Page 97 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Asher opened the door to his bedroom and stumbled to a halt.
Cyra was there, twisting the satin ribbon of her gown between her fingers, wrinkling the fabric. Her skin was ashen, like it had been leached of all color. She stumbled backward, sending a nervous glance down the hall.
“Cyra.” Asher stepped toward her, ready to catch her for fear she’d faint. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“There’s someone here to see you.” Absently, she reached up, touching the red strands of hair that hung shorter than the rest. “The Prince of Brackroth is waiting for you in your study.”
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I won’t let him near you again.”
Asher strode down the hall, ready to confront the shadow prince. He didn’t even bother with the handle, and with a flick of his wrist, the door swung open. Drake was sitting in the chair across from his desk, his spine impossibly straight, one ankle crossed over his knee. Cold power emanated from him, chilling the space. His demeanor projected that of an eerie quiet, like the stillness left behind in the wake of death.
“Your Highness.” Asher settled himself in the leather chair across from Drake, eyeing the prince with hardened disdain. “I believe when I sent a message to the palace, I mentioned we would discuss my findings tonight.”
He intentionally slid his gaze to the window. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains, the beams of gold not quite touching the shadow prince, as though they avoided him completely.
Drake remained unfazed and impassive, his bored expression never wavering. “I find myself too impatient to wait.”
Typical royal entitlement, expecting everyone to drop whatever they were doing in order to meet their demands.
“Very well.” Asher grabbed his spectacles and put them on, then opened the drawer to his desk where he kept the book of runes he’d discovered, a chance result of Cyra’s inelegant departure earlier that morning. “As promised, I found the location of thevirdis lepatite. Unfortunately, you will have to travel to the bogs of Fenmire.”
Drake recoiled, a mirthless smile coiling at the edges of his mouth. “Sinister place.”
“Indeed.” Asher flipped open the book to the placeholder he’d used to mark the spot where he’d uncovered even more unfavorable information. “I’m afraid it doesn’t get much better, either.”
The shadow prince leaned forward in his seat, a prominent frown creasing his brow. “What do you mean?”
Asher tapped his finger on the markings inked across the cream parchment, then angled the book so Drake could obtain a better view. “These aren’t fae runes. They’re the Runes of Caillevan, an ancient coven of powerful witches. Every witch alive can trace their lineage to the Caillevan. You’ve heard of them, I presume?”
“Yes. I have.” Drake straightened, his gaze skimming the contents, his scowl deepening. “My father tried to vanquish them. For three years, he sent his armies to hunt down the witches of Caillevan. But killing a witch is no easy feat. He became obsessed, experimenting on them, burning them, torturing them. My father never cared much for anyone more powerful than himself.”
Drake shifted in his seat, focusing on the pages of runes displayed before him. “Some of them fled, many of them perished. We heard rumors that the ones who were able to escape retreated to the Fenmire bogs, or to other kingdoms outside my father’s reach.”
Drake tugged on his riding gloves. “If Fenmire is where I must go, then so be it.”
Asher swallowed, uncomfortable. He’d heard about the witch hunt in passing but had no idea so many had met their death. “That’s not all.”
The shadow prince sat back, his expression grim. “Lovely.”
“There’s one witch in particular you must seek. An old hag, the maker of thevirdis lepatite. Her allegiance lies with no one. While she’s neither good nor evil, she makes no qualms about offering up one of these gems to anyone willing enough to pay the price.” Asher pulled the book back toward him and closed it. “If I were you, I’d suggest you make certain you’re the highest bidder. I sincerely doubt you’re the only one in pursuit of such magic.”
Drake was on his feet a second later, agitation pulsing around him in dense waves. “Is that all?”
“No.” The word cracked through the air, splintering the tension. Asher met him, standing as well. He slammed his palms onto the desk, rattling the jars of ink and causing a stack of papers to flutter to the floor.
Drake’s brows lifted in mock amusement. “Something you want to say to me, Firebane?”
“Call off your marriage to Novalise Starstorm.” He removed his spectacles, leveling the shadow prince with a ruthless glare.
“No,” he sneered in return. “I don’t think I will.”
Indignation gripped Asher, spurring his resentment. It didn’t matter if he was fated to Novalise or not, it was as Solarius had said. She deserved better than a damn assassin. Especially one who was quite possibly orchestrating a rebellion. Asher’s nails bit into the soft wood of the desk, carving into its surface. “I know what game you play.”
Drake’s cutthroat smile only widened. Apprehension strained in the air, hissing and coiling around them like a venomous snake ready to strike. “And which one is that?”
Asher’s tightly wound grip on his resolve frayed, coming undone. “The one where you and Lady Trysta Starstorm use Novalise as your pawn to help Prince Aspen rid his mother of the throne.”
Dark, resounding laughter erupted from the shadow prince, disturbed and menacing. Clouds stole across the threads of sunlight, swallowing the room like nightfall. “Once again, Firebane, you prove to be a brilliant idiot.”
