Page 2 of The Stolen Throne
After all this time in the desert, endless sand and heat are now my idea of what the seventh hell must be like. After three weeks traveling here together, just the two of us, having Cain’s ugly mug in my face every single day might be the eighth.
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a joker.”
Cain grumbles something under his breath and stares at the inky water the stairs lead down into, expression dubious. “Let me get this straight. You want me to trust you to get us into the palace by swimming through an underground labyrinth—a dark underground labyrinth—that you’ve used once. Once. And that one time, you weren’t in control, and you couldn’t see anything in the pitch black, and Meren was the only one who actually knew the way. That about right?”
We’ve already discussed this. A lot. “Yes.”
“No.” He crosses his arms, jaw taking on a stubborn cast.
I train a hard gaze on Cain. In his early twenties, like me, he’s as tall as I am but lankier, leanly muscled thanks to growing up in the desert. Black hair. Nearly black eyes. The guy laughs a lot, when not among enemies. Which, to him, I mostly am.
He and I are…complicated.
Meren sent us to Cain for protection. As the son of Zariph Cainis, who leads a zariphate of Wanderers—proud, nomadic people who thrive in the desert—he could offer us a unique form of protection. This man is the entire reason why the people of the Vanished I try to protect, Meren’s twin sister, Tabra, who is technically the true queen of Aryd, and I aren’t dead yet. Cain has sheltered us all while putting his own people at risk.
I should respect the man. Feel grateful.
I can’t stand him.
I hate him because he’s known Meren most of her life and wants her for himself. I hate him because he’s had years with her, years when he could see her face or touch her, when all I had was her voice in the darkness, begging for a different life, and a few stolen weeks with her at my side. I hate him because I know he would be better for her than I am. He could protect her, cherish her, keep her safe. She could grow old as his heartmate.
I, on the other hand… I bring only death.
It also doesn’t help that all he’s done is doubt me and argue with me all the way here. He’s lucky I haven’t disappeared him yet. I could. I’ve done it before.
My control over shadows is a blessing and a curse. I can manipulate them to do my bidding. I hide in them, travel by them, wield them as weapons. I can also obliterate everything within leagues when I lose control.
Right now, though, I can’t do any of that well. I’m better than I was, but I’m still weak.
Something Cain knows.
Eidolon’s Shadows know it, too.
The dark corners of the room shift restlessly around us. Cain snaps his gaze to me, body tensed and ready to defend himself.
I force the darkness to still. He doesn’t relax, though.
He’s smart not to.
“What’s the real plan here?” Cain asks with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Get your shadows to drown me? Hide my body in darkness?”
Is that my plan? No. Tempting as it is.
Could it happen anyway? Maybe.
Hells, a few weeks ago I came a hair’s breadth from accidentally killing Cain’s father, the zariph, for refusing to let us leave to rescue Meren sooner.
If Cain knew that…
“Do you have a better way in?” I know he doesn’t.
A tic sets off in his jaw. He despises this plan, but we have no better option. We need to get into the castle grounds undetected, and I can’t use my power to do that.
We agreed—and by we, I mean Cain strongly pointed out and I eventually agreed—that I shouldn’t use my shadows to get us in and out of the palace. Not with the way it drains me. Not with Eidolon likely able to sense it, waiting like a spider in a web.
I’m saving my power for “in case this goes sideways” and I need to get us out quickly. And the likelihood of that happening is high. We haven’t been the only ones with time to plan.
Months. Meren’s been trapped with that monster for months. Who even knows what sort of protections he’s put in place? Or what he’s done to her.
