The queen stared at him. “She’s dead. That’s all I have ever wanted
to know.”
“That’s almost all I know of her,” Arden said heavily. “We were together
one very short night. Nine months later, she was dead.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not so sure of anything, even that.”
The queen pulled herself from the door, sank into a chair. The blood rose
swiftly, brightly, into her face. “You think she might be still alive? Does
Daimon know her?”
“He’s been behaving very strangely. He comes and goes without a word; he is
distant, preoccupied, and—most of the time—simply not there.”
“Not there where?”
“Behind his eyes. It’s as though he sees us as strangers. He can’t seem to
remember who he is, why he’s here in this family. He has spent entire days,
and even nights, away. He won’t say where. Sylvester thinks he’s enchanted.
”
“So it sounds,” the queen said, her frown easing a little. “So he’s in
love? Is that what you’re worried about? That she’s in some way
inappropriate? So is he, for that matter. We all are, at one time or another—
”
“Spellbound,” the king interrupted, and she was silent again, her eyes wide
on his face. “As I might have been,” he added slowly, “so long ago.”
The queen gripped the hardwood arms of her chair. Perdita had never seen her
eyes so cold. “Arden. What is the point of all this? He is in love the way
you were in love?”
“No. It’s not my word. It’s Sylvester’s,” the king said, with odd
emphasis, and Perdita’s lips parted.
“Yes,” she exclaimed. “Of course that’s it. That’s why Morrig— But who?
Who is doing the enchanting?”
Her parents stared at her now.
“Morrig?” the queen echoed faintly.
“What do you know about this, Perdita?” the king asked with bewilderment.
“He as much as told me he had glimpsed his other heritage—his other half.”
The queen’s voice ratcheted up a notch. “So who was his mother?” she
demanded of Arden. “And what,” she asked Perdita, “does Lady Seabrook have
to do with any of this?”
“I think,” Perdita said, keeping her voice low in case Morrig was hovering
around the keyhole, “that Great-aunt Morrig is anything but dotty. I believe
she—or someone who does her bidding—led Scotia Malory and me on a wild-goose
chase over most of Severluna when we tried to follow Daimon to see where he
goes.”
The king held up his hand, patted the air between them. “Please. Let me say
what I came to say. Sylvester put the pieces together, taught me the words for
it. There was a realm once named Ravenhold. It existed along with many other
small kingdoms before Arden Wyvernbourne conquered it. At least the human
realm of Ravenhold disappeared within Wyvernbourne. The hidden realm, the
invisible realm, whose boundaries once stretched across the whole of
Wyvernbourne and beyond, never entirely disappeared. Neither did its powerful,
magical people, who, Sylvester guesses, still live among us. He also guesses
that, after all this time, they want their realm back.
“And that realm is Daimon’s other heritage. Where his mother came from.
Where she still might be, for all I know. He is half-Wyvernbourne. His other—
”
“You didn’t know?” the queen interrupted incredulously. “You did not know
her well enough to know that?”
“I was enchanted,” the king said simply. “All that the word means. All.”
“And Daimon—”
“Spellbound as well, by the powers we have all forgotten, until they
transform our hearts. My ancestor overran their realm, called himself their
king. My son, half-wyvern, has been enchanted by the raven. I can’t guess
what will come of it.”
“Why should anything come of a broken realm? How powerful can it be?”
“Lord Skelton has found evidence, in old myths and poetry,” the king
answered steadily, “that they were powerful enough to make a great cauldron
that brought their dead warriors back to life.”
“A cauldron,” Perdita said blankly. Then her eyes widened, riveted on her
father. “A bowl. A pot. A vessel of enormous power—”
“Yes.” The wyvern’s eyes, holding hers, seemed dimmed, diminished by the
idea of it. “And I have sent the knights of Wyvernhold out looking for it.
Including my youngest son, who is under the raven’s spell.”
The queen rose abruptly, pacing the small room in six long strides. “It’s a
tale,” she said harshly. “A scrap of myth.” She whirled, paced back.
“Anyway, if it’s real, and your knights find it, they will bring it to you.
Not that such a thing could possibly exist. Could it?” She came to a halt in
front of Arden. “What does Sylvester think?”
“Sylvester himself sent the knights out questing for it. He is convinced it
is real. But he isn’t certain, any longer, that it ever had anything to do
with Severen.”