Bright Burns the Night Read online

  “This is no game.” He sighed heavily. “I literally can’t tell you, Evelayn. I am bound by an oath.”

  She reeled back. “You have an oath with Máthair Damhán? That involves carving my stone from my body and taking it to her? But … how? Why?”

  Lorcan remained silent, unable to explain further.

  It took her all of a few moments to lift her chin, to plaster determination on her face. “It doesn’t matter. We simply have to go get it back.”

  “There is nothing simple about that.” Lorcan pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the pounding in his head that threatened to become a full headache.

  She began to pace, wringing the skirt of her dress in her hands. Though she was already pale, her face had gone completely white during their exchange. But now, when she finally stopped and faced him again, two bright spots of color rose to burn in her cheeks. “I know the way to her lair … I’ve … I’ve been there before.”

  “I know.”

  “Let me go. Let me try to retrieve my stone, and I will—” She cut herself off as his words sank past her fevered scheming. “Wait—what?”

  Lorcan hated the words that came next, but they had to be said. “You promised to Bind yourself to me. I can’t let you leave until you keep your promise.”

  “Is it because of the silk? You know I bargained with her because of the silk I used to trap your father.”

  “No.” Lorcan held her gaze steadily, hoping the risk he was about to take wasn’t the worst mistake he’d yet made. “I know you took Tanvir and that general, and visited Máthair Damhán to bargain for a skein of her silk … because it was my idea.”

  “No.” Evelayn shook her head. “You’re lying. Again.”

  “You know I’m not. You’d be able to scent my dishonesty if I were.” She’d never seen him look so worn down. Lorcan pushed himself out of the chair to stand, facing her, his hands palm up as if offering himself as evidence.

  She whirled away from him—from the proof of his scent. Evergreen and ice, power and weariness, but … no dishonesty. He was telling the truth.

  “How? How could it possibly have been your idea?” Evelayn couldn’t bear to face him, staring straight ahead to the bed where Lothar had finally given in to the soporific effects of the healing tea and dozed off, despite the heated exchange.

  She felt Lorcan draw closer to her, sensed his body directly behind hers. A whisper of heat brushed her arms but was gone as quickly as it came—as though he’d lifted his hands to touch her and then thought better of it.

  “I told you I wished for you to hear it from him … but circumstances have forced my hand and there isn’t time.” He was close enough that his breath stirred her hair as he spoke and Evelayn had to suppress a shiver, but she remained silent—inhaling deeply, waiting for any hint of dishonesty to color the air foul.

  “You seemed shocked to hear that Lord Tanvir’s sister, Letha, was alive. That, at least, was not my idea, but his. I can only assume he didn’t want to arouse suspicions that might cause you to question him, or his motives.

  “My father’s generals recognized the fire in Letha and Tanvir—and also their loyalty to each other when they fought side by side at the warfront. He commanded us to separate them in battle and take her captive. For his many faults, my father was an excellent student of Draíolon nature. Bain wasn’t making headway, the war had dragged on for too long. He needed a stunning victory—and quickly. So he took a chance, and it paid off. Tanvir was the perfect opportunity. His parents had recently died, making him a lord—a feasible reason for him to travel to this castle under the guise of putting his holdings in order. Bain blackmailed Tanvir by holding his sister captive and threatening her with horrific abuses unless he complied with my father’s demands.”

  Evelayn’s fingers were white where she clutched her dress. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but her lungs disobeyed, rising and falling faster and faster as he spoke, until she felt as though she could hardly draw breath as Tanvir’s treachery was laid out bare—and the last whole piece of her heart was shredded beyond repair. “A spy. He was a spy,” she gasped, the words barely above a whisper.

  “Yes. He fed information to my father, gleaning what he could from castle gossip, the meetings he was able to gain admittance to …”

  “And his relationship with me,” Evelayn finished, the words like ash in her mouth, as the initial anxiety from Lorcan’s revelations turned her whole body cold. “How did he do it without getting caught? The wards at the border—”

  “Don’t affect animals, such as hawks. Like the ones my father had trained and used to send and receive messages.”

  Evelayn’s head reeled, her entire reality spinning on its axis, twisting truth into lies and lies into … what? “What does this have to do with you? How did the idea to bargain for the silk come from you?”

  “I also saw an opportunity in Tanvir and seized it. As you may know, my animal form is a hawk. I went to him in bird form and delivered a message—an offer of my own. Protection for Letha—as much as I possibly could ensure without arousing my father’s suspicions—and her eventual freedom if he did what I asked.”

  “Which was what?” Evelayn asked faintly, still staring straight ahead, almost unseeingly.

  “To get the kingdom of Éadrolan to aid me in defeating my father.”

  CEREN TRIED TO CALM THE POUNDING OF HER HEART as she slipped into the servants’ entrance to the castle. When she had finally admitted to Quinlen that Lorcan had nearly had her thrown into prison, he’d refused to let her return to the castle to see the king with a message as she’d offered. Instead, this time she had disguised herself as a chambermaid, the lowliest of the servants and the least likely to warrant notice. The trick was not drawing the attention of the other servants, who would easily recognize an interloper in their midst. Lorcan had long since dismissed the Light servants, replacing them all with Dark Draíolon from his kingdom. Well, nearly all of them—he’d kept on a few who helped run the castle.

  Gestra was one of those. She was waiting at their appointed spot when Ceren quickly strode down the hallway, keeping her head ducked, her face obscured by the large white dust cap covering her hair entirely.

  “You got my message,” Ceren breathed in relief.

  “Here. Take these to clean the fireplaces in the sitting and dining rooms.” Gestra spoke quickly and quietly as she pushed a bucket and other cleaning supplies into Ceren’s hands. “The normal maid has taken ill. It’s the best I could do.”

  “Thank you. I know the risk you take to help us,” Ceren murmured back.

  “To help us all,” Gestra corrected her.

  Ceren nodded, and they silently parted ways as two other maids rounded the corner, rushing to complete their work.

  She took the servants’ hallways to the dining room first, since it was nearly time for luncheon and more Draíolon were likely to be there than in the sitting room. Many other servants passed by, but luckily they were all absorbed in their tasks—hefting trays laden with food and drinks, or carrying cleaning supplies like her. Most of them were silent, but a few spoke to one another in hushed tones. Ceren caught a few snippets of gossip, about the attack on the castle, the efforts to hide the evidence of how bad it really was, and even how the king himself had joined in the cleanup efforts … but nothing about the queen. And surely if anyone had discovered Evelayn’s presence in the castle, the servants would be the first to spread the news.

  Her heart sank, but Ceren had no choice except to continue with her disguise and do the jobs Gestra had found for her.

  She wedged her way through the dining room servants’ entrance, which was concealed as part of the wall when not pushed open for use, and narrowly avoided knocking into a male with an empty tray rushing back to the kitchen for more food.

  “Watch yourself,” he snapped, and she lowered her head submissively, remaining silent as she hurried toward the fireplace and the filthy job of cleaning out the soot from
the previous night’s fire.

  She’d been on her hands and knees long enough for her fingers to feel raw from scrubbing the brick, her nails crusted with black soot, and her knees aching, when she heard a familiar voice directly behind her.

  “Well, if you can’t make him listen to reason, someone has to. What happens in Lachalonia does not merely affect us. It stretches beyond our shores—to the rest of this world where the magicless dwell.”

  It was High Priestess Teca—the female Light Draíolon who had run the temple before the loss of their power. She still lived there, guarding their precious tomes and practices, and so far—at least as far as Ceren knew—Lorcan hadn’t pillaged the sacred building, despite the priestesses’ lack of power to truly protect it.

  Ceren didn’t recognize the male voice that responded—but she did know what the scent of freezing winds and the forest at night meant: a Dark Draíolon.

  “And what possible proof can you provide for this claim? You’ve never traveled beyond the protection of this island, so how could you know about the world beyond our shores, as you put it?”

  “We have not wasted the past decade bemoaning our loss of power. We have been studying our ancient tomes, particularly the accounts of Drystan and the consequences of his heinous acts.” Teca was insistent, but the male laughed loudly.

  “That is the basis of your concern? An ancient myth—a nursery rhyme?”

  “It is no more myth than the Ancients who have apparently decided to come out of hiding and attack Draíolon as well. Something that was unheard of before now, I might add.”

  The male laughed again. “The Ancients aren’t attacking us. That is nothing more than sensationalized gossip.”

  “What do you find so humorous, my dear High Priest?”

  Ceren stiffened, her blood running like ice in her veins. There was no mistaking that voice. Dowager Queen Abarrane—Lorcan’s mother—had joined the conversation and stood mere feet from where she knelt, continuing to scrub the grime with trembling hands.

  “This priestess”—she could hear his sneer—“has been attempting to convince me that the imbalances caused by the Light Draíolon’s lack of power extend past Lachalonia to the world beyond.”

  Abarrane tsked. “Sounds like the mewling of one bemoaning her loss of position and power. It must be quite difficult to have fallen so very far.”

  “I am standing right here—you’re welcome to speak to me directly.”

  Ceren had to admire Teca’s courage, even as she flinched in anticipation of Abarrane’s response.

  “And if this pompous excuse for a priest were capable of seeing past his obsession with his position and power, perhaps he would be willing to admit what he knows in his gut to be true.”

  “Enough.” Abarrane’s voice had turned cold. “Don’t think that I’m not willing to go against my son’s edict. If you anger me enough, I will have you … removed … from your precious temple. Permanently.”

  The threat was unmistakable. Ceren could only pray that none of these Draíolon noticed her working away practically beneath their feet, so close she wasn’t able to not overhear the heated conversation.

  “You may do as you wish, but nothing will erase the truth. Not even silencing me.”

  The ringing of the luncheon bell cut across Abarrane’s response, and to Ceren’s great relief, the Draíolon moved away from the fireplace.

  Teca’s warning was concerning, as was Abarrane’s threat. But none of it helped Ceren ascertain if Evelayn was still inside the castle—and unharmed. Now that no other Draíolon were nearby, she hurried to finish the job, then rose to toss out the filthy water and to concoct a plan to find out where Evelayn was and if she was still all right.

  Evelayn whirled to face Lorcan. “You expect me to believe you wanted me to defeat your father? That you wanted him dead?”

  He was only an arm’s length away from her, his eyes burning like molten silver. “Of course I did. He was the true monster, not me.”

  The memory of the scars that covered his body rose unbidden, the vicious marks she’d seen lancing across his well-defined muscles. She looked down at his torso, as if the shirt he wore would fall away, revealing the damages he’d sustained. “You father did all of that to you.”

  “If not personally, then by command. Yes.”

  Evelayn had the sudden irrational urge to reach up and place her hands on his chest, to try to absorb some of the pain in his voice. She forced them to stay still at her sides.

  Commanding herself to remember he didn’t deserve her concern, she said, “Tanvir is the one who had the idea to get the silk.”

  “Yes. Because I wrote to him and told him to suggest it.”

  She shook her head. “No. I … I can’t believe it.”

  But then another memory surfaced, of Bain chasing her through the forest, of how he’d had her trapped on the ground and she’d been moments from death … until a blast hit the king from behind—a blast that she had been certain was shadow not light, a fact that she had forgotten until now. And then, when the king had been gaining on her again, Lorcan had sent that blast at her … but it had hit between her and Bain, indicating a terrible lack of aim.

  Unless it had been on purpose.

  “The day I … The day your father died … that was you.” She realized numbly. “You … helped me.”

  Lorcan stared down at her silently, letting the truth sink in.

  Evelayn pressed the tips of her fingers against her temples, hardly able to comprehend how wrong she’d been about so many things. “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with my conduit stone or why you gave it to her.”

  “I had to ensure your success. I couldn’t risk her refusing your request—or worse.” He still held her gaze, the enticing scent that was entirely his remaining free of dishonesty.

  “What exactly did you do?” Her heart was in her throat, awaiting his response.

  “I made a bargain. It came with a price.”

  “A price?” Evelayn choked out, touching the empty spot above the neckline of the dress. “For who? Certainly not for you!”

  “It was a steep price for you,” he admitted quietly. “But it was not without its price for me, too—everyone believes me to be a monster. Because I am, because she forced me to be one. But it was the only way. The other alternative was your death. He would have killed you. And you know it.”

  “And it never occurred to you to, oh, I don’t know, tell me that you used me as a bargaining chip? To warn me what the price of my victory would be?” Evelayn struggled to keep from shouting and disturbing Lothar, who was softly snoring behind them now. Lorcan’s mocking words whenever she spoke of “her victory” made sense now. He’d known she never would have succeeded without him, which irrationally only made her angrier. “Why wait so long to tell me this? Why did you wait to take my stone from me? Why let me grow complacent, believing true peace to be within reach? Why did you make that oath when you had no intention of keeping it? Is this all just a big, elaborate game to you?”

  “A game?” Lorcan laughed bitterly. “She held me captive, Evelayn. For months. She refused to let me reclaim my power and return until Athrúfar, because she taught me that it was the only time I would have the power necessary to do … what I had to do.”

  But his words couldn’t penetrate her anger—her grief and fury. Evelayn stalked forward, closing the gap to shove at his chest. He didn’t so much as flinch.

  “Because of you, my entire kingdom is suffering. You hurt those around you heedlessly. You toyed with me, let me believe Tanvir truly loved me, waited until what should have been the most joyous night of my life to make your ‘grand entrance’ and do your evil deed. Instead of revealing the truth, you let me believe Tanvir had died. You stole my power and destroyed my life.” Despite herself, as the words spilled out, they grew louder and sharper, her hands balling into fists that she pummeled against him, helpless to hurt him in any other way. “Why? Why the theatrics? Why t
he cruelty? If you are so noble, then why?” The last came out a broken cry, her eyes suddenly burning. All at once she was sobbing, her entire body shaking with the force of her tears.

  “I’m sorry, Evelayn.” His voice was hoarse, his cool, minty breath washing over her heated face. “I know you will never believe me, but I truly am. I did what I had to do.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. But for some reason, despite everything she’d just spat at him, she didn’t back away. Instead, her fists slowly relaxed, until her hands lay flat on his chest.

  And when he gingerly lifted his arms and falteringly placed them around her, for some reason she didn’t protest. Slowly, hesitantly, he gathered her to his body, holding her tighter when she didn’t pull away, as she tried to regain control of herself. Little by little the crying began to abate, but still she didn’t move. Lorcan had done so many terrible things … but he had also saved her and helped her defeat his own father. His words from earlier that morning ran through her mind—his claim to know her better than she thought. And the way he’d touched her face, letting his finger trail across her mouth … her lips …

  She could feel his heart begin to beat faster beneath her hands, which were still trapped between them, and her belly tightened in response.

  What are you doing? she accused herself, and yet she remained completely still, waiting.

  Until the door slammed open behind them, and they jumped apart, spinning to face the intruders.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” Tanvir said from the doorway. Ceren stood directly behind him, wearing a chambermaid’s outfit covered in soot and staring at them with her mouth hanging partially open.

  HOW DARE YOU ENTER MY QUARTERS WITHOUT PERMISSION,” Lorcan thundered, whirling to face Tanvir, whatever had been happening between him and Evelayn forgotten. Two black cords of shadow chain shot out from his hands and quickly wound around both Tanvir and Ceren, trapping their arms at their sides.