King Opus forced a smile, one that nobody, not even the Nightrender, could perceive as genuine. “Happily, the Malstop is as secure as it has ever been. The nearby villages have reported nothing unusual, and my own patrols bring only good news.”
That was true, but only because the king had decided not to hear the bad news.
“Then your patrols lie,” said the Nightrender. “The rancor press ever closer to your people, King Highcrown. Soon, the Malice will spill free across your land.”
All through the chamber, there was a short, indrawn breath of shock.
“Further, I awakened in response to a summoning.” The Nightrender took a step closer to the king and queen, and everyone tensed.
“We did not summon you.” Queen Grace smiled, somewhat more naturally than her husband had managed, but even so, it was a far cry from warm.
“Then you are fools.”
Stunned silence met the Nightrender’s declaration, and everyone—absolutely everyone—wondered if she would murder them all where they stood.
“She’s right.” Rune lurched to his feet, drawing the stares to himself. “The Malstop is failing. Just look at it.”
“Sit down.” Opus’s voice tightened. “Have some pride.”
“We must pay heed to what is right in front of our faces.” Rune was already an embarrassment to his family. He might as well fully commit. “We are running out of time to prevent the next Incursion. For too long, our policy has been to ignore problems—to deny they exist, to turn away those who raise the alarm. But that will no longer suffice. The Malice has already stolen our best hope for peace. What more will this court let it steal from future generations? If there are future generations.”
A rumbling emanated from the audience, and Opus had risen to his feet. The king grabbed Rune’s arm. “You will stop.”
“There are more wars than our wars!” Rune pressed on. “There is the war between life and death. A rancor is running free somewhere in Deepway Woods, the Malstop is thinning, and we are wasting time. We must push back the Malice. That is why I summoned the Nightrender. That is why I will be the first to enter the trials to join her Dawnbreakers—”
“We have not held Dawnbreaker trials in four centuries,” interrupted the queen, also rising, “and we won’t begin now. Court is dismissed. This audience is finished.”
Everyone turned to the Nightrender, who had hardly moved during the exchange between Rune and his parents. Her sword remained sheathed, her wings tucked neatly behind her, but her face—she wore an expression of undisguised disgust.
“Mortals,” she said. Then, without waiting to be expelled, she simply turned and walked away. Down the aisle. Out the doors. There, she paused and said over her shoulder, “I came here as a courtesy, not to ask permission.” She knocked the rope barrier aside and vanished down the hall.
At her exit, the throne room went graveyard silent, everyone looking at one another for some sort of answer.
“She didn’t mention the Red Dawn,” a woman whispered. “Do you think she’s forgiven us?”
“Why should she forgive us? We did nothing to her. She should wonder if we’ve forgiven her.”
“Does she even see a difference between humans? We probably all look the same to her.”
“Could what she said be true? About the Malstop?”
“Rune.” Opus’s voice was soft, meant only for the royal family. “This was burning dangerous.”
“I’m not the one who told the Nightrender she wasn’t needed.” Rune closed his eyes a moment, gathering courage. Then, before he could think better of it, he pushed away from his throne, following the path down the aisle the Nightrender had taken. The crowd parted around him—the halfwit prince who’d summoned the Nightrender.
“Now what are you doing?” Opus’s question carried over the hum of the audience.
Rune didn’t look back as he strode out of the throne room. “I’m going to join her.”
7.
NIGHTRENDER
Nightrender hadn’t made it halfway out of the castle before clipped footfalls sounded right behind her. The steps were fast, determined, and considering the hostile reception in the throne room, it seemed possible that someone—an unwise someone—intended to attack her.
They would fail, of course. She was Nightrender and they were but mortal. She spun, drawing Beloved in the same motion.
The sword gleamed darkly. Obsidian. Perfect blackness. It was a Relic, created by the Numina eons ago, before their plane became inaccessible from this one. The blade was cut from a single piece of volcanic glass, its leather hilt wrapped in fine gold wire and topped with a flawless diamond on the pommel. Ancient, numinous magic reinforced the weapon, giving it the strength and flexibility to endure battle after battle.
At its tip, the young man went perfectly still. He was her summoner, the one who’d spoken out in support of her—and who’d been sitting beside the king and queen.
“Rune.” She tilted her head. “Your surname is Highcrown.”
A flush crept up his throat and cheeks, but he nodded. “I should have told you.”
“You did say you know the royal family personally.” Nightrender sheathed her sword, and it was subtle, but his shoulders dropped and his breath lengthened.
He was still frightened of her.
They’d all been frightened of her.
But why? She searched her memories for answers and found only a gaping hole, its edges crumbling away every time she prodded.
Typically, Nightrender did not allow herself to worry. Worry (mostly for mortals) might crush her if she let it. But now, here in this hall, summoned in secret, reviled by the court, completely alone in her duty, and unable to remember all of her past—the worry built like a shadow in the back of her mind.
“Tell me why you’ve followed me,” Nightrender said. “Tell me why you summoned me, when no one else here would have.”
Prince Rune stepped forward, cautiously at first, and then—as though satisfied she wasn’t going to draw her sword again—more confidently until he stood just a breath away. “I need your help. The three kingdoms need your help.”
Nightrender said nothing, because he clearly wanted praise for being smart enough to summon her, and she wasn’t in the habit of rewarding people simply because they possessed basic survival instincts. She already rewarded them with their lives, saving them from the rancor every couple hundred years.
“My parents may not admit it,” Prince Rune went on, “because they’ve closed their eyes to the truth. They won’t allow anyone to even speak of another Incursion.”