Just a little bit longer, he reminded himself.
The door shut with a dull click, and Lothar moved to sit down in the chair across from him. All Lorcan’s weapons were laid out on the table. He didn’t need them in a fight very often—if ever—but for some reason it had always been calming to him to hold real steel in his hands, to sharpen the blades, to polish them until they gleamed. The solid weight and the repetitive motions helped clear his mind.
“You could tell me,” Lothar finally spoke, but Lorcan continued to ignore him. “You could try actually trusting me.”
Lorcan set down the sword and picked up a dagger—one of a matched pair—and began to work on it. There was nothing to say to his brother. A part of him hated what all this was doing to them, but it didn’t matter. Everything had already been set into motion and soon, soon, it would finally be done.
“Look at me!” Lothar suddenly bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. Lorcan flinched at the unexpected outburst but kept his eyes trained on the dagger. The edge was sharp enough to slice through flesh with the barest amount of pressure. If he wasn’t careful, he could cut his finger off.
The draw of magic was so sudden and fast, he barely had a chance to glance up before the blast of shadow struck him square in the chest, knocking him and the chair over backward. His head cracked against the floor, softened partially by the dark gray fur rug. He lay there for a moment stunned, staring at the dark ceiling. Had Lothar truly just done that? His flesh burned and he glanced down to see a bloody hole in his tunic right over his sternum.
Lothar shoved his chair back and stormed over to tower above him, the blood-red conduit stone in his forehead catching Lorcan’s attention. It was often easy to forget that his brother also had the ability to become the king and conduit for the Dark Power. That he could become very dangerous if he ever chose to make an effort.
Lorcan could have jumped to his feet, or shifted and attacked back. But instead he just stared at his brother, waiting for his body to begin to heal.
“I know you are planning something,” Lothar spoke quietly, his voice cold. “But you don’t have to do this. Together, we could …”
“Together we could … what?” When Lothar trailed off Lorcan finally sat up, his tone mocking. “What is it you think we could do? Are you suggesting treason—or worse?”
Lothar’s neck flushed red but he didn’t back down. “Father is just using you. He manipulates you into doing what—”
“You think I don’t know that?” Lorcan hissed, glancing meaningfully toward the door, a subtle reminder to keep their voices down. He slowly stood up, taking his time until he was practically nose to nose with his younger—and slightly smaller—brother, glowering down at him. “I am not planning anything.”
“I’m not as na?ve as you all assume I am. Nor am I as weak as you treat me.”
Lorcan had to give Lothar credit—his brother had taken him by surprise, something that was difficult to do. And he still wasn’t backing down. But Lothar had no idea what was truly at work, what had already been set into motion.
“What is it you want, Lothar? Peace? To overthrow our father and go to the new queen and beg her forgiveness for killing her parents? Then we can all join hands and dance merrily all together, just in time for Summer Solstice, drunk with relief, right?” The words were scornful, spat at Lothar in a furious whisper. “Go back to your books and your worthless dreams and let me handle reality.”
Lothar stared at him for a long moment, until the anger in his eyes cooled into something worse—pity. “You don’t have to do it, Lorc. Whatever it is they’re trying to get you to do. You don’t have to be their pawn.”
“I am no one’s pawn,” Lorcan growled. “Now go, before I decide not to be so forgiving and pay you back for this.” He gestured at the partially healed wound on his chest. “You ruined one of my favorite shirts.”
Lothar’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he finally nodded and strode past his brother. Lorcan heard the twist of the handle, but Lothar paused before opening the door.
“If you ever change your mind, I will always be here for you. Just like I always have been.”
Only after the door shut and the sound and scent of his brother had gone did Lorcan relax his grip on the dagger he still held and let the anger he’d summoned seep out, leaving him cold and deflated.
He shucked off his shirt and tossed it onto the ashes in the hearth.
Though Lorcan had denied it, Lothar was closer to the truth than he realized. A pawn. A piece in an ever-changing game, moved and utilized at everyone’s will but his own.
Not forever, he promised himself as he sat down and went back to polishing the dagger. Some of his blood had spattered on the blade.
Just one more scar among many.
Evelayn paced the council room, waiting for everyone to gather, a note clutched in her right hand. It had to be from Caedmon if it warranted reconvening the council when she hadn’t planned on meeting again until the next morning. Though that’s where Tanvir’s focus should have been, the note and everything it meant was far from his thoughts. He watched her silently, trying to keep his emotions in check. Whenever he was near her his feelings were always in a tumult—but after that morning, it was worse than ever. The memory of kissing her was equal parts unimaginable joy and heartrending pain.
She was breathtakingly beautiful at first sight, but the more he got to know her—her strength, her humor and wit, her tenacity and grace—the more stunning she became, until she was nearly always on his mind, filling his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. It was a cruel fate that had put her in his life now.
When High Priestess Teca came in and took her seat, the doors were shut and Evelayn turned to face them.
“I’ve received word from Caedmon,” she began without preamble. Her expression was drawn but determined. “He made it back to Bain and confirmed the king’s plans. He has decided to go through with it just as we were told, and intends to attack the week of summer solstice.”
A few of the council members immediately began to murmur in disbelief, and even Tanvir felt gut-punched.
“That’s so soon!”
“Impossible! He can’t be that big a fool!”
But she wasn’t done.
“He feels that is when we would be caught most unaware,” Evelayn continued loudly, her voice cutting over the others. “He believes we’d never expect him to launch an attack during the week of our highest power.” She paused, glancing down at the parchment she clutched. “I see no reason or benefit for Caedmon to deceive us in this. I trust him. And I move that we put our plan into action immediately. I can be ready to leave at first light.”