Page 25 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Aven kept her face carefully blank, though her mind raced. Each Sacred Tree blessed its kingdom with unique gifts—long life, protective magic, even the ability to shift forms. The kingdoms without such a blessing? They didn’t stand a chance.

She remembered meeting some of their royals when she was younger: a princess with a haunting voice, a king who had reigned for nearly a millennium, the Black Widows. And, of course, King Donal—likely the most dangerous of all, since the fae had always possessed their own Sacred Tree, until the day it was destroyed. She wondered why it was destroyed in the first place. No, not why.How.

“Why don’t you set those scholars on finding it, then?”

“Don’t think they haven’t tried.”

Aven cleared her throat. “What kind of powers does it grant you?”

“Well, it’s the Tree of Magic. Some say it’s the source of all fae power, although my father thinks the accounts are greatly exaggerated. Would you like to see it?” A smile broke out over his face, and this time, something changed. A light came over him, and Aven found herself nearly smiling back at him and his exuberance.

She schooled her face to remain neutral and pursed her lips. “If you’d like to show me, then why not?”

The Tree of Magic? The source of all fae power?

How likely would it be to burn the tree down and destroy all the fae with one swoop? Not likely at all, but she’d still like to see the Sacred Tree.

“Come, then.” Cillian didn’t wait for her to take his hand, instead grabbing her wrist and hauling her toward the glass doors keeping the library separated from the greenery beyond.

Tea spilled out of her cup with the motion, and she managed to set it down on the main table. Cillian moved swiftly.

“The fae were once the most powerful race on the entire earth,” he told her. A little breathless, a little excited. “We’re floundering now, since the mortals have learned to use our magic against us. Weapons and spells, wands, all of it. Your hijacking of our ancient runes. The other kingdoms learned to use their trees’ gifts. Tragedy has struck us many times during the war, and yet somehow, the Darkroot has survived. We’ve survived.”

“I’m sure your father is sick of the bloodshed.” Not likely.

“He is. I’m determined to end this, once and for all. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to ensure the continued survivalof our people. And yours.” Cillian added the second statement like an afterthought.

Whatever it took? Yes. She’d seen it. King Donal’s vile ruthlessness.

“What about your brother?” Aven couldn’t help but ask.

She lost her breath, Cillian pulling her across a flagstone patio and down a winding gravel path through verdant shrubs and flowering bushes. Judging from the state of the palace, it certainly didn’t look like Mourningvale was floundering.

Not when she considered the state of her own territory, and its decline over the last few years. The fae even lived in a goddamn palace, not just a castle.

“Roran doesn’t bother with anything. He is self-absorbed and only concerned for his own happiness.” Cillian finally slowed like he realized Aven was having a hard time keeping up with him. “He chooses to shirk his responsibilities more often than not.”

“Is that why you’re the one showing me the Sacred Tree?”

Cillian’s smile grew. “Absolutely. It’s only a little bit further. It’s always been a special place for me to go. I feel… connected there.”

“To nature?”

“To everything. I’m happy to be your tour guide. And I’m happy to tell you I used to come out here as a child when things felt a little too heavy.” He slowed down until the two of them fell into step with each other yet again.

Gravel crunched underfoot, and her head lightened, dizzy with overstimulation.

“When my mother was alive, she’d always come out here to check for me. I’d climb the tree and hide in the branches high above the ground, but she always found me,” Cillian continued.

“Do you miss her?” Aven blurted out the question without thinking.

Much to her surprise, Cillian nodded. “Every day. Although I’m sure you know the feeling, having lost your own mother.”

She’d losteveryoneexcept her father, and she’d been used by King Donal against her father, forced to be a captive to keep him in line. She swallowed, nodded. “I do. She was a great woman.”

“They usually are, always gone too soon.”

The path opened up in front of them into another small courtyard.

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