9

  Below Valinor Palace, in a chaotic network of tunnels:

  Korvin was physically healed but still fighting hard for composure. He’d spent his adult life among books and documents, counting paper cuts as his worst injuries, until the funeral feast and its terrible aftermath.

  A few drops of healing water put Korvin and Galadin mostly to rights (on the outside, at least). The others crowded close around both wounded elves, sharing warmth and personal manna. Lending support to block pain’s jagged memory.

  Korvin pushed himself to a sitting position on the buckled floor. He saw that his daughter had been crying, and managed to smile for her, as though he was back in his study and everything perfectly normal. Panya and Lex were there, too, ready with charms and spells of their own, but Korvin held up a hand, saying,

  “Peace. Enough, please. I can pick up a pen or track down a skin-changer now, and we must leave this place, soon. Outlander may return, and we cannot afford to be caught again.”

  The scholarly prince took a deep breath then, adding,

  “I hold myself personally responsible for allowing this insurrection, Alexion, and I will…”

  “You’ll nothing,” snapped his brother; bruised and shaken but here and whole, refusing to waste good healing water on his own ‘minor scratches’. “None of us detected Outlander’s plot, Kori. Not even father. We’ll do the best that we can from here out, no accusation or blame permitted.”

  His grip on Korvin’s shoulder was firm, and the warmth in his green eyes perfectly genuine. Said the younger prince in reply,

  “I shall not fail you again, Majesty,” as though Lex was already emperor.

  “Good point,” put in Galadin (still lightly crisscrossed with burning-bright lines). “Whatever else happens, Lex, you need to be crowned and in charge as quickly as possible. I do not trust that all of the skin-changer’s brood are dead, or that Outlander won’t steal a fresh hide and attack from a different direction. We need…” the tall prince-consort ran a hand through his silvery hair, thinking. “We need to determine who among the council is still to be trusted.”

  Korvin nodded, climbing gingerly back to his feet. He’d lost a leg and nearly his life to that false tarrasque. The shorn limb had regrown, but he was still missing the bottom part of his robe and left boot. The loss unbalanced him, but Korvin had spare clothes in his faerie pockets (all of them alike, to save time dressing).

  “I’ll go to Outlander’s office in the council hall,” he decided, backed by his hovering tome and a flotilla of pens. “She may have kept a record there of who she suborned or replaced.”

  “I’m coming with you, Dadness,” announced slim Genevera, taking his arm.

  “And I, if Your Highnesses will allow me the liberty,” said Panya, drifting nearer. The blue-haired maiden smiled shyly, gills fluttering when Korvin nodded assent. Bowing, she continued, “I excel at research and unravelling mysteries. I may be able to find a clue to Lord Samyr’s whereabouts amid Lady Outlander’s papers.”

  Alexion shook his head, putting a stop to a term that was starting to bother him.

  “She’s not Lady Outlander,” he growled. “That unfortunate soul was slain and absorbed, gods only know how long ago. Unnoticed, unmourned. We do Outlander wrong in calling that creature by her name.”

  Princess Marika shuddered slightly, dark eyes large through her spell of concealment.

  “I wonder,” she breathed, peering around at the shadowy crossroads. “Is Heinril Outlander’s son… or the monster’s?”

  “He may not know, himself,” mused Alexion, “but he’s not to be trusted. Nobody is, except for the lot of us.” He’d risen when Korvin had, and he turned now to face his brother. “Kori, your research team is to remain in constant contact. I consent to go to the throne and be crowned, and I’ll have you brought over to witness the deed. You are the one who will place that drekking crown on my head, if you please.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Korvin embraced his grim older brother. The scholar’s sense for Alexion’s presence had been burnt out of his head and heart by justiciars when he was only a boy, long ago. A spell of similarity could keep them in touch, though.

  “I would be honored, Lex,” he replied, inclining his head. “We’ll find out all that we can from the skin-changer’s documents and then join you up in the throne room.”

  Moments later, the two parties set off, already sorted by goal and strategy. Their way lay together until just past the empty honor guard barracks. There, Korvin, Genna and Panya turned left to make for the council hall. The young princess hugged her mother before leaving.

  “The Jewel will keep us connected, Mummity,” whispered Genevera. “I love you, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat, if you need me. So will Dadness and Panya.”

  “Be safe,” said Marika, hugging her back. “Watch over your father, and escape at the first sign of trouble. I do not wish to lose anyone else, Gift of Heaven.”

  She, of course, went with Alexion, Galadin, Mikale, Freys, Zesha and Alain (who very much wanted to speak to the young princess but couldn’t find any words). Instead, the half-elf followed his mum and the others, hating his own sudden shyness. Their way continued north for a time, then it turned sharply west and bore steadily upward.

  War bells shook the ether, sensed, if not actually heard this far under the mountain. There was little conversation. Everyone’s mind was pushed out to the limits of awareness, brushing tunnel walls and side-passages for potential attacks or surveillance. Spells linked the imperial brothers, while Genna clung to her Jewel of Transport, ready to snap them all back together at need.

  They avoided encounters, not knowing who could be trusted. This was easy enough at first but soon grew much harder. The council hall seethed with activity like a kicked-over anthill. It was packed with hurrying guards and looming justiciars, but Korvin had backways and shortcuts everywhere, some of which even he hadn’t recalled, until urgent need triggered memory, impressing the drek out of his older brother. Using those hidden ways, they were able to slip unnoticed into Layla Outlander’s luxuriously furnished office.

  “Well, here’s half of the tax revenue,” muttered Korvin, looking around at gold-stitched cloth, rare woods and bright jewels.

  As Grand Councilor, Outlander had merited plenty of space and she’d wielded nearly as much power as his father, the former emperor. Easing in through a hinged wall panel, Korvin, Genna and Panya spread out to search that opulent chamber and massive teak desk, not at all sure what to look for except…

  ‘Papers,’ he signed. ‘Documents or lists, especially written in code. I’ve disabled all her alarms, but there may be a scheduled sentry-check, so we’ll have to be quick.’

  Meanwhile, Alexion, Galadin, Mikale, Freys, Zesha, young Alain and Princess Marika had an easier time. The throne room wasn’t much used and quite rarely visited. Unguarded, even now. Less of a chamber than a large, roofless hall carved into a ridge on the mountainside, walled in vast pillars of stone, the throne room hadn’t been built for elves, but for Oberyn. Everything there was terribly ancient and far too large, meant for a god in full might and splendor, standing at least ten feet tall.

  The arched main portal held two doors of mithral and gold that would never open again, except at the sound of Oberyn’s horn, on the last day of all. Beside it stood a much smaller and humbler entrance made of simple, dark wood. Called the “emperor’s door”, this one swung open at Alexion’s touch, admitting the dark-haired elf and his silent companions.

  The view inside took their breath away. Late afternoon sunshine slanted between massive pillars of polished black stone. Overhead, a few clouds played tag with a thin rind of moon. Down below, they could just glimpse the city and river, sparkling through puddled blue shadow. Magical wards blocked out intrusive spells, keeping everything hushed and expectant within.

  Alexion stared down the long row of columns, to what lay at the room’s distant end. There, caressed by the last rays of the setting sun, stood an enormous rock-crystal throne. It was one of the chamber’s two furnishings, carved all over with twining dragons.

  The throne glowed honey-gold with trapped sunlight, too big for an elf or a mortal. Three broad steps led to its marble dais, long untrodden. On the polished floor by the first of those steps crouched another throne, this one carved of unadorned wood. A small, circular object sparkled on its hard seat. The Valinor crown.

  No one moved or spoke, waiting for Prince Alexion to gather his courage. None of them had ever witnessed a coronation, but the epics contained a few clues… and he was wasting time.

  Alexion cleared his throat nervously and then bowed.

  “My Lord Oberyn,” he said. “I am… well, I’m Alexion. Lex, to those who love and cleave to me. There are many titles to smother my name with, but… I guess that You already know all of those, along with whose son I am. I promised to accept the throne that was torn from my father, and I am here to be crowned in the glow of Your presence and will. If this does not please you, Lord of the Dawn, let me know.”

  Alexion held his breath as the others gathered close around him, Galadin at one side, Marika on the other, Mikale, Freys, Zesha and Alain ranged behind and around. Korvin observed through their link, raising his head from a book.

  At first, nothing happened. Then a wyvern appeared from the clouds high above them, soaring and banking, its filmy wings catching the setting sun’s light as if made of glass. Answer enough.

  Mari took and squeezed Alexion’s hand, nodding toward the two waiting thrones. Lex squeezed back and then somehow… dry-mouthed… he put one foot in front of the other to make his way forward.