Page 27 of Vow of the Shadow King

Troll.I note the word but do not call it out. Instead, I growl, “You sound like Targ and the Cult ofArraog.”

Ghat grunts. “Umog Targ be strange but he make good sense. Why fight what can’t be fought, eh?” When I offer no answer, he reaches out, claps me on the shoulder. “No worry, Big King. Most folk never gonna see city fall.”

“Really?”

“’Course not! Most folk gonna die of poison long before.”

On that word of encouragement, I thank my engineer and make good my escape. It’s a long climb back up the many steep stairs to the lived-in floors of the palace above. As I go, I could almost swear I feel the stones around me expanding and contracting in a slow, rhythmic pulse, like deeply drawn and exhaled breaths.

Closing my eyes, I rest my hand on the wall and lean in. Trying to sense that Presence. Deep, deep down. That unfathomable consciousness, so utterly unaware of me and all my kind. There’s no understanding a mind like that. I have a better chance of connecting with a rockflea mere moments before squashing it under my boot.

Setting my jaw, I pull away from the wall and continue up the stair. As Ghat said, there’s no point in fighting what can’t be fought. But I’m not done fighting just yet. I have a few more maneuvers to play. Somehow, I must bring the Miphates to the Under Realm. I have heard tales of the staggering feats these human mages have achieved as they use their words to draw magic directly from the Source and manipulate it to their will. If there’s any truth to those tales, surely they can use such power to help Mythanar.

But if I’m going to get the Miphates, I must have leverage over Larongar. Which means . . . Faraine. Faraine, whom I promised to send home. Faraine, who has faced death three times now since coming to my realm. Who still insists she wants to stay.

Faraine.

My life or my doom.

“Are you really going to march right past me like I’m not even here? Or have I blended into the rockwork rather better than usual?”

I stop. Turn my head slowly to the shadowed alcove on my right. There I can just discern my brother, leaning against the wall, all insouciant grace and dangerous grins.

My heartrate quickens. I draw a short breath and remind myself that Sul is not my enemy. Not my proven enemy in any case. He is still, for better or for worse, my brother. “Well?” I say, choosing not to respond to his quips. “Did you find her?”

Sul pushes away from the wall and saunters from the shadows into the light of the lantern hanging from the high ceiling. “Sorry, my brother.” He rubs the back of his neck, his expression chagrined. “I’ve had my people scouring the palace. She seems to have disappeared following the stirring. Her description is exactly like any number of other working girls in the bathhouses. With no other distinctive qualities or marks to inquire after, I cannot get so much as a name.”

I regard my brother silently. Sul answers my look with one equally stony before finally shaking his head and growling, “Gods above and below, Vor! Don’t give me that disappointed-elder-brother stare of yours. Don’t you think I feelguthakugenough about the situation as it is? I put you in a vulnerable position. I know that. Never in a million turns of the cycle did I expect that girl to be used as another vessel for poison! If there’s any truth to your theory to begin with, that is. You must admit, it does sound rather implausible—”

“Tell me how else it was accomplished, then.”

At the sharpness of my tone, Sul takes a half-step back. “I don’t know.” His eyes narrow. “While it may surprise you to learn it, my sources of information aren’t infinite. I’m working with the best I have and will get you what answers are within my power to grasp.” He snarls then, cursing softly. “I’m just relieved you didn’t do something that would have put us all in danger.”

Resisting the impulse to grab him by the front of his shirt, I turn abruptly and continue on my way down the passage. I know what my brother is saying; his hints are broad enough. He’s not in the least concerned that another dose ofraogpoison nearly drove me to murder Faraine. All he cares about is that the marriage to Gavaria’s princess remains unconsummated. Had I gone through with the violent lusts the poison stirred inside of me, I would have bound myself and all of Mythanar to the terms of the written agreement between myself and Larongar. The written word of humans holds power over all the fae. The deed would no sooner be done before I found myself marching into war in the human realm with the best of my warriors. Leaving Mythanar under threat. Without a king.

It was close. Too close.

Sul hastens to catch up, matches his stride to mine. “Brother,” he says and puts out a hand. I stop abruptly and turn another cold stare upon him. He offers a mirthless smile. “Come now, do you still suspect me? Is that what this is about?”

I don’t answer.

Cursing again, Sul steps back and throws his arms wide. “What do you want me to do? Would you feel better if you pinned me to the ground again? Shall I lie prone and offer up my neck for your royal foot? Because I’m perfectly happy to humiliate myself as many times as it takes to make you trust me.”

His eyes are wide, sparking with the passion of his words. But there’s something else, something about the set of his jaw, the tension in his brow. Something I cannot name. I don’t like it. I don’t like not being able to read my brother as I used to.

The truth is, Sul is the one who handed me that goblet of poison. Sul is the one who arranged for the bathhouse girls. Who else could have poisoned me except for Sul?

“Chancellor Houg has received word from the cities of Ulam and Jolaghar.” My voice is abrupt, devoid of emotion. “But not from Hoknath.” Sul blinks, momentarily disoriented by the conversational shift. I continue relentlessly, giving him no time to find his footing. “Ulam and Jolaghar both report only minor effects from this most recent stirring. Lord Korh of Hoknath has sent no message.”

“It’s only been twolusterlingssince the quake, Vor.” Sul shrugs one shoulder. “Korh may be distracted with his own recovery efforts.”

It’s true, of course. I know how busy I have been, managing Mythanar’s needs these last twolusterlingswith scarcely a moment to eat, to close my eyes, to breathe. Hoknath is the nearest city to Mythanar, and if it suffered similar shocks, Lord Korh is likely pushed to his limits. But he should have found time to send a message to his king.

“Chancellor Houg is concerned,” I say. Then, with emphasis:“Iam concerned.”

“Send couriers of your own then, if you’re so impatient.”

“Good idea.” I tip my chin, looking at Sul from under my brows. “Take Hurk and Jot with you. Go by riverway and return as swiftly as you may with word.”

---