Page 112 of King of Storms and Feathers

Mouth a grim line, he nodded, his dark eyes flicking to Ildri. “And should we decamp, My King?”

My king? Raiden had never called me that before except in jest, and the title coming from his lips now was an insult. To stoop to using it, he must rightly fear for his mother’s life.

Ari stilled my hand from raking through my hair, her expression shockingly devoid of guilt. “It is your best move, Arrow. Go home. Rest and restore your power. You’ll need to be strong if you intend to travel to the human realm.”

“I fucking hate that I have to wait, but you’re right. I need to recharge my power. Dismantle the camp immediately.”

Raiden bowed and hurried away.

“Ari, go quickly and give my apologies to the Zareen. We’ll leave as soon as my carriage is ready.”

“As you wish.” She turned and glided out of the tent, seemingly in no particular hurry.

Ildri’s gaze dropped to my clenched fists, and she risked a gentle smile. “All will be well if you trust us, Arrow. I promise you.”

I doubted that very much.

And on the journey home, try as I might, I couldn’t control the storms that besieged our procession of carriages and carts, depleting my power further. My gut screamed that Leaf wasn’t safe. Every instinct inside me writhed and raged, insisting that I take to the sky without delay and search until I found her. Search until every feather was ragged or broken, if that’s what it took to get Leaf back.

But I wasn’t a fool. I could search forever without success, while Leaf lay buried in a shallow grave as I flew in vain above the Earth Realm forests.

With Ari’s information, we would waste no time. I would find my Aldara dead or alive.

If the former, Ari would pay. Ildri would pay. And Raiden would suffer the loss of both females he loved.

Of course, if it was the latter… if Leaf was alive, I would bring her home, no matter what circumstances I found her in. I would take her. I would carry her back to Coridon.

Because she was mine.

And always would be.

Chapter 29

Leaf

The hidden city of Mydorian was nothing like the decaying ruins from my dreams and visions. As Sonail led me up sweeping steps toward the palace’s entrance, two things astonished me: the building’s grandeur and how unfamiliar it was.

I recognized nothing. Not the guards’ bearded faces or their black and gold uniforms. Nor the dark stone beneath my feet or the sulphuric scent of gold smelt in the air. If this was indeed the place I grew up, it seemed odd that I remembered none of it.

But when silver double doors glided open and revealed a long rectangular throne room, something stirred inside me. Ghost-white trees grew up through the edges of the hall’s pale wooden floor, their branches soaring upward to cradle the ceiling, open to the sky in the center.

An image of the bearded man from my dreams—my father—flashed through my mind. He was standing on the low dais, his hands braced on his hips. On a solid throne of white marble, my mother sat beside him, regal in a shimmering gown and wearing a crown of rubies and golden thorns on her brow.

I shook the vision from my mind, my heart stuttering as I dragged cold air into my lungs. My eyes widened at the green-eyed boy from my dreams, who was currently sprawled over my mother’s white throne.

Sonail’s grip on my arm tightened, and he pulled me toward my only real memory of home.

“Ash,” I whispered, my heart a painful lump in my throat.

Lifting his gaze from his lap and casting it about the room, Ash tapped long fingers against the throne’s armrest as memories rushed over me. Ash and I swimming, laughing, racing through the forest, sword fighting, fist fighting, more laughter. Love. Light. Happiness.

Home.

It was really him—my brother there in front of me.

I hardly dared to believe it, but I was finally home.

And I was safe.

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