up at the Black Gallery again, searching for her shape among the shadows, but she was hidden, out of sight until she wanted to be seen.
Beneath the balcony, the herald cleared his throat. “It is Caberwill’s greatest honor to welcome our beloved Nightrender. Please rise.”
Most people were already on their feet, but the royal family all pulled themselves up from their thrones, as well as a few elderly noblemen who’d been sitting by the tall windows.
“Hands to your hearts.”
Rune pressed his palms, one over the other, to his chest. He breathed in, watching the darkness above, waiting for her to show herself.
“We honor you, Nightrender, and your service to our people. We honor your past, your present, and your future. May you watch over us always.” The herald’s voice caught on those words, and flashes of discomfort spread through the room. “As before,” continued the herald, somehow keeping his voice from cracking again, “we have need of your service. Please grace us with your presence.”
The court looked up at the Black Gallery, keeping their hands pressed against their hearts as protocol dictated, but their faces held different stories—fear, shock, disgust, anger at whoever had summoned this creature. But Rune didn’t see that. He saw only the Nightrender stepping onto the balcony rail.
It was different from earlier, when he’d seen her in the gloom of the Forsaken Tower. Then, he’d been frightened, foggy headed, unable to truly comprehend the sight of her. But now, his eyes were open.
The Nightrender was exquisite, with long, dark hair, wild from the wind, and feathered wings like the blackest obsidian. Her face, pale from so long sleeping, held a proud and unknowable expression as she surveyed the people below. Though physically younger than he’d expected, the weight of millennia shone in her eyes; she was ancient but eternally youthful. Even her attire was centuries old, thick leather cut in an unfamiliar style, and boots that climbed up to her knees. A baldric made an X across her chest, and the black hilt of a sword showed above her right shoulder. Her sigil gleamed darkly against her breast: a golden light streaking across a shadowed moon.
Night-black eyes swept across the room, evaluating everyone as she stepped down off the balcony. Her wings flared to slow her descent, and courtiers rushed away as quickly as they could. Then, without regard for anyone, she strode through the aisle between the nobles, merchants, and favored families, toward the king and queen and princesses.
And Rune.
Her stride had purpose, with no wasted movements. Her arms stayed by her sides, her wings were lifted just so, and her gaze focused straight ahead.
She stopped three paces before the thrones—a full two closer than anyone else dared—and pressed her own hands against her heart. She did not bow or kneel or prostrate herself in any way. She remained upright, as an equal. “Your Majesties. I have urgent warnings.”
Sitting once more, the king and queen assessed her, not quite masking their coldness or their fear. “I’m afraid there has been a mistake, Nightrender,” said Queen Grace. “Though we are grateful for your attentiveness, your presence here is unnecessary.”
Whispers hissed through the chamber.
“What? Didn’t they summon her?”
“What bravery, telling the Nightrender she’s not needed!”
“That doesn’t mean it’s wise. Don’t you recall your lessons?”
The Nightrender’s expression gave nothing away, no surprise at the queen’s refusal, no reaction to the gossip scuttling around the room. Only Echo, the royal secretary, hurried to mark down every word from every person; her pen scratched on paper, even louder than the whispers.
“I must disagree,” said the Nightrender, lowering her hands to her sides. “I have seen the Malstop, and it is weakening. An Incursion is imminent. Surely your audiences must be filled with the worries of villagers from the southwest. Every town within a day’s walk of the Malstop will be seeing signs.”