Page 29 of Heart of the Shadow King

“Everyone agrees that you, Great King, met your ordeal with courage and strength. It is believed the souls of our dead were laid to rest as they should. But . . .”

“Yes, Gol. Continue.”

“There is talk. Concerning your human bride.”

A stone drops in my chest. How could there not be talk? Onlookers from the gallery had witnessed Faraine entering theyunkathupool. It is not unlawful for the queen to assist in theVulug Ugdth, but Faraine has never been crowned or claimed by the Under Realm. She isn’t their queen.

“What talk?” I demand, my voice edged.

Gol exchanges glances with several of his fellows. “Rumors,” he admits, dragging his gaze unwillingly back to mine. “Rumors and whispering. Rippling through the city faster than anyone can quash them. They’re saying theAlmuth tor Grakanakhas returned.”

I frown, the strange title echoing in my head: the “Fist of the Deeper Dark,” a figure from ancient myth, one I learned about while still in my cradle. The prophecy of some great savior sent by the gods from beyond the boundaries of the world to rescue Mythanar in her hour of need. It’s obscure, mentioned only in a few of our more ancient prayersongs, rarely depicted in stone carvings or reliefs.

Something about this isn’t right. Something doesn’t fit.

“Returned?” I echo. “What do you mean, returned?”

Yet another exchange of glances. Gods, I’m getting tired of this! Were Sul here, he’d threaten to crack their skulls. Only Lady Sha, who is the nearest to me in age, seems as confused as I. “It would seem my ministers are more interested in myths and legends than in serving their king or their nation,” I growl, leaning back in my chair and narrowing my eyes at the lot of them. “Out with it. Why are these rumors spreading and how do they matter to the issue at hand?”

“It is what they once called your mother,” Lady Parh says.

“What?” Nameless dread fills my chest at the mere mention of that woman. “What are you saying?”

“It’s true.” Brug nods solemnly and turns his small eyes my way. “There was a time when she—a stranger come from beyond the boundaries of this world—was seen by many to be the embodiment of theAlmuth tor Grakanak.It was widely believed she would—”

The door of the council hall opens, breaking off whatever Brug might have said. All eyes turn to see the figure of Chancellor Houg hastening through, dragging her crimson robes behind her. I rise, and my ministers follow suit. “Houg!” I growl. “I gave strict orders this meeting was not to be disturbed.”

My chancellor makes a deep bow, the long sleeves of her robe pooling on the floor. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. But I must inform you and your wise council at once—the envoy from Gavaria has arrived.”

No sooner have the words left her lips than a loud voice speaking the human tongue echoes down the outer passage: “I say, it’s gloomy as a crypt in here! I don’t know about you lot, but this place gives me the absolute shivers. Glad it was a ShadowKingin need of an alliance, not a queen, ‘cause if father tried to marry me off, I’d have told him to shove that pointy crown of his where he’s unlikely to forget it!”

A flood of ice ripples through my veins. I know that voice. And I know what’s about to happen. It’s as though I can see the future unfolding before me. Not just the next few moments, but the hours, days, weeks to follow.

My council is watching. And through their eyes, all of Mythanar. I cannot be anything less than a king in this moment. No faltering. No fear. Nothing but absolute conviction.

“Send them in,” I say to Houg.

My chancellor bows, steps back through the door, and beckons. She just has time to announce, “Prince Theodre of Gavaria, my King,” before a familiar figure bursts past her and strides into the room. Two others follow in his wake, clad in dark gray, their faces somber, but the foremost man cuts a splendid figure in gold embroidery, a great plumed hat, and a bejeweled sword and sheath banging against his hip with every stride.

“Ah! Vor!” Theodre cries, his voice ringing in the abrupt silence of my hall. “There you are. It’s been a damnable time getting here. All your riverways seem to be blocked, did you know? Hell of a way to manage a kingdom if you ask me. You really ought to do something about it. And what was with that ghostly town just on this side of the gate? Not exactly a warm welcome, let me tell you.”

“Prince Theodre,” I say. “What are you doing in Mythanar?”

“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” The prince swipes the hat from his head and toys with the wide brim. The feather flutters against his knees. “Father sent me. He needs you back in Gavaria. Some tricky business with the fae raiders as I understand it, though he doesn’t let me in on any of the more important bits. All I know is he needs you and your warriors. At once, as it were.”

Tightness constricts my throat, an invisible cord woven of pure magic. I know what this is: the written spell of the contract I signed. A contract signed with my own name mark. A contract which, in order to be made legal, required the consummation of my marriage to Larongar’s daughter.

A contract which, by force of the magic infusing those words, I cannot break once sealed.

I am aware of all eyes fixed upon me. My ministers, my guards, my chancellor. Every one of them, waiting for me to inform this posturing human that the King of the Under Realm cannot leave his kingdom at this time. That he still requires Larongar to send his mages before he will devote warriors to fight in a stranger’s war. That the alliance was rendered null the moment a false bride was sent in her sister’s place.

But the compulsion of magic holds me in its sway. I can do nothing but open my mouth and let the words come. “Lady Parh?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Muster my forces. We ride for Gavaria at once.”

13

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