Bright Burns the Night Read online

  Ceren stood a few feet away, watching with her eyebrows knit together in concern—and disapproval.

  Her earlier certainty wavered at the look on her dearest friend’s face, as what the priest had said rang through her head—the finality of his words. It is done.

  She was now Bound to Lorcan.

  HE KNEW THE MOMENT THE OATH WAS BROKEN. Tanvir was stoking the fire when his right hand turned as frigid as the ice that had coated the outer edges of their windows that morning. The sensation traveled up his arm, spreading throughout his body, until he was practically shaking from the cold. And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, leaving him utterly gutted.

  Letha’s bedroom door opened and closed. When he didn’t acknowledge her, Letha asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Tanvir’s hands tightened into fists as he moved to the window, staring out unseeingly at the straggly trees where there once was a thriving forest. Her scowl was easily discernible, even in her reflection on the glass panes.

  “If you wish to keep secrets from me, at least have the decency to be honest about it.”

  “Fine.” He turned to face her. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

  She nodded curtly. “I understand. But it might help if you did.”

  Tanvir threw his hands up in the air. “And that’s exactly why I usually just say ‘nothing.’ ”

  “Who else are you going to talk to? You stay holed up in here, in these three little rooms all the time.”

  “As do you,” he reminded her curtly.

  “Where would I go? You are the High Lord and haven’t visited our holdings in over five years. The house must be in ruins by now; surely the staff abandoned it long ago. I have no desire to converse with anyone about my … about what happened in Dorjhalon, and that’s all I am ever asked about here. So, yes, I stay in these rooms. With you.”

  “I am in contact with the lesser lords and the overseers, who assure me that the house and the holdings are all in tolerable condition—as well as can be expected with our power gone and such dismal weather that only continues to worsen every year.” Tanvir couldn’t help the anger that seeped into his words, but her unspoken accusations cut deep. “I am not as inept as you clearly think me to be.”

  “I never said you were inept. I know you’re perfectly capable—if you choose to be.”

  “I can’t have this conversation right now,” Tanvir bit out before she could continue, turning to the window once more. Mercifully, she stayed silent.

  Somewhere in the castle at that very moment, Evelayn was making the most horrific mistake imaginable. He’d been a fool to think he really could save his sister and end up with the queen. But for her to do this? Merely to spite him. That had to be the reason—she couldn’t honestly believe Lorcan was telling the truth about giving her stone back in exchange for her Binding. As if he kept it hidden in a drawer somewhere, just waiting to return it to her.

  But of course she didn’t think that, he remembered suddenly. Lorcan had said they would leave to retrieve her stone as soon as she Bound herself to him. She knew it wasn’t here. And soon they wouldn’t be, either.

  Tanvir whirled around and rushed past Letha into his room.

  When he emerged holding a knapsack and wearing his heavy winter cloak, her eyes widened. “What do you think you’re doing? I didn’t mean for you to inspect our holdings right now.”

  Tanvir ignored Letha and continued to rush around their quarters, grabbing items he might need and stuffing them into his pack.

  She waited, but he didn’t volunteer any other information.

  “After all these years, holed up here, hiding from the world … now you’re suddenly leaving? Because of what I said? Truly, Tanv, I don’t think—”

  “This has nothing to do with you.”

  He felt her bewilderment at his boorishness but ignored it as she moved to stand near the fireplace, her thin arms crossed in front of her narrow body. Arms that had once been strong, capable. Bain and Lorcan had much to answer for; but only Lorcan remained to receive his deserved punishment for his part in the war, and in hurting Letha. For hurting Evelayn, as well, and somehow still manipulating her into Binding herself to him. Tanvir was done with letting the Dark King shape his destiny—or anyone else’s. “I have something I must do.”

  Letha watched him silently, but he could scent her concern, the sharp tang of it beneath her normal honey and freesia.

  It took only a few minutes to gather what he thought he’d need. All except the last few items—the ones that were sure to arouse her concern about something far worse. There was no helping it, though. He had to leave quickly; he couldn’t wait for her to retire to her rooms again, which probably wouldn’t be for hours. They spent most afternoons reading, besting each other in chess, or engaging in other more trivial games to pass the time. She was right, they had become pathetically depressing. They’d both survived the war, but to do what? To live half lives, hiding from what was left of the world they’d once known?

  Well, he was done with such an existence. Tanvir strode over to the chest and lifted the lid. He felt Letha’s sharp gaze on him but ignored her as he knelt and pushed aside the dust-ridden material that protected what lay beneath.

  “What exactly are you doing?” Just as he’d predicted, her concern turned into cold disbelief as he withdrew the scabbard with the sword’s hilt sticking out from the chest, then the daggers, and finally the Scíath, a shield that could not only deflect a blade but also a blast of power from another Draíolon.

  “I told you, this has nothing to do with you.” He shoved the daggers into his boots.

  “By the Light, Tanvir, you look as though you’re going to war again—except I can’t think of who you intend to fight.” Letha walked over and knelt in front of him. “At least tell me this: Does it have anything to do with Evelayn … and Lorcan?”

  Tanvir clenched his teeth together, unreasonably irritated by her intuition. “He’s forced her into a horrible decision.” Even with the fire burning steadily in the hearth, the cold air from outside seeped in through the cracks around the window, causing a noticeable chill in the room. But that wasn’t why his hands trembled as he pulled the sword partway out of the scabbard, checking the condition of the blade.

  Letha hesitantly reached out and placed a soothing hand on his arm. “I haven’t seen you this angry in … quite a while. What could he possibly have—”

  “She’s Binding herself to him.” Tanvir yanked his arm away, cutting her off. “Rather than forgive me, she’s agreed to Bind herself to that foul Dorjhalon king.”

  Letha’s expression softened. “Oh, Tanvir.”

  He shoved the sword back in the scabbard and stood up, turning his back on her. “Spare me your pity.”

  She was quiet as he quickly strapped the sword around his waist, but he sensed her moving.

  “Here. You don’t want to forget this.”

  Tanvir twisted to see her holding out the shield as if it was a peace offering. But when he tried to take it, she didn’t let go.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re leaving me here.”

  He stared at her in horror. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Tanvir’s fingers tightened on the edge of the shield.

  The look on her face was one he’d seen many times throughout his life—the fierce determination that had helped her become one of the most formidable Draíolon in Éadrolan’s army. But he hadn’t seen it for over a decade, since before Bain and Lorcan destroyed her.

  “I won’t let you leave without me.”

  While he was glad to see some of that old spark back in his sister, she couldn’t have picked a worse time. “You don’t even know where I’m going—or what I’m going to do.”

  Letha bent over and drew her own sword and scabbard out of the trunk. “Then tell me.” She strapped the scabbard around her hips.

  Once, they could have summoned weapons with barely even a thought, drawing upon their power and trainin
g. But thanks to Lorcan, they were left to use steel rather than Light. Still, Tanvir had never been more determined to wield a weapon than he was in that moment. He gripped the hilt of the sword tightly as he looked his sister square in the eye and said:

  “I am going to kill the king of Dorjhalon.”

  WHAT HAPPENS AT THE END OF ATHRÚFAR? IF WE haven’t reclaimed my stone and my power before then, will you … ? Will I be forced to turn back into a swan?” Evelayn broke the uncomfortable silence that had held them in its grip ever since they’d left the castle and begun the trek to the White Peak and Máthair Damhán’s lair. She’d changed into breeches and soft, fur-lined boots, with a fur-lined cape to match. All courtesy of Lorcan, of course. Evelayn had tried to refuse, to convince him that she didn’t like such heavy, animalistic clothing. But he’d insisted, reminding her that they were going to be traveling for days in the cold wind and snow.

  “Not by my hand.” Lorcan spoke quietly but vehemently. He was directly ahead of her, his frost-white hair a beacon in the falling darkness. He’d pulled his cloak over his head when they’d first left the castle, and Evelayn had done the same, hoping to avoid notice as they meandered down one of the paths that led to Solas. To the casual observer, they would have appeared to be two ordinary Draíolon, heading back to the city for the night. But once they’d moved into the protection of the trees, they’d veered off the path, heading northeast through the woods toward Diasla, and he’d pulled his hood down. “I am doing everything I can to uphold my portion of the oath, and by so doing, I should be freed from her stipulations.”

  “Now that we’re Bound”—the word nearly stuck in her throat, she still couldn’t quite believe what she’d done—“will you tell me what exactly you promised Máthair Damhán?”

  Lorcan glanced back at her, over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable in the darkness. “Can you run? We need to cover as much distance as possible.”

  “Of course I can run.” Contrary to her words, Evelayn halted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “But why won’t you answer my question?”

  Lorcan sighed and turned to face her. “I’m not sure what will happen at the end of Athrúfar. We need to reach her lair before then, which means we must hurry, since you are incapable of shifting and I can no longer do it for you.”

  “I don’t see how shifting would help—I’m much faster at running than I am at flying as a swan.”

  “As a royal, in your animal form, you can access your power in different ways. One being the ability to direct the power to substantially increase your strength and speed. How do you think I made the flight from the White Peak to your castle in just a few hours rather than days?”

  Evelayn scowled at the reminder of that horrific night and the realization that she was the only thing keeping him from taking to the skies and reaching their goal before sunrise. “As I have no access to my power, it hardly matters that I can’t shift.”

  Lorcan took a step toward her, but she backed away and he stopped. “If you can run, let’s see how far we get. When we stop to rest, I will tell you what I can.”

  A cold wind whipped through the dying trees, tearing more browned leaves off the gnarled branches and blowing them across the snow-dusted ground. “Fine,” she agreed at last.

  Lorcan nodded curtly. “Ready?”

  Once she had lived for her runs, for the freedom and speed of sprinting through Éadrolan. Even though it was very long ago, the familiar eagerness—the way her muscles twitched in readiness, and her heart rate picked up as adrenaline released into her system—surged as if she hadn’t missed a day. “Always,” she said, and then she took off at a dead sprint, leaving Lorcan behind her.

  Ceren pulled her wrap more tightly around her body and prepared to step out of the warmth of the castle into the cold, dark night. She’d watched Evelayn and Lorcan leave some time earlier with a hard knot in her stomach that had only grown worse when they’d disappeared into the embrace of the forest surrounding the castle. She’d tried to convince them to let her come, but Lorcan had been adamant that she would slow them down. Even Evelayn had gently told her to go back to her younglings. You don’t want to go to her lair, trust me. I would never go back if I didn’t have to, she’d said. Ceren still vividly remembered what Evelayn had been like when she’d returned from Máthair Damhán’s cave the first time with the silk. It had been a harrowing experience, one she’d barely even been willing to speak about. Ceren’s fear of what could have made the queen—the strongest Draíolon she knew—so traumatized led her to agree to stay behind, letting the two of them leave. But once they were out of sight, she immediately regretted her decision.

  “Where did they go?”

  Ceren barely managed to smother her scream as she whirled to see Lothar directly behind her. He still looked weak, but he was dressed and on his feet.

  “What are you doing out of bed—and in the servants’ quarters?” Ceren hissed.

  Lothar lifted one shoulder. “Whatever Evelayn gave me to knock me out did its job. My body finished healing. When I got up to change, I noticed two Draíolon hurrying away from the castle—two Draíolon who looked suspiciously similar to my brother and the queen. I kept waiting for them to come back, and when they never did, I came to investigate.” He moved to block her exit when Ceren began to inch her way toward the door.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about. There’s a missive with instructions waiting for you in your room—where you should be right now, resting.” She tried to push past him. When he winced, she paused with eyebrows raised. “All the way healed, are you?”

  “Mostly healed,” he conceded.

  “Go back to your room, Prince Lothar. Read the letter from your brother and do what he needs you to do.”

  Lothar finally backed away enough for her to pull the door open. Ceren had just turned to step outside when Lothar grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  “What in the—”

  He clamped one hand over her mouth and pointed with the other.

  Her initial anger at his manhandling sank into confusion and then concern as they silently watched two more Draíolon head in the same direction as the queen and king. Only these two were armed to the teeth—one even carried a Scíath, as if expecting a battle.

  “Is that Lord Tanvir?” Lothar whispered as a brisk wind pushed the hood off the other male’s head, exposing his golden hair for a moment before he yanked it back up again.

  “I think it is,” Ceren agreed, her stomach sinking.

  They watched as the pair moved swiftly toward the forest, only pausing for a moment to inspect the ground. As if they were tracking something—or someone.

  “He’s going after the king,” Ceren breathed in horror.

  “My brother? Why would he do that? Lorcan is the one who saved his sister!”

  Ceren glanced at the prince and shook her head. If he hadn’t read the letter yet, he didn’t know what Lorcan and Evelayn had done. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the one to tell him. He saved her having to answer when he turned on his heel and said, “I’m going to stop them.”

  “Prince Lothar—you’re in no condition to go after them. You need to rest and finish healing.” Ceren hurried to follow the prince as he rushed into the kitchens, shocking the harried cook and her attendants when he grabbed a knapsack and began to shove items into it. “Please, if you would just read the letter your brother left for you …”

  “There’s no time,” Lothar said, determined. “If I leave now, they will be easy to track with the snow on the ground. But I’m going to have to hurry if I wish to intercept them before they reach my brother.”

  Ceren sighed. “If you refuse to stay here, then I am coming with you.”

  “I don’t need help,” Lothar bit out, affronted.

  “No. Right now you don’t. But if you aren’t quite as healed as you claim, you might in an hour or two—or three. Especially if this storm gets worse.”

  He glared at her for a long moment
but then threw his hands up in the air. “Do as you wish. But I am leaving as soon as I get my cloak.”

  Ceren tried to quell the rush of nerves that set her stomach twisting. This was what Evelayn would have done in her shoes … wasn’t it? If she let Lothar go out there alone and he collapsed and died after all that Lorcan and Evelayn and even Tanvir had done to keep him alive, it would be a terrible blow. And considering Evelayn had only just Bound herself to Lorcan and was already going to face Máthair Damhán, Ceren didn’t want to let Lothar’s foolish bullheadedness lead to more tragedy for them.

  She quickly found a quill, ink, and parchment.

  Dearest Quinlen,

  I had hoped to be back in your arms today, but circumstances at the castle have become such that I must follow after our queen to help protect her. Much has happened that I wished to speak to you about in person, rather than through a letter. But I can’t leave Evelayn alone, to fend for herself against the forces conspiring all around her. She has Bound herself to Lorcan (yes, you read that correctly), and they have gone to retrieve her stone. But though she seems to have decided to trust him for reasons unfathomable to me, I still don’t. And now others are trailing them with ill intent, I fear. I must hurry if I wish to intercept any of those who might wish her harm. I may be gone for some time. Please give kisses from Mama to Saoirse and Clive and tell them I love them and will be home soon.

  I love you.

  Ceren

  She folded up the letter and sealed it, gave it to Gestra to deliver, and hurried to find Lothar before he left without her.

  THEY HAD ONLY BEEN RUNNING FOR AN HOUR, PERHAPS a little more, when Evelayn began to tire. At first she was able to push through the burning in her legs and lungs, to ignore the creeping exhaustion, but it didn’t take long before she began to slow, much to her humiliation. She’d never let anyone outrun her before and she couldn’t bear the thought of Lorcan being the one to see her weakness.