“This, we believe, is where your Arlean tale catches up,” the Silent King said in a drier tone than before. “After a long and dreadful battle, the princess’s companions slew the Sphinx, yet not without consequence, for one of them—”
He stopped suddenly and clutched the back of the nearest chair. King Harrold half rose, along with Lord Camron and the Garhadi ambassador, but the Silent King recovered with a shake of his head and resumed his pacing. His voice was softer now, yet still resonant, as if the very air took on the shape of his words, beating it into our minds with every breath.
“One of them fell defending her. The other escaped with the princess and returned to Arle, but even then, they were not free from danger, for the stirring of the old Elementar had woken one of the creatures you call Tekari, and the ancient sea-serpent followed the princess’s ship. There on the shores of her kingdom they fought, and betrayed and abandoned by her last living companion, she slew the Great Tekari alone.”
Murmurs chased each other down each side of the table and more than a few heads turned toward us to see Lady Catriona’s reaction to this indictment of Niaveth Daired. This was far from “The Lay of Saint Ellia” as we knew it. I thought of Mòrag’s recitation at Martenmas. Or was it?
“The sea-serpent dead, your princess then returned to Els, for nothing remained for her in Arle, save false friends and the machinations of a king who would only use her to further his own ambitions. She found—”
There was a polite cough from one of the Arlean councilmembers. The Silent King stopped before his honor guard and sought out the source of the interruption, the fangs of his helm scything to and fro along the table until his gaze landed on the red-faced councilwoman. She half rose in an apologetic curtsy. “But surely you are mistaken, Your Majesty,” she ventured. “The princess died on the shore that day, slain by the sea-serpent whom she slew.”
The Silent King looked at the councilwoman. “Did she?”
The courtier colored, frowned, and sat again.
“A most intriguing tale, Your Majesty,” King Harrold began, “and we are much indebted to you for it. Perhaps it would be best now to begin—”
“Only a little more remains, sire,” the Silent King replied. “A very little more, we assure you. And you shall wish to hear it, for it concerns you.”
Alastair pushed back his chair and stood. “How so?” he demanded.
The Silent King looked up. A dry, withering sound rolled over the table, like the windblown rasp of a shed snakeskin or laughter from a long-dead throat.
“Ah, the Blood of the Fireborn speaks at last! We wondered when you would step forth to the fray, or if you would shrink from it like your forebear. Your princess did indeed return to Els, Fireborn, for she had one last quest to fulfill. Before it died, the Great Sphinx had spoken of what it guarded, of the power hidden deep within the desert, and warned the princess from it. But now, in despair, with neither love nor loyalty left save for one already dead, the princess undertook the journey into the desert to find this power and use it, if she could, to avenge herself on those who betrayed her.”
He paused. There was a sudden and terrible silence.
“Did she find it?” The same courtier who had spoken so boldly before sounded now like a frightened mouse.
The Silent King didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up and took hold of the sphinx helmet by its long fangs.
“She found me,” a new, split voice said, one that drove fear like iron spikes deep into my soul. The helmet fell to the table with a clatter of silver, the clink of shattered crystal, and the sound of a hundred gasps. Darkness roiled out from beneath the veil, splaying out from the Silent King in spindly shadows like a spider’s legs. “Millennia spent in darkness: nameless, silent, hungry for the life the gods denied me—until she found me. Freed me, and died setting me free. But not in vain, for in her death she gave me new purpose and a new goal: forging a kingdom from that which was her birthright. No longer shall her legacy be a kingdom of lies and silence.” Darkness billowed like wings behind the great ghast, and for an instant I saw sulfurous eyes burning deep beneath that bowed head, now crowned in shadow. “We are the Great Elementar, First of the Eldest and Vengeance of Saints, and we will be silent no longer.” Those eyes flicked toward us and the split voice spoke again. “The time has come to settle accounts.”
One of the shadow-limbs twitched. The Elsian standard-bearer stepped forward and pulled off his helmet, revealing Wydrick’s face, grim and haunted. He drew a dagger from somewhere within his armor. A second limb twitched and Lord Camron rose, his eyes shining vicious yellow, glinting like the knife in his hand.
My scream came too late. The ghastradi plunged their daggers into the chests of King Harrold and Queen Callina.
Chapter 21
Night Falls
Time slowed like sour honey, hardening around the figures at the end of the table. Everything in me clung to disbelief, willing my eyes to admit their mistake, to confess this wasn’t happening. It was the colors that first swam through the haze of shock: bright steel and cold yellow and the sudden, sputtering gush of red, and with it, the dreadful certainty of reality.
King Harrold slumped forward at once, but Queen Callina lived just long enough to utter a gurgling cry. The ghastradi of Lord Camron drew out his blade with a little grimace of disappointment and drove it in again, this time into her heart.
The small sound broke the spell of shock. Glass shattered, swept off the table by courtiers and councilors scrambling to get away from the writhing shadow-creature and its minions. The Elementar’s split voice drifted lazily through their screams. “Rejoice for your fallen sovereigns, little ones, for their end was merciful. The heirs of the traitor shall pay more dearly.” It signaled to its honor guard. Each one drew hidden weapons. “Bring to us all those belonging to the Blood of the Fireborn. We want them alive.”
The guards began to advance.
“Back! Back, Julienna!” Lady Catriona cried. Alastair pulled me behind him, a dinner knife clutched in his other hand. I snatched up another from a fallen place setting as Edmund ran to join us, standing shoulder to shoulder with Alastair and his aunt. They made a grim wall between the Elsian guards and the last of the screaming courtiers shoving their way through the door behind us. The Elementar’s forces crept forward, smoldering eyes fixed on us, advancing slowly but inexorably down the length of the table, pressing us back toward the far wall.
Darkness billowed around the Elementar like a cloak. On its shadowed head a crown appeared, black as a starless sky, and with one gauntleted hand it beckoned to us. “Come now, Daireds. Let justice be swift.”
Edmund and Julienna growled Eth curses in unison.
Like a thousand talons on glass, a scratching, shrieking sound filled the hall. It caught in my chest and clawed at my mind, carrying with it the bitter shock of mirth. The Elementar was laughing.
“Come willingly or not; it makes no matter to us. But you shall come. All of you. House Daired shall not live to see the dawn.” More shadow tendrils drifted from the dark mass on the creature’s back, threading like umbilicals to its guards. Their eyes blazed yellow beneath their helmets when it touched them and they moved forward with renewed purpose. “Give yourselves up and we will show mercy to your city,” the Elementar said. “Fight us, and yours will not be the only blood we shed this night.”