Page 77 of A Touch of Shadows

‘Yours?’ he sneered. ‘Is that your claim now? She’s going to be mine. She’s going to beg me to take her. The Nox will see to that.’

‘The Nox is broken and banished. Your goddess is nothing now.’

At that he laughed, actually laughed. Like she was an idiot, standing there in front of him. This child, this boy, laughed at her.

‘Queen Aeryn of Asteroth,’ he said with a sneer, drawing out each phrase in mockery. ‘Heading back home to the chamber of the Aurum, in the Sacrum itself. With little Wren beside her. What could possibly go wrong?’

Elodie narrowed her eyes, trying to work out what he knew, how he could possibly know. No, she told herself. I was right. All these years, I’ve been right.

Roland stepped towards them, and Leander backed up, a little less certain faced with two of them. Slowly, he shook his head.

‘What are you going to do, either of you? Kill me and it will be another war. Ilanthus will fall on you like a wave.’

‘Your uncle said things like that once,’ said Elodie. ‘He died too.’

Leander grinned at her, that maddening, mad smile of the line of Sidon. ‘You murdered him.’

Elodie was about to answer but he wasn’t exactly wrong. Her protest failed. Evander had died and war had come, a war from which she had fled. There was so much to plead guilty to here. She didn’t know where to start.

‘He’s right,’ said Roland, his voice a deep rumble behind her. Elodie didn’t dare turn around, couldn’t. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to take her eyes off the prince, but that wasn’t entirely true either. ‘He’s their crown prince. Let him go.’

‘He’s broken the Pact,’ Elodie said. ‘He shouldn’t be here. He should never have come after Wren.’

‘Elodie,’ Roland murmured. ‘He isn’t worth it. Let him go.’

For a moment she wanted to ignore him, wanted to scream and run the little bastard through. But she couldn’t move. Just like so long ago, when Evander had used the same threat, she knew he was right. Kill him and everything would fall apart. Show mercy and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance… if not to avoid war then at least delay it. For a time.

Slowly, she let her sword arm drop and nodded. Hating him. Hating herself. Hating Roland.

Leander didn’t need to be told twice. He broke and ran, vaulting onto one of the Ilanthian horses and tearing off to the north. His men, those still alive, fled with him. Just like that, the battle, such as it was, was over.

Suddenly, Elodie felt a million years old, her arms weighed down and her body wrung out. She let the sword fall from her hand, thudding onto the grass, and its light finally dimmed to a faint glow. The use of so much magic, even if it had come naturally to her with the dawn, left her drained and aching. It had been too long. She’d forgotten how hard it was, especially afterwards.

The urge to just drop to her knees right there in the mud and pass out was powerful indeed. And then, she realised, she had another problem as well. One much worse.

A shadow loomed over her. But it wasn’t a creature of the dark. It was so much worse than that.

Oh no. Not this. Not like this.

How could she face him again, after so many years? What could she say?

She turned slowly, longing to just run instead. And looked up.

Roland de Silvius, older, a touch of silver in his black hair, a few lines on his face, but the same man. Towering over her. The same as he ever was.

Mine, her treacherous heart whispered inside her. He’s mine.

His lips moved, as if numb or as if he’d had a blow to the head, leaving him almost senseless. The way they always did when he said her name. Her true name. ‘Elodie?’

Not like this, she thought. It couldn’t be like this. She had to go. She had to run. She needed to get Wren and run. They could still make it if she…

She backed away and saw Roland’s brow furrow. He knew, she realised. But then he had always known what she was thinking, sometimes better than she did. And behind that confusion she could sense his anger, his pain. She couldn’t face that.

It was her fault. It was all her fault.

A voice cried out, one full of anger and fear. ‘Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare—let go! I have to—you’ll kill him.’

Wren!