Page 50 of The Shadowbound King

Tension stretched. Othor stared a moment longer, then seemed to arrive at some sort of internal decision before swinging his gaze back to Andrin. “If that’s all for the evening, I’ll return to the feast.”

“How is it tonight?”

Irritation flitted through Othor’s eyes. “When I left, Ginhad was supervising the castle guard in a sword-measuring contest. There were no weapons involved.”

Andrin grunted. “Yes. Return right away. And…thank you again, Othor, for your assistance this evening.”

Othor offered a short bow. Then he turned on his heel and left the bedchamber.

Awkwardness lingered in the silence that followed. The lamp sputtered, throwing a dancing shadow on the wall behind the bed. Andrin waited, his palms on his thighs, and his gaze on the opening leading to the main chamber. When the sound of the outer doors closing reached us, he looked at me.

“It seems I owe you thanks, as well.”

I cleared my throat. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Moonlight glinted in his eyes. “Nevertheless, I will say my thanks. Did no one ever tell you to avoid being in debt to an elf? The reverse is also true. My people dislike being indebted to others.”

“No one told me much of anything about elves,” I said.

Andrin studied me. “But you’ve always known you were elfkin.” He flicked a glance at the darkened doorway. “You have the gift of healing, the same as Othor.”

Denials were pointless when he’d clearly already guessed my ability. Perhaps he’d known from the start, when my magic sparked against his.

“Yes,” I said. “I can absorb the pain of others. For a time, I feel their pain as keenly as if it were my own. It weakens me, but it passes quickly.” Hesitating, I looked at the balcony doors behind him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Is that what you did tonight? You healed the land somehow, if only for a little while.”

Andrin shook his head. “It’s a different sort of magic. Like Othor, I have the gift of healing, although my skills pale in comparison. But not even Othor’s gift could heal the Edelfen. When my ancestors created Ishulum, we poured all our magicinto Autumn. It’s a place of life and death. Shadows and light. You can’t have one without the other.”

Memories of the dungeon in Nordlinga crashed through my mind. The ghosts of blazing light and unrelenting heat circled me as I said,

“That’s not true. Light can exist without shadow.”

“Not in Ishulum,” Andrin said, his gaze unwavering. “Before we lost the Kree, Autumn was a place of balance. Light and shadow intertwined, each necessary for the other to exist. Many outside Autumn feared darkness…and death. But we embraced it. Every stage of life holds beauty, even when beauty fades. How can you appreciate light when you’ve never stumbled in the darkness?” He lowered his eyes to the flower crown in my hands. “How would you ever experience happiness if you didn’t know what it meant to be sad?”

I listened, caught in the spell of his deep voice and steady gaze. Leaves drifted past the balcony doors behind him. Moonlight haloed his head and broad shoulders.

He stood slowly, unfolding his big body in a rustle of cloth and the soft creak of leather. My pulse picked up, and I fought the impulse to step back as he loomed over me.

Leaning slowly, he turned the knob on the lamp. The flame leaped higher, casting a shadow that climbed to the top of the wall. The flame crackled and danced.

Andrin watched the shadow writhe against the stone. “We lost our balance when we lost the Kree. The shadows overwhelmed us. They can’t sustain life, only devour it. And the more they consume, the more they want.”

The leaping shadows filled the walls, spreading to the ceiling. The flickering darkness cast deep hollows across Andrin’s face. I clutched the flower crown, dread sliding down my spine. Just when the dancing, twisting shapes threatened to overwhelm me, Andrin reached out and flicked off the lamp.

Moonlight flooded the bedchamber. Andrin looked at me. “I command both shadow and light. It’s what made my branch of House Verdalis kings. Before the Edelfen fell into darkness, I helped the land stay balanced. But I was never meant to do it alone. The Kree was the breath of life in this kingdom. Without it, I fight an endless battle against death and shadow. I didn’t heal the Edelfen tonight. I merely cast an illusion. The forest you saw was nothing more than a reflection of the light that used to spread over Autumn.”

A sweet, delicate fragrance teased my nose. Looking down, I saw that I’d crushed one of the flowers in Valina’s crown. Confusion swirling, I lifted the plaited grass and blooms. “If the forest was an illusion, how did I carry this into the Embervale?”

“Belief is a powerful thing,” Andrin said quietly. “People cling to it for all sorts of reasons. Love. Denial. Fear. Some people carry their beliefs with them all their lives, even when others can prove those beliefs are wrong.” He touched the edge of a petal. The crown twisted into shadow, a sound like a sigh flowing around me as it faded from sight.

I stared at my empty fingers even as the scent of flowers lingered in the air. Swallowing, I lifted my gaze to Andrin’s. “What of the Edelfen? Is it an illusion too?”

His expression hardened. “The Edelfen can project illusion, but the darkness within it is very, very real. The shadows hunger for light. They won’t stop until they devour every last flicker of life in Autumn.”

Life.That meant Finian with his chubby hands and soft curls. It meant Elodie and Ginhad. Everyone in the Great Hall. If the shadows reached the Embervale, everyone would die.

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