“What say you, Caedmon? You’ve been quiet all afternoon.” King Bain turned to the newest general to be promoted to his inner circle after General Virlin was killed in battle a few weeks prior.
Caedmon looked up at the king, his eyes going to the blood-red conduit stone in the king’s forehead—the exact same oval, ruby stone that Lorcan and Lothar had been born with, though theirs were cold and powerless for now—and then to Bain’s questioning gaze.
Lorcan studied Caedmon as he considered the king’s query. The general had a special affinity for snow and had taken on many characteristics of it—skin so white it practically glittered and irises so pale the only true color visible in his eyes were his pupils. Though all Dark Draíolon smelled of fall or winter, Caedmon’s scent was sharper than most; a blast of ice assaulted Lorcan’s nose whenever the other male walked into the room. He was known to be intelligent and lethal, but Lorcan always felt a little bit uncomfortable when Caedmon turned his disconcerting gaze to him.
“I believe that it is a great risk,” Caedmon finally responded, slowly, thoughtfully, “but has the chance of great victory. If you are willing to take such a risk, and if everything goes according to the plan, it has a good likelihood of success because it would be so unexpected. You should consider that though the Light Draíolon will be powerless should you succeed, they will still have strength in numbers. Even you cannot hope to defeat them with only the few Dark Draíolon you will have with you.”
Everyone was silent for a long while, digesting his response.
“So I will retreat immediately, gather my army, and then lead one final attack before her daughter can regain the power for her people. I’d have three days, which is more than enough time.”
Everyone around the table nodded, except for Maedre and Caedmon.
“You disagree, Maedre?”
Lorcan stiffened at the latent fury in his father’s voice and the sudden acrid scent of his anger. Bain was notorious for his mood swings—going from seemingly calm to a raging inferno in moments. But General Maedre didn’t back down.
“If you consider time to retreat and gather your army and then the time it would take to reach Solas, it would be longer than three days to lead a full attack on éadrolan and seize control of their kingdom.”
King Bain’s eyes narrowed, and Lorcan noticed his brother, Lothar, flinching in preparation for the anger that was sure to come. Instead, Bain merely asked, “How old is the young princess again?”
“I believe she just turned eighteen today,” Lothar supplied, which wasn’t surprising, since he was forever reading and studying, rather than spending every spare moment training as Lorcan did.
King Bain barked out a laugh. “So she barely came into her full power today and you think she could possibly complete the ceremony to reclaim the Light Power in time? Pardon me if I don’t share your concern.” He laughed again and everyone else nervously joined him—everyone except General Maedre.
“Still,” he persisted, “it would be foolish not to take into account the possibility that she could succeed, even though it would be quite remarkable—”
“Are you calling me foolish?” King Bain roared, cutting him off. This time even Lorcan flinched.
Before General Maedre could respond, Bain lifted his hand and shot a blast of dark-flame at him, tearing a hole through his chest. The general’s eyes widened in disbelief for a split second before he slumped over in his chair, dead.
“Anyone else here believe me to be foolish?”
Everyone was silent, shocked at the sudden violence—everyone except Bain’s queen and sons, who had seen him lose his temper many times and knew how unwise it was to push him.
“Good. Abarrane, call for someone to come dispose of that.” King Bain stood up, the signal that he was dismissing the meeting. “What a nuisance. Now I will have to find a replacement for him before I can proceed with my plan.”
“I have a few suggestions, if I may, sire.” Obrecht, Bain’s most trusted and longest-surviving general, spoke as he rose.
“Excellent. Let’s hope you choose more wisely this time.” King Bain didn’t even glance at the body as he exited the room.
THE FOREST WAS QUIET AND DARK AS EVELAYN carefully walked along the trail leading to the lake where her swans lived. Behind her the noise of the party faded until there was nothing to hear except the soft shoosh of her breathing, the swish of her skirts as she walked, the cadence of insects’ nighttime songs … and the almost-silent footfalls of the sentries who were discreetly following her.
They were always there, though not always seen. But she’d never been able to hear them as clearly as she could now.
She’d waited all day to come, hoping her mother would show up so they could go together. But her birthday would be over in less than an hour; Queen Ilaria wasn’t coming. Only something terrible would have kept her away, and it was all Evelayn could do not to let the fear of what that terrible thing might be overwhelm her. She’d come to the lake—the place where she had always found solace—to distract herself by attempting to shift, though the thought of doing it by herself the first time was daunting, to say the least.
There was no one else who could instruct her how to do it. Only true royals—those with conduit stones and who could claim the power of their kingdom—had the ability to shift. Which meant only Queen Ilaria was capable of it in éadrolan. Even if she’d had a brother, Evelayn would still be the only other, because the power passed through the female line in éadrolan. In Dorjhalon the royal males were the ones born with conduit stones, so the king and his two sons were the only Draíolon in their kingdom capable of shifting.
Evelayn didn’t have to be near the swans to shift, but she wanted to do it there, on the banks of the lake, where she’d come so many times before. Where she’d first imprinted, and realized the swans she loved so much were to be her destiny once she came into her full power.