Page 32 of A Kingdom of Wild and Power
I miss my child. When I hid him during the war, I never expected for him to be taken. I hope he knows one day how much I love him. How I never intended to abandon him. That he was loved by me and his father. That we would have done anything for him.
Tabitha Wysteria
Silence crept through the hall like a living thing as Mal studied the man before her. Her uncle, and yet also the one who had once tried to end her life. She had no memory of it, of course; she had been nothing more than a babe. Still, she searched herself for understanding, for any reason an uncle might wish his own blood dead. None came. And so she waited, allowing him the space to speak.
Morthos cleared his throat, his finger continuing its restless tapping against the table, as though the rhythm might steady his thoughts.
‘I’m not entirely certain how to begin this tale,’ he said at last, weariness threading his voice.
‘The beginning is usually best,’ Mal replied, leaning back against the stone chair. She tried, and failed, not to glance towards Ash. He was watching Morthos withunnerving focus, like a predator assessing its prey. The image that rose unbidden was that of a cat toying with a mouse, taking pleasure in the illusion of safety it allowed its victim.
Mal straightened at the thought, unease settling deep along her spine.
‘I am known in this lifetime as Morthos Blackburn,’ her uncle began, drawing her from her spiralling thoughts. ‘Son of King Tenebris and Queen Vespera. But I was not born with that name. I was born Malrik Blackburn.’
Mal frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I am the son of Hadrian Blackburn and Tabitha Wysteria.’
Her entire body went still. Mal’s gaze flicked to Ash, and found no surprise there. He already knew. The faint inclination of his head confirmed it, sealing the truth of her uncle’s words.
‘You’re the child Tabitha Wysteria lost during the Great War,’ Mal said quietly.
Morthos nodded. ‘I became one of the most renowned wyverian warriors of that war. And Hadrian’s father, the king, married me to his eldest daughter, who later became queen.’
‘Your aunt.’
Morthos shrugged. ‘We didn’t know.’ He rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous, unconscious gesture, then caught himself and stopped. Reaching for the goblet on the table, he drained it in one swift pull, red wine spilling down his chin.
Mal arched a brow, watching with detached curiosity as the wine dripped onto the table between them. Unbidden, her mind twisted the image—wine becoming blood, her uncle’s blood, pooling and flowing like a slow, dark river.
She forced the thought away, cursing herself for it.
‘Selara and I had three children,’ Morthos went on. ‘Your grandfather, who later became king, then our secondborn, Thana, and our third, Corvus.’
‘Did you know?’ Mal asked quietly.
‘No,’ Morthos said, wiping the spill of wine from his chin. ‘I lived as any mortal would. I aged. And then I died.’
‘And yet,’ Mal said softly, ‘here you sit.’
‘And yet, here I sit.’
‘How?’
‘I was reborn,’ Morthos replied with a weary sigh. ‘That is my curse. The curse of Malrik Blackburn. My true name. I am the son of a mortal and a goddess. Half-mortal. Half-divine. I live as other mortals do: I grow old, and I die. But our mother’s curse refuses to let it end. It drags me back, every time, reborn as a child of the Blackburn line. Of the royal family.’
Mal tilted her head, awe threading through her disbelief. ‘So when you die in this life… you will return?’
Morthos nodded. ‘I will be born again, as the child of either the king or the queen of this land.’
‘My sister Haven is dead.’
‘But your brother is not.’
Mal gave a short, humourless snort. ‘So you would return as one of Kai’s children?’ The thought nearly coaxed a laugh from her, but it died the moment she looked at Ash. His expression stole the breath from her chest. He had already seen it. Already knew such a future.
Her heart tightened painfully at the realisation.
