Page 200 of Woven By Gold
I nearly laugh, imagining this pitiful old man enacting any sort of justice upon Kel. Instead, I smirk. “You’ll have to get in line.”
Sira raises her chin to me. “Send him to my sanctum. I’ll begin his re-education when I return Below.”
I swallow my anger as I weave my briars around Quellos, who sobs and struggles against their touch. With a rough hand, I direct the thorns spiraling down through the earth, taking Quellos deep Below.
“Where to now, Mother?” I drawl with mock sweetness. She knows the more magic I use on the surface, the more it drains me. Already, I feel the thick wave turning my blood to sludge.
“We need to check on your sister.”
“She’snotmy—”
Sira snatches my jaw, nearly piercing the skin with her sharp nails. “I let you disparage my sweet babies, but do not speak ill of my adopted daughter. She’s accomplished more in twenty-five years than you have in centuries.” She flicks my jaw away and mutters to herself, “Ungrateful boy. Thankless wretch.”
I rub my face and summon the thorns. Thankfully, it’s not far to Spring.
I think I’ll make it before the black rot takes me.
The thorns carry Sira and I quickly beneath the surface, and I maneuver us up to the vast cavernous Hall of Vernalion, the throne room of the Spring Realm.
We erupt into the hall. I stagger out of the briars and collapse on the floor, gagging up sludge. Trails of black drip from my eyes and nose. I need to get back to the Below…
Sira steps over me, heels clicking. “Well, well, well. Things seem to be going swimmingly here.”
I look up, fighting to see through the film covering my eyes.
Prince Thalionor, Ezryn’s father and steward of Spring, has collapsed to his knees, head hung low, hands in chains behind his back.
And dressed in armor of blackest night, wearing an eerie helm with sharp metal crests on the brow resembling a great horned owl, is Kairyn, Prince of Spring. Ezryn’s younger brother. And he’s currently crushing the head of a princeguard beneath his boot.
The rest of Prince Thalionor’s princeguard lay in pools of their own blood, their skulls all caved in.
My stomach turns, and I struggle to my feet.
That’s when I see her lounging across the massive metal throne made of various helms. Her body is angled to the side, one leg draped over the arm of the throne, a silver goblet in her hand.
The Nightingale smiles at me, blue eyes flashing with mirth. “Recovered from your party, big brother?”
I say nothing.
Kairyn’s chest heaves as the man dies beneath his boot, and he staggers over to stand beside my sister, like a dog returning to the foot of its master.
The Nightingale runs an idle hand down Kairyn’s arm, eyes never leaving mine. “I heard your little goblin assault on Autumn was practically useless. I tried to help you that night, but you wouldn’t listen. Now here I am, right on track to deliver the Spring Realm.”
Something twists in my chest, and I unconsciously grab my wrist, fingers drifting over the mark there.
“Come on, Caspian, why the long face? You should be delighted.” The Nightingale gives a lilting laugh. “We’re going to kill the High Princes. And their,” her blue gaze meets mine, “thorny little princess, too.”
Her threat doesn’t go unnoticed. She knows of Rosalina’s power. Her price will be high to keep that from our mother.
But as the pull of the Below finally becomes too much to take, I sink within my briars and fall down into the deep.
I’m going to have to be very careful about my next moves.
Betrayal is a dangerous game.
And I haven’t quite decided who I’m going to betray yet.
