Page 71 of Enthralled

My chest tightens. Of course this must be his first concern to see these dangerous spells removed from his shores. When Vespre was subjugated to Aurelis and the rule of King Lodírhal, they’d had no choice but to accept the Noswraiths into their midst. But no king would willingly harbor such a library in his kingdom.

Castien, however, has already considered this. “They cannot be moved all at once,” he says. “Not safely. But I give you my word, within a hundred years, Valthurg will be free of Noswraiths. I will see new vaults created within Aurelis library under the supervision of my head librarian.” He indicates me with a sweep of his hand.

“There are still nightmares wandering our streets,” Anj growls. His arms remain crossed, Castien’s offered hand still hovering between them. “My people cower behind theirgubdagogs, frightened of shadows.”

Castien nods. “I will personally see to it that every Noswraith currently loose in the city streets is rebound. Mixael Silveri will remain in Vespre to manage the library from this end until the grimoires may be safely transported to Aurelis.”

“I have your word on this?” Anj demands.

“As one king to another.”

They go back and forth, detailing terms and conditions. I don’t follow half of what is said, for my mind remains fixed on the Noswraiths themselves. This is not the solution I would prefer. Lodírhal was right in one respect—Vespre is far less densely populated than Aurelis, and outbreaks are more easily contained. But the people of Vespre have suffered under the threat of doom for so many generations. We cannot ask more of them. It is time Aurelis shouldered the weight of responsibility once more.

As for me? Will I truly be able to bring about the end of each wraith? The prospect is daunting. But if this is the atonement the gods have set before me, how can I refuse? And I will have Castien at my side every step of the way. I will learn; I will grow. I will get stronger with each new Noswraith I face and bring to rest. I doubt very much the task will ever get easier, but I will gain both confidence and understanding, and I will train others to do the work with me. Someday I hope there will be no Noswraiths left anywhere in the worlds.

In the end Anj agrees to the terms. But when Castien brightly declares, “Excellent!” and extends his hand once more, the troll man hesitates yet again. He stares at that offered hand like it’s a poisonous spider, his expression grim. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be king,” he admits in a low, rumbling growl.

“Neither am I,” Castien answers, his voice solemn. “We will both of us have to learn as we go, won’t we? And depend on the support of our queens and the friendship of our allies.”

Lir blushes at the mention ofqueenbut makes no protest. She simply squeezes Anj’s arm again, and when he looks at her, murmurs something soft and urgent in troldish. Anj nods. Finally he clasps the Prince’s hand. They shake, and I brace myself, expecting some sudden onrush of fae magic to erupt around them. Nothing happens. For a moment we all look at each other, mildly perplexed.

“Ah!” Castien says, with a toss of his head. “How silly of me. These things require a touch of ceremony, don’t they?” He darts into his office. Lir and I exchange baffled glances as a series of bangs, shuffles, muttered curses, and clatters sound within. At length, however, the Prince returns, carrying his stone crown in both hands. I’ve seen him wear it many times, though I certainly had no idea he kept it stashed in his office.

“If you wouldn’t mind kneeling, Anj old boy,” Castien says. “This won’t take but a moment.”

Anj mutters something that doesn’t sound very kingly but at Lir’s urging drops to his knees before Castien. The Prince of the Doomed City lifts the crown on high and boldly declares, “By the power of Lamruil and the Deeper Dark, by the grace of the Great Goddess Aneirin, and by the authority vested in me as the once-prince of Vespre City, I declare you, Anj, King of Valthurg, Master of the Umbrian Isles, and Sovereign Ruler over the trollfolk.”

The crown fits exactly across Anj’s broad, pale brow. As it settles into place, there’s an immediate change in the air, a prickling of tension like the oncoming sweep of a great storm. Anj gasps, feeling the effects more profoundly than the rest of us. Castien steps back quickly, takes my hand, and puts himself between me and the new king. I peer around his shoulder, staring at Anj. It’s impossible to look away. Light ripples out from the crown and pours over him in a shining flood that sinks into his skin, into his bones. He rises to his feet, arms extended as though to receive it. His eyes open wide in wonder. The air around him warms and ripples, and I could almost swear I feel thequinsatraitself open wide and rain raw magic down upon him.

Abruptly Anj pivots on heel and faces the office door. I don’t know how he knows what to do, how to channel that magic and manipulate it to his will, but he holds out his arms and, much as Castien did, begins to shape and manipulate the air with both hands. Magic, not truly visible, sparks across my senses as it erupts from his fingertips and flows through the ether, touching the broken spell which still clings to the doorframe. The air beneath the mantel begins to twist, churn. With a sudden burst, it opens. Radiant beams of dawnlight shoot through a portal much broader and clearer than the last time I peered through realities. The veils are so thin, I can see directly into Aurelis library on the far side.

A glad cry on my lips, I lunge forward. Castien catches my hand, restraining me, and I turn to look up at him, desperation in my face. I must get through, must find my children, must bring them home. But he shakes his head. “It might be dangerous.”

“Yes,” I answer and adjust my grip on his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. “It might be. Which is why we will go together.”

He looks deeply into my eyes, reading the determination that simmers there. In the end he smiles that dangerously heart-melting smile of his. “All right, Darling. Together.”

So we turn to face the shining portal and step through worlds hand-in-hand.

Two glorious winged guards bar the way as I approach the doors to Biroris Hall. They cross their lances and look down at me, sneering. I can hardly blame them. Small, human, clad only in my simple work gown, I’m hardly an impressive sight.

I come to a stop in front of them and slowly cast my gaze from one to the other. One stares back without flinching, but the other narrows his eyes slightly. Perhaps he senses something in me, some inner truth that is only becoming more real the longer I breathe the air of Aurelis.

I draw my shoulders back and speak with cold clarity:“Felaadar.”

A shadow passes over both their faces. They exchange looks, their cheeks paling. Without a word they both bow deeply and step aside, folding their wings tight at their backs. I pass between them to the great double doors, tall and solid gold and wrought in intricate patterns of roses and dancing deer. Raucous sounds rumble on the far side, and I know the fae are deep in their revels. All the powerful Lords and Ladies of the City of Dawn will be gathered within, and Estrilde has had ample time to cement their loyalty to her.

It’s too late for second-guessing now, however. I’m here. Whatever comes next must be done with swiftness and certainty if we’re to have any hope of prevailing. Besides, what is a host of drunken fae compared to all the ravening hordes of Vespre?

Steeling my spine, I push at the double doors. Though they are huge and heavy, they move easily at my touch, opening just a crack so that I may peer through at the scene taking place within the golden hall. I see it all in a couple of heartbeats, my jaw slowly gaping.

If I did not know any better, I would think I had somehow stumbled into Under—the dark lower levels of Aurelis City, where the basest depravities of fae kind are put on display, and the Lords and Ladies venture to indulge their most vicious vices. All the glory of Biroris remains—the carved pillars like great tree trunks, the arched roof like spreading branches alive with living gold leaves that shimmer in the dawnlight. Yet everything is stained with an atmosphere of gross indulgence and untamed wickedness that casts a pall over everything that was once fair and good in this place.

The long tables have all been pushed back from the center floor, and the fae lounge about them, clad in shining raiment that does little to clothe their naked limbs. They laugh together, tossing back food and drink, their eyes shining with tell-talerothiliomgleam. In the center of the hall is a ring of space where the floor is stained in blood, both red and blue. As I step into the hall, I see a great furred body dragged from the center, trailing gore in its wake. The onlooking fae cheer uproariously.

I’ve seen this before—these displays of violence and cruelty all for the entertainment of bloodthirsty onlookers. In Lodírhal’s day such things would not have been permitted in the upper palace. While he could not fully suppress the darker addictions of his court, he neither welcomed nor celebrated them. But Lodírhal is no longer sovereign of Aurelis.

I lift my gaze from that bloody floor to the high seat on the dais directly across from me. There sits Estrilde, draped in gauze and diamonds, her magnificent figure on prominent display. She boasts rings on every finger, bangles on her arms, legs, and neck. Gilded antelope horns curl from her forehead, neatly curving around her shining crown. Her long golden hair falls in rivers across her shoulders, pours over the arms of her throne, and spills to the floor in gleaming pools. She is wondrous and beautiful, the perfect portrait of the seductive fae queen straight out of fairy tales. But there’s a certain desperation gleaming in the depths of her eyes. I can sense it even from across the hall. Without the magic of Aurelis at her fingertips, she holds onto that crown by a thread. For now she keeps her courtiers pacified, indulging their every whim. But she knows it cannot last.

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