Kairyn pulls his hand away.
“Idiots,” I bellow. I turn to my adopted sister, stalking toward her like an animal. “And you! How could you be so stupid as to allow him to do this?”
The Nightingale steps back. “I thought—”
I grab Kairyn’s arm again, pointing to the lines of rot running through his hand. “These weapons are enchanted by the Queen. They cannot be wielded by any who do not possess her token.”
When the Nightingale gives me a confused stare, I smack my chest. “The High Princes’ necklaces, you fool! The more you use these weapons without one, the deeper the rot will sink.”
Kairyn hunches over, his gaze somehow burrowing through the closed helm. “I am no fool. We shall get the necklaces. The High Prince of Summer is already here. It’s only a matter of time before the rest arrive and they’re under our control.”
The Nightingale smacks her palm against the empty pedestal. “And you, Caspian, were the one instructed to retrieve the fifth weapon! Where is the Sword of the Protector?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Do you think Keldarion just leaves it lying under his bed, discarded and unprotected? It’s not so easy. I heard even Perth’s new pets couldn’t recover it.”
“Well, figure it out. You know we need all five.” Her gaze shifts to the golden bow. Her movements are so lithe, she appears to float toward it. “And we need to find someone strong enough to use the very weapon the Queen once wielded herself. Her token was lost when she left five hundred years ago.” Her hand drifts up, fingers nearly touching the brilliant string.
“Stop!” Kairyn lunges forward, wrapping his arms around the Nightingale and pulling her back.
“I can do it, Kai,” she snaps. “Let me try!”
Crossing my arms, I raise a brow at the two of them, his arms still laced tight around her. “Do tell what this is all about.”
She sighs. “We know about the corruption. But there’s something different about the Bow of Radiance. Whereas the rot sinks in slowly with the other weapons…”
“The bow has instantly killed anyone who touches it,” Kairyn finishes.
“A shame,” I say.
Kairyn releases the Nightingale and thunders over to me. “Perhaps the almighty Prince of Thorns should like to give it a try.”
“Oh, no thank you. I work hard for this perfect complexion.”
“Enough.” My adopted sister steps between us. “You have more than enough to report to Mother. Kairyn, you must return to the keep. There is work to do with your brother.”
Kairyn glowers down at me, the long owl brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. Then he storms from the room, the two members of his conclave dutifully following.
The Nightingale lingers for a moment. “I have everything under control, Cas.”
“Of course you do, Birdy.” I flick my eyes to the door where Kairyn last stood. “You’re very good, aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The little charade you’ve got going with the young prince. I saw how he moved to protect you against the bow. You have him eating out of your hand.”
She snorts and crosses her arms. “He’s not so bad.” Then her gaze softens. “There’s something … endearing about him.”
“Oh, what’s that? The murderous tendencies? The rageful outbursts? The stomping?”
Birdy pushes past me and makes for the door. When she arrives, she shoots back one withering glare. “He understands how it feels to be the unloved child.”
20
Ezryn
It’s amazing how even among all the vibrant life, my father’s room still smells like death. The draping curtain of vines around the bed, the moss-covered stone walls, and vases of fresh green flowers do nothing to mask the heaviness in the air.
An acolyte from the monastery sits beside the bed, dipping a cloth into a basin of water and placing it on Father’s wrists, the only exposed skin she can see.
“His plate and cup were empty when I arrived for my duty this morning,” the acolyte says, without turning. “Though, he is now in a deep slumber.”
“When did he last leave these chambers?” I step into the room.
“A week now, sire. When he does awaken, his words have lost all rhyme and reason. Many healers have come. Physically, there is nothing ailing him. I fear his spirit is lost.”
I still, my chest tightening. It has been this way for some time, but I’ve never seen him in such a state before. True, he has wilted, but he has always been able to hold court.
The acolyte stands, wiping her hands on her apron. Her dark, wavy hair is pulled back by a stardrop, the same white flower Eldy was wearing. I recognize her from the throne room.
But that’s not the only place I’ve seen her before. “What is your name, acolyte?”
“Wrenley, sire.”
“Wrenley.” I snatch her arm, pulling her easily toward me. “I saw you in the Below. Why were you there?”
Her blue eyes flash, and she struggles out of my grip. “I—”
“At the Prince of Thorns’ party,” I growl. I’d accidentally grabbed her, mistaking her for Rosalina. “What business did you have there?”
She straightens, regaining her composure, and stares me straight down in a way that reminds me of Rosalina when she sets her mind to something.
“High Prince, I was indeed in the Below.” Her blue eyes water. “Unfortunately, there is sometimes a need for even a servant of the light to descend to such depths. Do you command me to bear my shame to you so publicly?”
Guilt roils through me as a single tear trails down her cheek. Many fae travel to the Below for what cannot be procured above, some reasons more sinister than others. But if she is to be directly tending to my father, I need answers. “Your loyalty is to your monastery?”
“Yes,” Wrenley says. “And to Spring. Indeed, Prince Kairyn lets his heart guide him instead of his head, if I may be so bold. But he has saved so many on the mountain. And now that you have returned, I believe … I believe it may be enough for Prince Thalionor to regain his strength.”
“I shall sit with him. You are dismissed.”
She nods, gathers the basin, and pads to the exit. “I’m sure the steward will be glad of your presence in Spring again. Prince Thalionor was never the same after what happened to Princess Isidora. Such a tragedy she didn’t survive the passing of the Blessing, for one so strong.”
“Get out,” I growl.
She inclines her head and darts from the room.
Falling into the chair beside the bed, I let out a deep sigh. My head aches, and fatigue consumes my body. My father lies on his back, helm polished, the only sound a raspy echo. His bare wrists look dry and wrinkled. Even this small bit of skin feels too much for me to glimpse.