Page 67 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

I frown. “That is impossible.” There were hundreds, far too many to simply “disappear.”

“But perhaps the most surprising message I received is this one, though. It arrived this morning by a spirited messenger fowl.” He slides a folded paper out from his vest and holds it up for me to see the wax seal and the flame stamped into it. Cirilea’s royal seal, broken. “From the king of Islor.”

The urge to dive for it—to learn what has happened to my city, my realm since I left—is overwhelming and yet I restrain myself. “I do not recall writing to you. Must have slipped my mind.”

By King Cheral’s amused expression, he knows his taunt is effective.

“What does my dear brother have to say for himself?”

“I have no idea. It is not your brother who tests the king’s quill but another.”

“What?” I don’t bother hiding my shock. “Who would dare claim that title falsely?”

“Besides you? This one calls himself King Malachi.”

I snort. “A usurper of a usurper and he presents himself as a fate.” An act long since forbidden, even in the days before Islor’s existence. To take a fate’s name is to be condemned to Azo’dem.

“You do not know this new king?”

“This fool? No, I cannot say I have any inkling who would be so audacious.”

King Cheral studies me a moment, as if searching for a lie in my words. “Audacious or not, he has released the eastern lords and ladies and claimed peace in Islor.”

“Peace. With my brother free and commanding our army at the rift.” For Zander surely has won the soldiers’ hearts over with his idealism. “This is too far-fetched a tale for me to bite on. But I applaud your attempt.” I clap my hands slowly.

“You do not believe me.” He holds the letter out.

I move for it but then stop. Is this a tease? An excuse to approach him so his guards can beat me mercilessly in front of his wives? I note the overzealous one from the battleground hovering nearby.

“Go on … They will not harm you.” He shakes his head curtly at them.

I step forward and collect the letter, my thumb skating over the flame imprint in the wax. As familiar as it is to me, the scrawl inside is foreign. King Cheral and his brides’ gazes burn into me as I devour the single page’s contents. “He claims he has rid us of the blood curse?” I read out loud. In her letter, Romeria painted herself the catalyst of this change. So, was she working with this King Malachi who has now stolen my throne? Have they done it together?

After all that, did she betray my brother?

“That is why you refused Satoria’s blood, is it not? Because you no longer need it. That is quite the secret to keep.”

At mention of her name, my eyes dart to the wife in question to find her watching me. “I would not have taken it, anyway. I do not feed off those forced to offer.” Though something tells me she would gladly supply me. She’s not nearly as diminutive as I once thought.

I return my attention to the letter, reading the last line out loud. “‘All will bow before me.’ Interesting letter for the king of another realm to receive.”

“Clearly, he does not understand much of our borders and political systems.” King Cheral holds out his hand, a wordless request for me to return the correspondence. But there’s a flicker of something in his eye—is it worry?

With one last glance at the floral writing—it looks feminine—I comply.

“According to Tuella, you have been healed by the one power,” he says, changing subjects.

“I have been healed many times.”

“This was no ordinary wielder,” Tuella edges forward from her corner. “This one is a creator of all four elements.”

“You mean a key caster?”

“If that is what your people call them.”

I shake my head. “We haven’t had one in two thousand years. Mordain and Ybaris have made sure of it.”

“And yet the wound in your chest was healed by one.”

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