Page 50 of Enslaved

Love him.

Save him . . .

“Darling?”

I suck in a sharp breath and whirl about. The Prince approaches, stepping through patches of golden light which fall through the windows. The sight of him sends my heart lurching to my throat. “Why did you wander off?” he asks even as he pulls a slim book from under his arm and offers it to me.

I take the volume in both hands, press it to my heart. “I . . . saw someone I knew.” He gives me a look, but I ignore him, turn away sharply, and lay the book across my arm. TheZaleria Zintoris.Opening the soft leather cover, I flip through pages. All those old Lunulyrian songs, captured in written form by a mortal mage who traveled to their world long ages ago. The songs are not written in the tongue of the Lunulyrians, as there are no known characters that might capture those sounds. But it has been translated both into Old Araneli—which I don’t speak—and Serythian, my own language. Hycis Larune was a human mage from Seryth, after all. A convenient turn of events.

“I am struggling and failing to comprehend what mad little scheme your mad little brain has concocted,” the Prince says, arms crossed, face peevish. “Anytime you care to share, Darling, I’m agog to hear it.”

I lick my lips, turning page after page. Finally, I come upon the song I’m looking for: “Crown of the Volodaris.” Turning the book around, I hold it up for the Prince’s inspection. “Here. This is what I need.”

He looks. Raises an eyebrow. Lifts his gaze to mine. “Because . . . ?”

“Because I’m going to Illithorin’s Waste.”

The Prince could not look more shocked if I had suddenly slapped him. “The waste? The Burned Realm? The High King’s Ruin?” His other eyebrow rises to match the first. “Are you insane?”

I might be. Illithorin’s Waste is one of the more infamous landmarks in all Eledria, the site of the last great war between dragons and the fae. Neither side won, and the land that was once the center of a unified Eledria, the seat of the High King’s power, was decimated.

“Why would you want to go there?” the Prince persists. “There’s nothing. Nothing but empty, endless desert as far as the eye can see. Pockets of poisonous fumes still linger in the deeper recesses. Whole cities were burned and then buried, lost forever.”

“I know.” I pull the book back, pressing it to my chest once more. “But I also know the legend—the tale of the High King, and the gift the gods bestowed upon him. The Water of Life.”

The Prince scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”

“It is real, isn’t it?” I persist. “Others have seen it. Others have found it. Even after the great war.”

“Sure. Plenty of adventurers have set out in search of the High King’s gift. Some have returned to tell the tale. Two even claimed to have drunk from the fountain.”

“Did they?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn’t. As far as I know, both are still alive and kicking about Eledria somewhere. That may or may not be testimony to the mystical waters and their powers; the fae are a long-lived bunch as general rule. But, Darling, do be serious.” He reaches out as though to take the book from me. I turn quickly, avoiding his hand. “You’re not about to make your way across that wasteland.”

“I am.”

“How?”

I press the book to my chest and meet his eyes defiantly. “I’ll navigate by the stars.”

He blinks. “By the stars?”

“Yes.”

“Have you forgotten where Illithorin’s Waste is located?”

“No.”

“In Solira. The Realm of Sunlight. There are no stars. In fact, that part of the sky won’t see nightfall for nearly one hundred turns of the cycle. You’ll have a long wait.”

“I have a plan.”

“Do you now?”

“I do.”

“Well in that case.” He throws up his hands. “I take it all back. If you have aplan,then of course! Of course, we should set out at once! What’s one more suicidal quest after all? But I warn you.” He points a finger in my face. “Even if you somehow manage to navigate by stars where there are no stars, then what? You know the fountain will be guarded.”

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