Page 57 of House of Gilded Nightmares

Neither of us notice the tall figure until he’s standing next to us, a silent approach that only magic could achieve. “We don’t have long,” Xinius says. “The Septarus and the nightmares will soon realize that you are not among those slaughtered, and they will come for you.”

“We don’t have long for what?” Zyren asks sharply.

Xinius narrows his eyes. “You may have given up your title long ago, so long that many do not know who you are, but not so long that I do not. Your blood is royal. We may be without a king, but a wedding will take place nonetheless.”

“I cannot marry her,” Zyren growls, spitting the words from his mouth as if they are poison.

“You can, and you will,” Xinius says sternly. “I do not care what happened to you in the past, and I do not care what happened this day. The only thing that matters is completing the spell before the Obsidian Moon finishes its cycle. We have but minutes left.”

Zyren drags a burning gaze over me, tormented and tortured. He stands and turns as if to stride away, but then he stops, and finally, he nods, jaw clenched.

Xinius gestures for me to rise, and he begins to speak the words he’d spoken before in that strange, guttural tongue I cannot understand. Zyren steps closer and faces me. The sorcerer lifts his dagger and slices Zyren’s outstretched palm, then creates a new mark on my uncut hand, all while still chanting. Zyren’s eyes lock onto mine, and I can’t read the storm of emotions there. Trembling, I reach out and grasp his hand, pressing our palms together.

There is no small pulse of magic as there had been when I touched the king. This time there is a blast of shadows and golden light that spin around us, throwing my hair back from my face, making my eyes glow, and Zyren’s, too. Even Xinius is shoved backward a step as power radiates in the air around us.

“Do you, Sarielle of House Otreyas, vow to wed Zyren of House Lyonian, and together serve Valaron for the rest of your days?” Xinius intones, his voice reverberating through the racing storm around us.

“I do,” I call, and a shower of golden sparks lights up the sphere of shadows we’re standing in.

Xinius turns to Zyren. “And do you, Zyren of House Lyonian, vow to wed Sarielle of House Otreyas, and together serve Valaron for the rest of your days?”

Over the raging of our magic, I suddenly hear the roars and howls and shrieks of the nightmares as they fly through the sky toward us. They burst into view overhead, swarming out across the lake, and when they see us standing below, they circle back around. With a cacophony of deadly screams, they dive straight for us.

“I do, for the rest of my days!” Zyren shouts above the chaos.

An explosion of silver light emanates from our clasped hands, whooshing out across the sky. The nightmares hit it and instantly burst into ash, one by one. Toward the back of the swarm, some try to turn and escape, but they aren’t fast enough. It consumes every last one of them, and then, abruptly, the sky is eerily quiet.

I look up into Zyren’s eyes. My husband. I don’t know what he reads in my eyes, and I cannot read the expression in his.

“It is done,” Xinius says. “The nightmares have been contained, and the spell in place for another twenty-two years.”

Zyren drops my hands and turns to look up at the sparkling ash falling from the sky. “The nightmares may be contained, but the Septarus have claimed Selaye and the throne. Our trials have only just begun.”

“They will come for you,” Xinius says. “Even now, they are no doubt traveling to this very point at great speed. Avonia will not rest until you are both dead.”

“Let her come,” Zyren growls. “I took her arm, and next it will be her head.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Xinius says sharply. “You are vastly outnumbered, and both weakened from the use of magic. For now, you must run. Once you’ve rallied an army of your own, then you might stand a chance.”

Zyren looks away again, his entire body rigid with rage.

“I will stay here and buy you some time,” Xinius says.

“That is kind of you,” I respond, finally finding words.

“It’s not kindness,” the sorcerer responds. “It is duty. Now, don’t let all of this be in vain.”

He rakes his pale eyes over us both until Zyren nods gruffly.

“Go. Now. Over the next rise, you’ll find a small stable and two horses.”

“How did you…did you know this would happen?” I ask.

“A sorcerer is always prepared,” Xinius says in an exasperated tone as if this is common knowledge.

We turn and begin to travel around the edge of the lake. We’ve just entered the forest on the other side when we hear a commotion across the water. I glance back over my shoulder and glimpse a huge wall of green light. I see the shadow of something huge and winged, and then Zyren tugs me forward and I see nothing more.

As Xinius promised, over the next hill we find a stable, and within, a young woman no older than twelve watches over two horses. They are already saddled and bridled. She does not speak to us as she leads them out and holds them while we mount up, Zyren on a large gray gelding, and me on a black and white one. As soon as we’re in the saddle, we pick up a gallop.

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