“They would still have a claim to the throne.”
“I am willing to consider betrothals and relocations. Nothing else. Not now.” She bit her lip. “If they do become a problem and less-deadly solutions don’t work, I will figure it out.”
Nadine moved to kneel beside Hanne, carefully touching the bandages. “I know this has been difficult, and it’s not anything like you’d planned. But look where we are. You are queen. Peace is within reach. It’s just on the other side of these two final wars that we can win under your leadership. Take this world. Forge it into what you want it to be.”
Hanne’s gaze fell on the broken obsidian crown, which a servant had brought in at Hanne’s request. Even after it had been wiped clean, a film of gore still marred the perfect blackness. She would not soon forget how it felt to saw apart her enemy. “I am a forging fire,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Nadine said kindly. “You are.”
No. The voice came from deep inside Hanne’s mind. Tuluna the Tenacious. I am the fire that forged you. I am an inferno. You are my sword.
Hanne closed her eyes. Of course, she prayed. I am nothing without you.
Very good. Tuluna’s voice turned gentle. And now, my beautiful princess, pay attention. I have a task for you.
42.
NIGHTRENDER
Nightrender swallowed the taste of blood and bile that rose in her throat.
“You would restore my memories.”
Daghath Mal sat back. “I would.”
For a moment, Nightrender allowed herself to imagine all her memories flooding back, filling the blackening sky of her mind. They would be fuzzy, perhaps, like the one he’d shown her, but she didn’t need crystal clarity—only knowledge. History.
The temptation wormed into her heart. Soul shards. Battles. A melody she used to hum. She could again possess a deep understanding of rancor and Numina and humanity. Her own life, as real and accessible as it had once been.
But just as quickly as the desire rose, it died.
“You have no such power.” She pushed herself up until she was sitting, finally registering that the scabbard on her back was empty; no weapon weighed it down. Beloved was gone. “And even if you did, no promise of yours could be trusted.”
Daghath Mal drew back, as though offended. “Lady Nightrender, I keep all my promises.”
“Four hundred years ago, you swore to help the royal families destroy their rivals.”
“And I did. They’re dead, aren’t they?”
A chill swept through her. That was true. They were dead.
Because she’d killed them.
“You intended for that to happen,” Nightrender murmured. “You told me about the broken treaty, anticipating my anger. You must have pushed. Exaggerated. Made everything seem worse so that I would go there and—and—”
Daghath Mal cocked his head. “They summoned me to destroy one another. How could I make that sound worse than it is?” He laughed a little. “Perhaps I encouraged you, yes. I didn’t want you to throw me back to the Dark Shard, so I told you a story. A true story. You took my anger into yourself and flew off, boiling over with rage. You were glorious, Nightrender. I only wish I could have seen your wrath made manifest through my own eyes.”
Divine judgment. That was what Rune and Grand Priest Larksong believed of the Red Dawn. What would they think if they knew all of it had been orchestrated by Daghath Mal?
“You’ve put false images into my head before,” she said. “The wedding.”
“I never claimed that was real. Merely a suggestion. I thought you might like it.”
Nightrender bared her teeth at him. She had to get up. She had to kill him.
No. She couldn’t kill him. But she could find the Rupture and throw him back to the Dark Shard. He’d be trapped once more—unless some foolish mortal summoned him again. But she might buy humanity another few millennia.
Or not, Daghath Mal whispered in her mind. They keep breaking the Winterfast Accords.
With a painful lurch, Nightrender forced herself to her feet, ignoring the screaming anguish inside her body. Wet blood covered the stone floor where she’d been lying, but her wounds had closed and she could once again feel her wings. The right one moved, but the left—no.
“Let me tell you why your memories are vanishing.” Daghath Mal took a step toward her, his own wings spread wide until he was the only thing that she could see. “After the Red Dawn, when the royals were dead and their blood ran off you in rivers, your eyes cleared. You realized what you had done. And then”—his mouth turned into a sneer—“you begged forgiveness. You made yourself low before the mortals. But they did not forgive you.”
Nightrender tightened her fists.
“Instead, they captured you. Bound you. In fact, you let them. They performed a dark ritual to strip your memory of the Red Dawn, but humans have limited experience with magic and they cut too deep. After, they took you back to your tower, where you went back to sleep. And then they abandoned you, telling only the tale of your mistake.
“The sleep preserved your memories, as it does your body, but the instant you awakened, the degradation began. Soon, you will be little more than human yourself, at least in mind. You may have your powers, but without the knowledge of using them…”
She had wanted answers; now she wished for ignorance.
“They did this to you. They betrayed you in every possible way.”
Anger built up in the pit of her soul. She had thought it impossible to grow even more disillusioned and disappointed with humans. But no. They had taken their war to the peak of obscenity. They’d maimed her. They’d made her think all this was her fault.
“They did this,” she whispered. “They took my memories. They are the ones killing me.”
Daghath Mal still filled her view, overwhelming. “They are not worthy of you. Why do you remain a servant to those who will never appreciate your power?”
Why indeed? Because she’d been built for this? Because she had no choice?
“You do have a choice. For thousands of years, you’ve allowed yourself to be the weapon, but I want you to be the warrior.”
“Tell me how,” Nightrender hissed. The rage was boiling up again, the same uncontrollable anger she’d felt four hundred years ago. How dare mortals violate her mind? How dare they obliterate everything she was?
“Just decide,” he murmured. “Just decide that you don’t want to save them from themselves. They refuse to give you the one thing you truly want.”