“About time you’ve finally accepted that I’m not Aesar.” Lykor flung Kal away, sending him stumbling. “It only took a fucking century.”
Disappearing, Kal warped before he fell. He reappeared next to Fenn, lurching on his feet to regain his balance, the intricate braids in his midnight hair swinging.
Lykor jerked his head in command toward the wraith in chains. “Lieutenant, make yourself useful and clean up this mess.” With a pull of force, Lykor yanked an iron key off the wall, hurling it at Fenn with his power.
Fenn plucked the key from the air. Always eager to prove himself, he obediently busied himself with freeing the chained prisoner.
“How can you bring yourself to steal Essence from another?” Kal questioned, catching his breath and rubbing the indents in his throat. His eyes darted to his son and then to the dead rider. “After the king plundered from all of us? And from you, how many times?”
“I won’t hesitate to return Galaeryn’s terror tenfold.” Lykor pivoted on his heel to leave. “Better that we pillage Essence from these half-elves he’s bred before he can amass more power,” he growled over his shoulder.
Lykor stomped through the cell-lined hallway and back up the stairs, footsteps echoing against the stone. Even if it meant succumbing to the consequences—turning into a monster like the king—Lykor had no reservations about embracing the same darkness to be the protector the wraith needed.
Obviously never predicting their escape, Galaeryn had boasted his ambitions while Lykor had been at his mercy. Powerless to stop the king, Lykor steered his thoughts away from what he knew of Galaeryn’s plans.
He envisioned the obsidian door to the chamber Galaeryn had tortured him in. In the safety of his mind, Lykor had stowed all of those horrific memories, concealing them to shield Aesar. Vacating his thoughts of the king, Lykor shoved everything back into that harrowing room.
“What happened to the male who led us from the prisons?” Kal asked, storming up the stairs behind him. Lykor didn’t waste his breath on a reply. “This vengeance against the king is polluting your judgment.” When he caught up on the landing, Kal snatched Lykor’s arm. “How many deaths will it take before you see that?”
Lykor rounded on him, erupting. “Aesar is the reason so many died!” His voice crashed around the stairwell. “He meddled by sounding the retreat. Those deaths are on him.” Lykor ripped his arm out of Kal’s claw. “By now, they’ve extracted our location from the people he abandoned!”
Frustration immolating like a dry stack of kindling, Lykor twisted, smashing his gauntlet into the wall instead of Kal’s face. The stone cracked and shattered. Splintered rock chips tumbled down the stairs in a spray of dust. “Aesar’s intervention compromised the safety of our fortress.” Lykor’s chest heaved with the cataclysm of his fury. “He’s ruined everything.”
Kal’s eyes shied away from Lykor’s face before he bit out his words. “What’s your plan then, Lykor? You put everything at risk by insisting on that attack in the first place!”
“The elves forced my hand!” Lykor snarled, flinging out an arm. “You’re supposed to be our military expert. Why else would they gather a human army on top of constructing that island? They’re coming for us.”
Kal’s nostrils flared as he folded his arms across his armor. “You don’t know that.”
Snatching his previously discarded cloak, Lykor shouldered it on. He stalked forward to where the gold veins of the dungeon tapered off, no longer hindering his portals. The tunnel’s maw opened up to a cavernous chamber where offshoots spidered toward various areas of the keep.
Wrenching Essence, Lykor split a fissure in the air. “I’ll prove it to you, since you refuse to believe me.” He tore a portal open to a mountaintop on the edge of the Hibernal Wastes, where snow yielded to grass-covered hills.
Barging through the rift’s consuming darkness, Lykor knew Kal would follow. His captain never missed an opportunity to infringe on Aesar’s behalf.
Surrounded by rocky peaks, Lykor blinked against the sun’s sudden glare. He veered to an overlook, boots churning through crusted snow.
Kal swore at his back when he emerged through the portal. Swiping Aesar’s knowledge of Essence again, Lykor twined an illusion. Turquoise light surged from his palms, shrouding them to appear as the mountainous backdrop, obscured from any wandering eyes below.
“You knew the king wouldn’t tolerate our escape indefinitely,” Lykor growled. He prowled toward the rim of the precipice, slicing through the frigid breeze. “He’s sending the mortals after us like we’re an inconvenience. A loose end. He didn’t bother sending his arch elves to pursue us—their lives are too valuable.” He jutted his chin toward the edge of the cliff, a demand for Kal to see for himself. “Our demise ensures his plans remain veiled. As if any elf would believe us—we’re monsters in their eyes. Galaeryn will never cease stealing power, and now he has a continuous source of magic with those half-elves.”
Kal blew out a breath, his gaze swinging over the expanse before them, a mile below. He studied the human camps scattered like waves in a sea. “We can’t stand against so many.”
“What an astounding deduction, Captain. Observations like that have me questioning your rank.” Lykor jammed a silver strand of wind-whipped hair behind his pointed ear. “The humans will try to drive us out of hiding. Why else would they be on our doorstep?” Lykor grunted his disbelief at the thousands spread out before them. “We’ll leave the realms and take the wraith somewhere safe—to the west, across the Hibernal Wastes. There’s no other option.”
Kal frowned, spinning a ring in his brow. “We have no idea if anything is beyond these frozen mountains. It could be the world’s edge or an icy sea.” He drew his billowing cloak closer. “Galaeryn would’ve already made the trek if he believed that direction to be a viable choice. The west is impassable. I’m sure you know Aesar once tried to cross the expanse with his brother. They attempted portal jumping with the dracovae but never found the other side.”
Lykor sensed Aesar finally stirring, as if the repeated mention of his name had roused him. Lykor’s voice was an irritated growl through fused teeth as he willed Aesar to remain deep in slumber. “Then you also know Aesar’s dusty books indicate that it’s possible the druids had lands on the other side of the world. The Aelfyn obviously came from somewhere when their ships crashed on the mortal shores.”
“Crossing the Wastes would be insanity. You’d lead our people to more death.” Kal shook his head, braids swinging in the gale whipping around the mountainside. “The wraith are restless, especially our younger warriors, those ‘reavers.’ They won’t stand for something like this—they’ve been questioning your judgment.”
“I’ll do it alone. Just like I’ve done everything else,” Lykor raged, battling the inflamed tide of shadows threatening to torrent from his skin. “I’ll portal jump from horizon to horizon, across that fucking snowscape, no matter how many days or weeks it takes until I reach the other side. When I’m done, I’ll drop a gateway back on your doorstep.”
To his credit, Kal didn’t flinch or raise his voice. The projected calm only boiled Lykor’s agitation.
“What would kill you first, the exposure to the elements or your dangerous habit of exhausting your power?” Kal demanded, a tendon rippling along his neck as his face settled into a furious glare. “Some things are beyond the capabilities of Essence—even for arch elves. What happens when you push yourself too far, as you always do?” He emitted a laugh, bitter like the wind. “How many times has your recklessness nearly cost you your life? How many times has Aesar regenerated for you and dragged you back to the fortress on the verge of collapse?” The red glow in Kal’s eyes dimmed as he searched Lykor’s face. “Your plan is madness.”
Lykor crossed his arms. “I’m willing to take that risk. You and I both know Aesar believes the druids may have left something behind—something the wraith could use. If our stronghold is any evidence, that ancient race could have more weapons or technologies that the elves don’t.” Lykor paced the edge of the cliff, casting a scowl at the mortal camps below. “If anything remains, we need to seize it before the king. Leaving our fortress and heading west is our only option.”
“And do you think a thousand years have left the other side of the world unscathed?” Kal dug the toe of his boot into the snow. “We don’t know if anything survived their war. What if the Aelfyn still rule?”
“And what if those lands are empty and ripe for the taking?” Lykor snarled. The metal of his gauntlet screeched when he clenched his fist. “We could argue about unknowns all day. It’s only a matter of time until Galaeryn’s forces discover us. We need to find a new haven.”
Kal heaved a frustrated sigh. “There could be another way.” His eyes slowly lifted, meeting Lykor’s stare. “Aesar’s brother needs to know the truth. I could warn him, tell him what happened to us. I know he’d help.”
“No.” Lykor scoffed, turning back to study the camps below, unwilling to take the risk. “One person won’t make a difference.”
“But he’s involved in their military. What if he could combine forces with us? We’ve been hiding long enough.” Kal’s voice grew desperate. “All you have to do is open a portal to that island. Get me close. Now that you have illusion again, you could disguise my wraith form.” Kal clutched his shoulder. “I could even appear how I used to and—”
Lykor slapped his claw away. “I said no.”
“If you would let me—”
“Are you deaf?” Lykor bared his teeth, regretting the loss of his fangs. “Which word didn’t you understand? No one can stand against the king or his growing power.”
“But Vesryn—”
The coercion seized control of Lykor’s body, gripping his mind and ransacking his magic. A bystander behind his own eyes, Lykor was helpless as his Essence automatically reacted, triggered by the prince’s spoken name. His spine went rigid, sundering the air in his lungs. Ice flooded his veins, freezing his bones as solidly as the surrounding snowdrifts.
Even realms away, Galaeryn’s influence still shackled him. No matter how far Lykor fled, he knew he’d never be able to escape. Even if the wraith made it to the other side of the world.
Fingers twitching, confined in his own body, Lykor feverishly tried to resist the magic. IF ANYONE GETS TO KILL KAL, IT’S GOING TO BE ME AND NOT THIS FUCKING COMPULSION.
He didn’t know why he bothered. Any attempt to oppose the king's relentless hold was as futile as grasping the wind. The corners of his vision spotted—he only had moments until darkness extinguished his awareness.
Losing himself to the chaos, a fragile thought surfaced, a tiny glimmer of hope that perhaps the amber-eyed elf could dismantle the coercion on his mind. HE ALREADY LOOSENED THE MAGIC. Lykor ruthlessly crushed the delusional notion of freedom. LIKE I TOLD HIM, NO ONE CAN SAVE ME.
A funnel of midnight streaked toward Kal’s throat. This compulsory reaction was completely avoidable—both of them had worked around the king’s magic for decades. But Lykor had known that his captain’s flapping tongue would inevitably lead to his demise.
A cloud of rending converged like a tempest. Surely, if there were Essence wielders overseeing the mortals below, they’d sense the might of his power. Lykor’s vision faded, submerging him into a sea of black.
Kal had no defense against the shadows. Eyes widening, he warped away.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
CHAPTER 8
SERENNA
