Page 97 of Essence of the Throne

“Cut the shit,” I snap, unsheathing a blade. “You know exactly why we're here. You were Thalion’s right hand—there isn’t a single chance in this realm that you weren’t helping him.”

His eyes dart between Caspian and me before hardening. “I was only following orders.”

“Orders to help torture? To assist in essence manipulation experiments? To have your own prince controlled and nearly killed by his own father?” I advance as I point my blade toward him in silent accusation, enjoying how he backs away. Unlucky for him, there’s nowhere to escape. “Tell me, did you get off on watching them suffer, or was that just a bonus to your cruelty?”

“Wait!” He holds up trembling hands, trying to placate a fucking assassin. As if I'll spare him if he gives me a good reason to.Idiot. I step around the desk, and he doesn’t attempt to evade my looming presence as Caspian remains on the other side, blocking the door. “I know things—things you’ll need to know about the Accord!”

My blade halts an inch from his throat. “What could you possibly know about the Accord?”

“Don’t kill me, and I’ll tell you everything.”

I growl—I don’t have time for petty games. My arm draws back to strike, not wishing to listen to his sputtering any longer, but Varrick shouts, “Things about your mother!”

“What about my mother?” The hollow words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I haven’t told Caspian of my meeting with her—or dream of her? I’m still unsure.

He shakes his head. “Not yours.” His answer is so soft I barely hear it as his gaze slides to the prince.

Could he get any more pathetic? His foolish attempts to stay alive are just pissing me off more and I move to strike, but my blade hits an invisible wall. What the fuck? Looking down, my jaw slackens when I see shadows writhing around us—but they’re not mine. I didn’t even call to my umbral strand.

The bastard possesses the ethereal strand? Are you kidding me?

I’m proven mistaken a moment later as I study the advisor, who is just as shocked as I feel. I stiffen just as my stomach drops.

No fucking way.

Turning my head, a strange noise escapes me as I watch essence seep from the prince’s skin.

These shadows belong to Caspian.

He doesn’t seem to notice as he glares at Varrick. “What about my mother?”

“The queen, Your Highness…she knows more than she lets on. About everything.” Varrick’s eyes dart around like a cornered animal. “She has secrets that could aid your cause.”

I’ve heard enough of his vague bullshit. My essence writhes under my skin, begging and pleading to be let out with Caspian’s, but I ignore it. The knowledge that his shadows will not hurt me is an innate feeling, so I push through them and drive my blade into Varrick’s heart, twisting it for good measure. His jaw drops as blood leaks from around the weapon, body crumpling to the floor unceremoniously.

I whirl on Caspian. “Care to explain what the fuck that was?” I sound far more angry than I have any right to be.

“What?” His brows furrow as if he has no idea that he’s currently weaving the ethereal affinity.

I point to the shadows retreating into his skin. He jumps, eyes widening as he tries to shake them off and mutters a string of curses. Interesting.

“How are you doing that, Ariella?” He’s less panicked, but still wary.

“I’ve not woven any essence in here. Those are not mine.” The prince’s head snaps up—he doesn’t believe me, but as the shadows sink further into him, his head tilts in a way that suggests he’s listening to something internal.

I know because I have the same essence. It generates from within and feels different from the others.

“I—I don’t understand. I don’t have the ethereal affinity. You’re the only person I know who has it.” He shoves both hands through his hair, breathing hard. “It must be remnants of whatever my father did—”

But I’m no longer listening. My attention is caught by the painting behind Varrick’s desk—it’s eerily familiar. The blueish-purple clouds that stretch endlessly, supporting trees with crimson branches and pale pink leaves.

“I’ve always been fascinated by that one,” Caspian confesses, following my gaze. “Not sure who painted it, but they had quite the imagination. It’s beautiful though, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been there before,” I whisper, my voice strange to my own ears. After Thalion had me beat, when I saw my mother.

My eyes widen as realization hits. “The Aether.” That’s where she was, wherewewere. It must be…there is no other explanation for this painting. This is no coincidence.

“The Aether?” Caspian questions, crossing his arms. “That’s not possible. Texts say that no one alive can enter the Aether realm.”

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