Then he leans in and kisses me, and whatever stray thought had crept into my mind; whatever fear, or doubt, or worry…
They’re all snatched away by his inevitable force.
50
FINLEY
And that’s how we found ourselves walking down the marble halls of the Imperial Palace in Lukiria at a leisurely pace.
It happened faster than I could have imagined. Corvan stole through the streets; through the foul sewers and the oppressive dungeons. All the while, he carried me, never once letting the dirt touch my boots.
It’s absurd that he just carries me around like this.
In a vain attempt to preserve my dignity, I offered some feeble attempt at a protest, but he was insistent, as I knew he would be, and what am I supposed to do against an unstoppable force of nature, who bends the fabric of time itself so that we’re moving through it at the speed of light itself?
We shot through the sewers and made our way through a maze of iron gates and grilles and massive stone doors. When they were locked, Corvan simply tore metal apart with his bare hands.
I knew he was strong, but I didn’t realize he was that strong.
When we encountered guards—dozens of them, stationed to guard even this narrow, dank, entrance—he simply became a blur and rendered them unconscious before they knew what was happening.
He’s that fast.
Several times, he even caught a crossbow bolt, plucking the damn thing out of the air, his vision perfectly sharp in the shadows.
Soon, we found ourselves in the dungeons amongst filth and misery, passing cells with wretched prisoners inside; some displaying signs of torture—poorly bandaged wounds and naked terror in their eyes.
And once again, Corvan left my side several times, disappearing into thin air. Bodies fell to the floor. Not dead, just unconscious, he reassured me. He doesn’t want to kill, even though it would probably be easier.
He cleared the dungeons with ease, before leading me up many narrow flights of stairs, through dark corridors and hidden passageways, past the servants’ quarters, where the palace staff are still asleep in their beds…
Through kitchens and bathhouses. Past cavernous offices and empty chambers that echo with the sound of my footsteps. Everything vast and grand. Everything made from white and grey marble.
There’s something cold and sterile about this place. The absence of anything organic—even wood—makes me feel slightly nauseous.
I try to imagine Corvan as a child, walking along these vast corridors. There’s no warmth here. It feels like they’ve tried to recreate someone’s vision of heaven—only, it’s empty.
Growing up, was he lonely, or was he always surrounded by people? Did he have friends, or was he waited on hand and foot by the ones that served him?
Moving through the empty space, imaginary ghosts of the past flit through my mind.
In this part of the palace, there are no guards, no servants, no administrators or nobleborn lords and ladies.
There’s just the gas lamps, glowing mutedly in their sconces.
The floor is polished to a high sheen. It gleams brightly under the golden light. It reminds me of ice—dangerous and slippery.
And moonlight filters in through the tall windows, reminding me that the depths of the night are upon us.
I feel a terrible sense of unease. It’s far too quiet. And the magic inside me—the dryad side of me—shrivels and recoils from the energy in this place.
“Are you all right, Finley?” Ever perceptive, Corvan must have noticed something.
“I don’t like this place,” I whisper. “It feels malevolent.”
“I never liked it either,” he admits quietly. “For many reasons. But it’s just a building. Built in my father’s time. And he’s just a man.”
Suddenly, Corvan stops. He wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me close. “The worst is about to come, but it’ll be over soon,” he whispers, his warm breath grazing my ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps across my arms. “I think my father’s at death’s door. This is his last chance to rage against the inevitable.”
I freeze, taken aback by the surrealness of his words.
Valdon Duthriss is… dying?
This is the emperor we’re talking about. Corvan’s father. And there’s no trace of sadness in his voice.
I glance up at him.
He’s cold and emotionless. As if he were carved from the marble itself.
“Oh, Corvan,” I say, my heart aching for him. “How can you tell?”
His eyes soften as he looks at me. He taps the side of his nose, then points toward his ear. “I can tell. Too many signs. The senses are too acute. I know what death smells like.”
Still, he doesn’t betray any grief or sadness.
“What will you do?”
His pale lips curve into a cold smile. “As a son, I should see him one last time. As his son, I should rip those secrets from him once and for all, before he takes them to the grave. Don’t stray from my side, Finley. I need you now more than ever.”
It’s then that his facade cracks, just a little. I see it in his eyes; the barely restrained emotion. As if the smallest thing could cause him to break.
I curl my fingers around his. Although he’s wearing gloves, I can feel his warmth; the way he trembles ever so slightly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Corvan.”
Now it’s my turn to lead him. Hand in hand, we walk down the silent corridors until we reach a pair of golden doors. They’re magnificently inlaid with the Imperial Crest—a pair of fierce looking golden phoenixes wearing crowns, staring fiercely at one another as if they’re about to tear each other’s throats out.
“No guards,” Corvan murmurs in surprise. “That means he’s been expecting us.”
He pushes the door open.
We walk through, into another corridor, where the floor is made from polished pale green stone.
“The outer circle,” Corvan says wryly. “We go round and round. Next, we’ll see the first of three gardens.”
And so we walk, and the corridor curves gently around, taking us in a half-circle. At the end is another set of doors. This time, they’re made of gleaming dark wood.
At the sight of the wood, my inner dryad breathes a sigh of relief.
My fingers tingle. The wood is drawing me to it, begging for release. I try and get it to come toward me, but nothing happens.
It’s as if there’s a lock, and I have the key, but I can’t get it to slide in, or turn.
So frustrating. I just want to be able to do something.
But the doors aren’t the most imposing thing about this entrance.
For the first time, there’s somebody else.
A pair of guards stand at the entrance, clad in full armor and bearing menacing looking halberds. Large swords hang in sheaths at their waists. Their armor is made of black metal, but it looks light and sleek.
These men are huge. Bigger and taller than even Corvan, and he’s a big boy to begin with.
Undeterred, he releases my hand and walks right up to them.
To my surprise, both guards remove their helms and bow deeply.
Formidable, imperious, Corvan stops and regards them.