Page 291 of Of Empires and Dust

With that, Kaygan signalled to his two druids, turned, and left, strolling right between Sardakes, Avandeer, and Varthear without a glance at any of them.

“He has been precisely that infuriating for thousands of years.” Fenryr moved to stand beside Calen, his gaze fixed on the passage that led back to Alura.

“How did they get in here? The gates are guarded every hour of every day. The Dracurïn patrol Alura ceaselessly.”

“One of the Tuatha with him is a Starchaser. A druid of the aether. Their Gift allows them to open gateways between one place and another so long as they have set eyes on their destination.”

“She’s been here before?” Calen’s chest tightened. How deeply were these druids of Kaygan embedded within Aravell? And what friend were they meeting? The uncertainty unsettled him.

“Perhaps,” Fenryr said. “Or Kaygan guided her. He was here the day I guided Ella back to the mortal plane.”

The wolf god clasped both Ella’s and Calen’s shoulders. “You are your father’s and mother’s children both. I see their fire in you, their passion. Let Kaygan drift to the back of your mind. His plans will unfurl as they were meant to. I have spent millennia learning as such. You have enough to think on. More Angan will arrive by the day. But I have kept many dispersed through the continent. Clan Fenryr will be counted in the battles to come.”

Fenryr and the Angan started to leave, but the god turned back. He stood there for a moment before approaching Calen once more, golden eyes locking with his. “There is nothing in this world heavier than the weight of a crown. Those not fit to wear one break from the strain of their own failures. And those who are must struggle not beneath the weight of the metal from which it was forged, but that of all the souls who hang in the balance of every decision made. Whether born from honour or desperation, that weight leads kings and queens to make dark choices. When the empire killed The Order, it also killed the weight of a hundred crowns. But as the empire dies, hands will come from the shadows, clawing at the crowns of dead kings and queens. Be careful, young one, even of those who call themselves ‘friend’. The only way to truly test that word is to put yourself between a person and the thing they desire most in the world. Your neck will ache from the weight of it.”

“I have no crown,” Calen answered. “Nor do I want one.”

“We seldom get what we want.” Fenryr gave Calen a weak smile, then turned and left.

Chapter 69

Threads Ever Winding

20thDay of the Blood Moon

Cuinviel, formerly Catagan – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Salara awoketo a hand over her mouth and gleaming blue eyes staring back at her. Cold steel pressed into her neck. She reached for the Spark but felt nothing, her heart racing at the realisation that a ward surrounded her. Vyrmír roared in the back of her mind, and so too could she hear the dragon’s roar echo in the distance as he lifted himself from the cave he’d claimed as his eyrie and ripped through the sky towards the city.

“Even think about moving, and I will open your throat, Draleid.” The woman’s voice was firm and level, and she pressed the blade harder against Salara’s throat to emphasise her point.

“How did you?—”

“I’m asking the questions. You were looking after a friend of ours, and now we’d like her back. Where is the key to her collar?”

“What are you talking… Boud.”

“Speed it along, Tamzin. The dragon won’t be long getting here.” Boud’s voice sounded from somewhere within the chamber, but Salara couldn’t lift her head to see where.

“And how’s that thing going to get in here?” The woman’s stare never broke from Salara’s as she spoke, her lip curling to reveal long, sharp fangs. “That’s the problem with these beasts. Sometimes size isn’t everything. Isn’t that right, Kerith?”

A low grumble sounded to the left of Salara’s head. A large shape slowly emerged from the darkness at the edge of her vision. It was some kind of animal, though like nothing she’d ever seen. It had the face of a lioness or a frostkat, but larger still, with a flat nose and arched brow, two enormous fangs protruding from its upper jaw. Pale moonlight that shone through the window glistened against obsidian-like scales that armoured its chest and neck, smaller shards studded into its face.

“Now that you and Kerith have been introduced… Where is the key to the collar?”

“What collar?”

Salara grunted as Tamzin pressed the blade harder, drawing blood. Another roar sounded in the skies outside, and Vyrmír’s fury flowed through her like a raging river.

“Please, time is not something worth wasting,” a third voice whispered, deep and considered. A shape moved from the shadows on Salara’s left – a man. A pale, sharp face formed in the darkness over Salara. The man reached out a hand, his fingernail slicing through the flesh and forming a dark claw, which he pressed to her cheek. “Answer our questions, and there will be no pain. You are required on this path, but not all of your limbs are.” It was this man who warded her. Everything about the language of his body spoke of power and control. He turned his head. “Boud?”

The druid stepped from the shadows and rested a hand atop Salara’s. The woman seemed taller now, her shoulders broader. “Despite your ignorance, I do like you, Draleid. And I would prefer if we didn’t have to cut pieces from you, despite your threats to do so to me.” She knelt beside the bed so that her eyes were level with Salara’s. “You see, your character is not measured by what you do when you’re fighting for your freedom, or your lost home, or your honour, or whatever cause you choose. Your character is measured by what you do when youhavethe power. And right now, that power is mine. You can refuse to tell us where the key is, but the end result will not be one you wish for. We will find it. I know it’s not far, and Kerith has a good nose. But I’m afraid you will be missing things you’re fond of. Which, I say again, is not something I want to do but am willing to do.”

Once Boud had spoken, the man dragged his claw along Salara’s cheek, the skin parting as though opened by a diamond blade. She grunted and clenched her jaw but refused to give him the satisfaction of her pain.

Vyrmír roared again in response. He was not far. If she delayed them, the dragon would come crashing through the side of the keep. But there was also no telling how many others might die if that were to come to pass – herself included. There were hundreds who chambered in the tower, and hundreds more below. Boud’s life was not worth theirs.

“It’s in the chest at the back of the room, hidden beneath clothes.” Vandrien had given the key to Salara for safekeeping two weeks ago. Clearly, Boud had discovered as much. Either the woman would escape that night or she would die in the trying. Whichever happened, she would no longer be of use to the Evalien. And so Salara chose the path of least resistance.

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