Endure

  For my parents, who taught me to dream and then told me to never give up. Thank you will never be enough for everything you’ve done for me.

  And for everyone who has lost someone they love — look to the sky and remember.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  PREFACE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY SARA B. LARSON

  COPYRIGHT

  Damian

  My father taught me that the only way to ensure your subjects’ loyalty is to make them fear you. He used cruelty and terror as tools to ensure his power. My mother, on the other hand, taught my brother and me something entirely different: A king — a good king — must be who his people need him to be.

  I live by her words.

  For the grieving woman, I am compassionate, I am kind. To the generals who lead my armies, I am firm and absolute. To the daughters of the royal court, I am courteous but, of necessity, aloof.

  I’ve spent a lifetime practicing, becoming who I must be to survive. Hiding in plain sight, always acting, always playing a part. There are times when I fear that I’ll lose me, my true self, in the haze of the facade. But that fear doesn’t matter to anyone besides myself. It doesn’t build homes for the orphans and women left broken by my father’s reign of terror. It doesn’t put Antion back together, or stop us from getting dragged into another unwanted war. The only thing that counts is that I carry on and do what I must.

  So that is what I do.

  Until night falls and I lie in my bed, with the weight of a kingdom bearing down on me, trying to breathe under the pressure of all that I hope to do, all that I want to accomplish — all that I fear. And that is when the smell of gardenia mixed with the coppery tang of blood comes to haunt me.

  The memory of my mother is both happiness and terror intertwining into a tangle of comfort and horror. I try to erase the bad with the good. Her arm draped around my shoulder at night, a comfortable weight. The remnants of her gardenia perfume in my nose, with Victor on her other side. Her voice flowing over us along with the blanket of darkness as night fell. She started all of her stories with “Once, a long time ago …” Her Blevonese accent made her words different, almost magical. She painted pictures for me and Victor, holding us in the protective wings of her arms, curled up together on her massive bed. Her stories always ended well, sending us off into dreams, warm in the comfort of happily ever after. But her gentle life ended in a tapestry of blood, at the hands of my father. Nightmares drenched in dark, dripping crimson have been my constant companion ever since.

  My story, if someone were to tell it, would begin with her voice.

  Once, a prince was born. He was a second son, who worshipped his older brother as all younger sons do — even if it was in secret most of the time. His mother adored both of her children. She told them stories; she showed them sorcery. She was magic, to this young prince. And when he found that he, too, could do strange and wonderful things, she taught him to hide his secret from everyone — even his brother. The same brother who teased him mercilessly, but was the first to stand up to anyone else who dared look sideways at the young prince. She taught him that magic was a death sentence in the world his father had created. It became a marvelous game to him — one that he was determined to win, even if he wasn’t quite sure what the prize was. She promised that when he got older, she would tell him all the secrets of her people and the magic they both wielded.

  When they were together, they were happy.

  And then his father, the king, took her away. One moment his mother was looking at him, all her secret pleadings and advice swimming in the tears that glistened in her eyes, and the next she was gone. Murdered. No one could stand up to the king, not even his own sons. The older brother held the young prince in his arms that night. In the dark silence where once had been their mother’s voice and touch, they sobbed as though they were still children, even though they were halfway grown into men.

  War started. The prince’s life was never the same.

  And then his brother was taken from him, too.

  One by one, the prince lost every person he had ever loved, until he was completely alone, save for a healer who hid deep in the palace with his half brother — to bring him the bloodroot that suppressed his abilities, concealing his secret to save his life.

  The prince had no choice except to change. He buried who he truly was and pretended to be someone else. He grew; he became an adult. He continued to pretend, but inside he dreamed — and he plotted.

  Until the day a young woman joined his personal guard — a girl pretending to be a boy. He knew her secret, as all sorcerers had the ability to sense a person’s true identity — male, female, sorcerer or not. He feared for her, thinking that Iker, the black sorcerer working for the king, would know and punish her. But nothing happened — at least at first. She proved her ability time and again, and the black sorcerer left her alone. For months and months, the prince watched her and found himself dreaming of things that could never be. She had suffered; she had endured loss; she wore sadness like a second skin. But she still had her brother — her twin, Marcel.

  For the first time in years, the prince yearned to be his true self instead of the persona he’d been forced to adopt to protect himself from his father’s machinations. He fought the urge to let his defenses down with her. He didn’t dare. Too much rested on his shoulders.

  And then her brother died and Iker made his move, choosing her to guard his door day and night. The prince realized his father suspected him — and Iker was using the girl as a way to manipulate and threaten him.

  Unbeknownst to anyone except a very select few, the prince had put a plan into action — a dangerous plan to try and overthrow his father and stop the atrocities against the people of Antion and the war that never should have started. And that prince … he decided to risk everything when he came out in the dead of night to speak with his guard. When slowly, carefully, he let her see him for who he truly was.

  And together, they remade the world into something brighter. Together, they brought back hope to the people of Antion. Together, they gave his kingdom freedom.

  That is how my mother would have told my story. I wonder if she knows the ending — if she still watches me. If she’s proud of the man I’ve tried to become, or the king I am.

  We succeeded, Alexa and I. Despite my fear, I let myself love her. And together we beat Iker and my father. The young prince who never should have inherited th
e throne was suddenly the king of Antion.

  But once again threats amass all around us, attempting to tear us apart — to rip my kingdom to pieces. I refuse to let them succeed. I will raise Antion from the depths of depravation my father drove us into. And I will not lose her, no matter the cost.

  I am Damian, the king of Antion, and no one will ever take someone I love from me again and live.

  Alexa

  Damian paced in front of the large window overlooking the courtyard, his crown nestled in his dark hair, the afternoon sunshine gilding everything in the library. General Tinso’s missive lay open on the desk, his threat of war hanging in the air, heavy and unfathomable. The same foreboding I’d felt before, that much more was happening around us than we realized, pressed down on me, along with the guilt of what I still had to tell him.

  “I can’t let you go after him,” Damian said at last, his voice tight with frustration. “I know you’re his best chance, but I need you, too. Especially if I can’t stop another war from beginning.”

  “I know.” I stood by his desk, watching him, trying to decide when — and how — to tell him. I had to go after Rylan. Not just to save my friend, but also to find some way to kill Rafe and free myself from his control.

  Finally, he stopped and turned to me, bruise-like circles underneath his brilliant blue eyes, the exhaustion and worry of the last few days etched onto his face. The shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, a sure sign of his distraction. I’d never seen him anything other than clean-shaven, except on our trek through Antion to Blevon, when he was pretending to be a hostage. “I’m the king; I’m supposed to know what to do to save my people from more death. I’ve already done so much. I spent years figuring out how to stop Iker and my father.” His expression was so bleak. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Was it all for nothing?”

  “No, not for nothing.” I hesitantly stepped toward him. He’d been so full of hope this morning when I’d returned to the palace, when we’d gone to visit Jax and seen for ourselves that Lisbet had healed him from the wounds and illness he’d suffered in the jungle. But then General Ferraun had shown up, demanding an audience with him immediately — alone. Damian had reluctantly left me, with a promise that he would send for me the moment he was done.

  Once I’d reassured myself that Jax was truly well, Lisbet had sent me back to my room, forcing me to rest. She’d come with me, removing the stitches Tanoori had given me to heal my back. I’d been shocked to fall asleep as soon as she left, but horrible nightmares had plagued me, until I’d bolted up in bed, yanked from sleep by a knock on my door. Damian was in his library and wished to see me.

  When I’d entered the room, it was to find a different man from the one who’d run to meet me outside the palace walls in the pale light of dawn. He’d turned to me, and the expression on his face had sent a shiver down my spine. Gone was the hope I’d seen this morning, replaced by something darker, wilder.

  They attacked again, he’d told me. General Ferraun just received word. Another village completely destroyed — everyone killed except for one woman, half-crazed with grief, sent to bring word of the massacre. If I don’t start fighting back, they are going to kill us all and leave me the king of a graveyard. They are leaving me no choice. And thanks to my father, we have no sorcerers to defend ourselves, except for me and Eljin — if he’ll even fight against his own people. No matter what I do, my people will die.

  And then he’d begun to pace, while I stood near his desk, watching. Aching to help him, to comfort him, to prevent this war from happening, and not knowing how.

  As I slowly neared Damian, he watched me, silent. Finally, I stopped in front of him, tipping my head back to look up at him. I reached up to cup his jaw, and he closed his eyes, turning to press a kiss into the palm of my hand. “It wasn’t for nothing,” I repeated. “And we can’t give up now. Bring your people here. Send out notices for the villages and towns to evacuate, to bring all the food and supplies they have and come to Tubatse, to the palace. Gather every weapon left in Antion and make your enemies come to you, rather than roaming freely through the jungle, murdering your people in their homes.”

  “And give them one big target to destroy?” Damian’s eyes were bleak. “General Ferraun and I have discussed every option we can think of. People are already panicking and flocking to Tubatse. There isn’t enough space to house them all, or food to feed them. Families are living on the streets, too terrified to go back to their homes, fearing that their villages will be next.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but our army is depleted,” I argued. “We don’t have enough men to send patrols through the jungle. If we bring as many people here as we can, at least we can set up a perimeter. We will have a chance to fight.”

  “And we will all die.” Damian turned to look away, out the window. Probably trying to hide the hopelessness from me, but I saw it. I saw the defeat in his eyes.

  “Stop it. Right now.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. “You can’t give up. If you do, you’re right, we will all die.”

  He continued to stare out the window.

  “Damian.” My voice was sharp, and he finally looked back at me. “We’ve beaten insurmountable odds before. Do you remember what you told me this morning? Together, we can do anything, right?”

  He nodded, a muscle tightening in his jaw.

  “We won’t let Antion die. I promise.”

  Damian’s eyes roamed over my face with such a desperate need lurking in their depths that it sent a responding surge of emotion through my belly and down into my legs. This was the one thing I could do — I could love him. I could hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine, even if we both knew it was a lie. He had just bent toward me, his lips inches from mine, when there was a knock at the door. He was motionless for a long moment, and then finally straightened and called out, “Enter.”

  I stepped back and turned to the door.

  Deron entered the library and smiled at Damian. “Sire, I bring good news. Eljin is awake and asking for you.”

  Eljin was propped up in bed, shirtless, with a huge bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs. Tanoori sat on the other side of his bed, holding an open book in her lap. She smiled when we entered. I couldn’t stop staring at Eljin. Seeing him alive and awake made my legs weak with relief. Though Lisbet had assured us he would live, I hadn’t quite believed her. Not after the amount of blood he’d lost. Because of me.

  Though he was sitting up, he was still obviously unwell — not completely healed yet. But to even see him like this was a miracle, after what had happened last night. He was pale, and his mask was missing, exposing the scars on his face. I’d never thought about covering my own scars the way he did, until that very moment, when it struck me how similar we were after my battle with Iker. Subconsciously, I reached up to touch my own striated skin, but quickly dropped my hand when I noticed him watching me.

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you awake,” Damian said as he strode across the room to clasp Eljin’s hand.

  “And I, you,” he responded, a small smile quirking his thin lips. I’d only seen him with his mask off once before, when I’d ripped it from his face with my sword while sparring at his father’s castle in Blevon. It struck me that I’d never seen him smile before. For some reason, that realization made my heart feel strangely heavy.

  “My life was never in danger. She needed a living king to make her a queen,” Damian said, disgust in his voice.

  “She got to us all in the end.” Eljin looked up at Damian with understanding in his eyes. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Except for Alexa,” Tanoori pointed out.

  Guilt twisted in my gut as I realized I still hadn’t told Damian — or anyone else — that although Vera hadn’t succeeded in putting me under her control or killing me, the same was not true of her brother. I’d bargained with Rafe, offered to let him give me one order in exchange for Jax’s life. A huge
risk that had ended with me being forced to protect him from any and all threats, a command that still burned through my mind, making me unable to harm him in any way. At least Vera was gone — killed by Damian, who had somehow managed to fight through her command to murder me — and her control had perished with her. But Rafe still lived. And so did his power over me. “Damian, you broke through her control. I didn’t think that was even possible.” I forced away the thoughts of Rafe and the secret I still harbored.

  He glanced back and gave me a small half smile. “The whole time I was under her control, I kept getting horrible headaches. When she commanded me to kill you, somehow, deep down I knew I shouldn’t do it, but my head felt like it was going to split in two when I tried to resist.”

  “Maybe it was your mind trying to fight back.” Tanoori mused.

  We were all silent, until I said, “Well, regardless of how you did it, I’m just glad you did.”

  “So am I.” Damian’s eyes met mine across the room, and I had to suppress a shiver of fear. If he hadn’t found the strength or the power or whatever it was that broke Vera’s control over his mind, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.

  There was a knock at the door, and then a messenger poked his head in.

  “Your Majesty, the general asked me to find out if you’re ready to assemble the meeting yet?”

  The hint of a smile on Damian’s face slid away. “Yes, of course. Tell him to meet us in the throne room in ten minutes.”

  The messenger boy nodded, bowed, and exited.

  Damian reached over and squeezed Eljin’s shoulder. Something passed between them, a look I couldn’t decipher, and then the man I loved stood up, replaced by the king I served. A curtain had fallen over his face, the expression he wore when he was trying to conceal his emotions. He turned to me, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. “Come, Alexa, it’s time to decide what must be done.” He looked over at Tanoori. “You may come, too, if you wish. This concerns all of us.”

  She looked down at Eljin, and he nodded. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Tanoori stood up, her gaze still lingering on him, but he’d already turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.