“I’m not drunk.” He pulled out a chair and misjudged the speed, hitting himself in the shin. “Maybe a little,” he conceded, sitting carefully. “Wait, this is my table.”
The Nightrender crossed her arms.
“My table. From my rooms. Now there’s a horrible fountain—”
“It is my table now,” the Nightrender said. “And you were saying something of actual importance.”
Oh, right.
“I’m afraid there have been new developments since you left.” Since the wedding, but he didn’t want to mention that part. Even slightly—just slightly!—inebriated, he knew he didn’t want to remind the Nightrender that he was now a married man. Not that it would have mattered, anyway. Ever, apparently. But still. “My father is dead. Assassinated last night.”
The Nightrender sat across from him, her wings neatly tucked away and her expression unreadable. “Tell me how you feel about that.”
Was his relationship with his father so obviously bad that she knew better than to say anything more? Because it wasn’t just Rune’s loss; it was much broader, with far-reaching ripples the world might never truly understand but through the lens of history. “The death of a monarch is always dangerous for a kingdom’s health,” Rune said cautiously. “And my father was a strong king.”
She nodded, as though she heard what he didn’t say. “You will be a strong king, too.”
His heart stumbled over itself. Did she really believe that? “I hope so. We’ll see if I’m given a chance to prove myself.” At her lifted eyebrow, he continued: “I was never the first choice to succeed my father.”
“But you are king now,” the Nightrender said, “with the support of your mother, at least some of the council, and the royal family of Embria.”
That was true.
Rune swallowed a lump in his throat, wishing again he hadn’t drunk quite so much. “Do you want me to finish combing your hair?”
The Nightrender stared at him.
“It’s only half done.” He motioned around his head, suddenly aware that his own hair was wild from tossing and turning.
Her fingertips wove through the ragged edges of her hair, but then she forced her hand down. “We have more urgent matters.”
Rune wished he could put his fingers through her hair.
And immediately, he tried to unmake that wish because he was a married man, and he’d just lied to his wife about where he was going, and if he was going to run his fingers through anyone’s hair, it should be Hanne’s. Guilt gnawed at him, relentless. The thought made him feel like a monster.
“Now that you are king,” the Nightrender said, “you no longer need to ask permission to send your army somewhere.”
“That’s not completely true. There’s still the Crown Council, and Embria, and my mother holds a lot of influence—”
The Nightrender stood, wings like a dark cloak behind her. “You could send your army through the Soul Gate. You could do it now.”
“I want to. I do. But I cannot ignore the assassination of a king—of my father. You know how dangerous that would be. What kind of ruler would I be if I didn’t respond to this attack on Caberwill?” He heard his father’s voice in those words. King Opus had always been talking about strength and making difficult decisions.
“One who prioritizes human survival above the scrabbling of mortals. One who understands that his parents and grandparents and great-grandparents left him with tremendous obstacles, but that those obstacles are not insurmountable. You can be the one to take action and save your descendants.”
Rune clenched his jaw and growled out, “My father was just murdered. I must respond. Caberwilline kings do not show weakness.” He rubbed his temples. “If I don’t take immediate action, it won’t be long before I’m overthrown. By my own council. By my own mother. By one of my own sisters—and a councilor who wishes to be regent. There are too many people who don’t want me on my throne, and I promise you, they are even less likely to help you.”
“You would let the world fall to darkness for your own ambitions.”
“No!” Rune surged to his feet, making the chair scrape backward. “I’ll stop the darkness, but burn it, Ivasland is hammering us. People are dying.” With a hot lump rising in his throat, Rune threw open the gallery doors, but the night air was humid and heavy, providing no relief. “You need to wait while the alliance stops them from reducing two-thirds of this world to ruin. We can’t go into the Malice with more malice exploding at our backs, ripping the kingdoms apart.”
“There is no time to wait.” The Nightrender followed behind him, silent save the rustling of feathers.
“You don’t have to answer to councils or queens or hordes of furious subjects. You don’t have to provide revenge for the assassination of a king, his men, and everything that burning mal-device did in Small Mountain.”
“Your quest for self-worth makes you selfish.” Her words were sharp and brittle with the truth. “I had hoped you were better than this. I believed you would help me, not push me aside anytime you saw opportunity to raise your station.”
“My station? We’re talking about mal-devices and chaos. I don’t owe you anything!” The words tumbled out of him, unstoppable now. “I’m not your soul shard and my feelings don’t matter. I know how bad the Malstop is—I can see it! But don’t you understand? This isn’t about me. This is about Caberwill. I can send my men into the Malice, but Embria won’t follow, and Ivasland will rip apart the realm while we’re in there dying for you. Let me settle with Ivasland, let me convince Embria to commit their men to this, and I can give you a combined army at full strength. If. You. Wait.”
She stepped back, hurt. But then, slowly, she drew a long breath and lowered her wings. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. Strange. “The Malstop is flickering.”
“Yes.” His heart wrenched. “How bad is it? I mean, how bad is it really?”
“Dozens of rancor could have been set free when it was at its weakest. Certainly, there will be many new malsites forming.” The Nightrender drew a shuddering breath, and for the first time since they’d met, Rune saw true vulnerability in her. Gone was the distant, aloof creature who’d come to Brink, swearing to destroy the rancor and cleanse the world of darkness. No, here was a young woman who feared for the future, terrified in the way he himself was terrified.
No, more terrified than he was. And if she was that afraid…
“Rune—King Rune, I mean.” She closed her eyes and turned her face skyward. “I cannot do this alone. There is but one of me, and I am not what I once was. My memories flash out like stars, and I do not know how to recover them. Without all my experience, I am a lesser creature, and I am almost out of time. I cannot defend humanity if everything that made me mighty is gone.”