Page 32 of House of Gilded Nightmares

“But I wasn’t even in Valaron anymore. How did the ritual happen?”

“The naming of the guardian happens at birth,” Zyren explains. “There is a ritual during which a drop of blood is taken from both the guardian and their ward by making a small cut in the palm of the hand. But the bond itself happens at age sixteen when the ward is on the cusp of becoming an adult. To represent leaving childhood behind and facing their future life.”

“Is it normal for guardians to visit in dreams?”

“Sometimes,” he says. “Plus, I was looking for a way to bring you back. Hoping beyond hope that I could find a way to enter Eldare before it was too late.” He pauses, looking out across the snowy peaks for several long moments. “I could tell from snippets of your dreams that the day of the Choosing drew closer, and I knew, even if you did not, that the High Priest would choose you.”

My jaw tightens. “He told us the goddess made the choice.”

“Easy to fake such a thing, especially when you’re controlling all the magic of an entire realm,” Zyren says, his voice laced with heat and shadow.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel so foolish. I should have known all of it was lies. I should have asked more questions…”

“How could you know?” Zyren looks down at me. “You are not to blame. The High Priest manipulated so many to gain his power and keep it. I wanted to tear down the entire Amethyst Palace. The idea of him bonding with you…” Zyren’s fists flex and release, palpable rage pulsing off him.

Watching his expression, something occurs to me. “I never wanted to be Chosen, to be his. I may not have known he was lying to us all, but something inside me still felt that he was…wrong. You realize that, right?”

“Why not run away? Why stay after the Choosing?” Zyren’s words carry a current of emotion that washes across me like heat lightning.

“It was my duty. To the goddess. To Eldare.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “Much as I am fulfilling my duty now.”

“You can have a good life here,” Zyren says, though his words sound slightly strangled. “The king is nothing like the High Priest.”

I look up at him. “You haven’t told me anything about him.”

Zyren’s face wipes of emotion, a blank slate. “You never asked.”

I shrug. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it? But now that we’re talking about it…” I trail off, my eyes locking onto his.

He’s silent for several moments before finally speaking. “The king is honorable and wise. He wants what is best for Valaron. He will treat you properly.” Zyren bites off each word as if they burn his tongue, reluctance clear in his tone.

“You do not sound certain.”

Zyren lets out a breath, his eyes searching mine. “It is not that. My words are true. I just…your choice is once again taken away. And I hate that I am the one to deliver you to your fate.” He pauses. “But you will live a happy life together.”

“Perhaps,” I say. “But remember, after the wedding, we must first find a way to stop the High Priest and rescue Lilette. I do not intend to stay behind palace walls again.”

“Of course,” Zyren says. “I go where you go.”

I wonder, feeling heat rise to my cheeks, if I will be expected to bed the king as I had been with the High Priest. Surely, if the marriage itself is all that is required to save Valaron, the king won’t expect us to be partners in that way.

“That brings me comfort,” I reply softly. “Next to Lilette, you are the only steadfast person in my life. Even if I did think you were just a figment of my imagination for most of it.”

A smile breaks over Zyren’s face, washing away the tension, if only for a moment. “I am sure you were alarmed to discover that I am very much flesh and blood.”

“I don’t think alarmed is a strong enough word to convey what I felt when you appeared in the cathedral. More like…”

My mind searches for the right word, but sleep claims me before I find it, Zyren watching over me.

Chapter Thirteen

The next day finds Zyren once again quiet and seemingly lost in his own thoughts. My dreams had been uneventful, and I’m beyond grateful to see the first rays of dawn.

By midday, we reach a snowy ridgeline that requires Zyren to dismount and lead Arrow slowly across. The edges of the mountain drop dizzyingly to each side, making my head spin if I look too closely. I manage my balance by fixing my eyes on a spot on the horizon, the silver lake that marks Selaye. With each day that passes it grows larger, our destination ever imminent.

We’re about halfway across the ridge when Zyren stops and looks behind us, his eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

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