Page 58 of Crown of Wrath

He had looked up to his mother, who had spent the last four hundred years doing everything she could to prepare her son for the Throne. It had been an era of war, and yet Rhosyn Cyrus had shown him kindness as a child. Rhosyn was everything that Casimir hoped he would be as he grew older.

Today he meets Calyr the Gold, the Reader of Fate, and like any other High Fae, he is petrified. Calyr is supposed to know everything. He had helped to create the Great Houses and the High Fae and the very world that Casimir knows and loves so dearly. Calyr was as close to a god as Casimir had ever considered, and he was about to meet the dragon.

Casimir, of course, had met Inni when he’d become the leader of the House of Flames, but this was different. This wasn’t in a strange dream-like world. This was under Skycrest, the mountain at the center of Draenyth.

Calyr had spent months dreaming sleepless dreams, his mind following lines of fate to better help this generation of Conduits. He had given each of them advice, and only Casimir was left. The youngest, he wasn’t ready, yet it mattered little. His life was not the one that mattered to the strands of fate.

“Calyr,” Casimir says loudly in the darkness of the cave. “I am here to ask your advice.” His voice quavers in fear and awe, but he stands tall.

The enchanted torches along the walls flicker to life, and Casimir sees Calyr for the first time sitting on his haunches at the top of a pile of treasures the size of a small home. Casimir barely notices the treasures as his eyes follow Calyr. The dragon pounces onto the stone floor of the cave in front of him, dust filling the air around the clawed feet that are nearly as big as Casimir’s chambers.

The new King of Flames backs away slowly, his eyes moving from the clawed feet to the face of the creature that could devour him in a single bite. “Son of Destruction,” Calyr says, his voice rumbling. “You have come seeking advice for your reign. I have looked into your future, and it is not a future that you will enjoy. Your struggles will be numerous, but the hardest of them all will happen now.”

“What is it?” Casimir asks. He is many things, but he has never been afraid of difficulties. His mother had taught him that the only way to deal with a problem was to seek it out and confront it immediately. A problem dealt with today was better than a problem discovered tomorrow.

“You will have a single son, Casimir Cyrus. He will become a blade the likes no one in Nyth has ever seen, and he will be the only thing holding back the tide that will be your House’s destruction. Make him strong, Casimir. He must be a piece of steel that none can break. He must be flawless, without anyweakness, because the day that he is tested, a single weakness will become the ruin of the House of Flames.”

Casimir frowns as Calyr’s words wash over him. “Why would this be a struggle? Of course, I will train my son to be strong just as my mother trained me. It would be my greatest honor to have a son that can surpass me.”

Calyr’s massive head swivels as he takes a step toward Casimir. He moves his face until it’s only a few feet away from him, and Casimir can smell the rankle of smoke leaking from his snout. “Because you must be the hammer and anvil that will beat the imperfections out of him. You will be the flame that will temper him. You must be a fire that will burn him from birth until he is tested. It is only when you are sure that your House is safe that you can stop forging him.”

A wave of fear fills Casimir as he realizes what this means. “He will hate me. I will be his enemy rather than his father.”

“You will be his King,” Calyr says as he turns away from Casimir and moves to the pile of treasure that he rests upon.

“Is there no other way?” Casimir asks, desperation coloring his voice. “The bond between a father and son is a terrible thing to destroy, and this is sure to do exactly that. There has to be another way. Why can I not be the one that bears the burden of that test? I will stand for my House. I will bear whatever trial is necessary.”

“You could be the one tested, but Casimir Cyrus, you would break.” Calyr’s tail whips behind him, not touching anything but causing the dust in the cave to swirl in small cyclones in its wake. “You are too weak, but your son may yet be strong enough. You must decide. Save your relationship with your son or save your House.”

Casimir Cyrus set his jaw on that day. He saw, so similar to how Calyr does, how he would temper the boy and turn him intothe sharpest sword the world had ever seen. He saw the pain he would cause and the heartbreak they both would feel.

It was a price he was willing to pay to save his House, not because he cared about the soldier that manned the walls. No, he decided he would save his House because any son he had would be a part of that House. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure his son survived.

Even if his son hated him for it.

Chapter 30

Love. What a strange emotion. I spent a thousand years believing that loyalty was the only thing I could count on. Now I know that loyalty is just a weaker form of love. My love saved Maeve’s life when she shattered. And Maeve’s love…

~Cole Cyrus, A History of Flames

Cole

Soon.It’s the only thing I’ve heard from Maeve for six weeks. It keeps me sane. It keeps me breathing and believing that she’s going to come back to me.

Her skin has grown tight over too thin of a body. She’ll eat and drink, but not enough. Her body’s fading regardless of how much I’ve tried to keep it alive. Her mind may be healing, but the body that lies beside me is terrifying.

I don’t doubt her, though. I can’t. She’ll come back to me before her body… before it’s too late.

I close the book and swing my feet over the edge of the bed. Another meeting today with Darian. It’s been a week since I’ve seen anyone other than the footmen who bring our food three times a day.

The clothes I’ve worn for the past week hang from a chair in my bedroom, and I reach for the pants. As I pick up a foot to slide it into the pants leg, I hear a cracking voice behind me. “That’s an awkward sight to wake up to.”

I whirl around, and I immediately regret it. My body’s slow from the lack of any kind of physical training. My foot catches on the pants leg, and I twist to catch myself, but it’s too late. I reach out for the chair, but then a shadow wraps around my waist, supporting me.

“The greatest warrior in Nyth almost got beat by a pair of pants,” the voice says. The “t” cracks again, and it’s only a whisper of the intended sound, yet it’s the most beautiful voice I could imagine.

I slide my leg into the pants and turn around, my eyes going to the Shadowed Cloak, and I wish I’d already put it on. “Maeve,” I say.

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