Page 8 of Randall
“I hadn’t planned on going anyway,” Darvon cut in. “That was for my brother to deal with. I—” A wash of icy dread slid across his shields. Beside him, Sylvan stiffened, his hold on his sword tightening to a white-knuckled grip while the other Fae who’d greeted them collapsed. Sylvan leapt to the Fae, grabbed his arms, and pulled him through the open doorway. Once there, he stood and called for Darvon to hurry. Frozen, unable to move, Sylvan dashed to his side and guided him across the yard and into the shielded house.
Darvon recovered the moment they crossed the threshold. He rubbed his arms as if that could dispel the chill. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” Sylvan turned to the Fae. “What’s your name?”
“Soric.” He turned and bowed to Darvon. “Your Highness, I’m your brother’s seneschal here in Onamond. I take care of the house and grounds. He—Prince Jarrah—he’ll want to know. He always said you were more powerful than him… Can you…?”
Darvon offered him a tight-lipped smile. “He lied. Sylvan, though.” He turned to his cousin.
Sylvan rubbed a hand across his mouth and straightened. “You’ve always been fairly good at scrying, though. Does Jarrah have a scrying bowl or mirror here?”
“Yes, I’ll show you.” He waved for them to follow, hurrying through a few rooms and into an enclosed sunroom. A full-length mirror stood in one corner, obscured by greenery.
With Sylvan and Soric’s help, they cleared away the potted plants, leaving an open space large enough for the three of them to stand side by side. Darvon eased them back a step as he closed his eyes, coaxing the mirror to life. It resisted for a moment until it recognized who he was, then it was simply a matter of directing where he wanted to focus.
Hearing Sylvan’s sharply indrawn breath, he opened his eyes to see a mass of rolling black waves filling the mirror’s surface.Small ships were tossed about in the swirling currents; fishermen thrown overboard hung onto whatever could float for dear life. Predatory sea creatures attacked, and one by one, they disappeared beneath the roiling water, and only then did the sea calm.
Darvon let the image fade. Sylvan thumbed below his eyes; Soric had his mouth covered. Inside, Darvon seethed. Something evil had infiltrated Obrusa. He felt dirty, covered in the filth of vile intentions.
“Darvon,” Sylvan whispered, “what was that?”
“Nothing good.” He put his back to the mirror, rubbing his lips as he thought about his next course of action. “Jarrah must be informed, but I’d like to gather more information first. Besides, I don’t want to disturb him tonight.”
“Why not?”
Darvon laughed lightly. “I’m sure he’s otherwise engaged… with his mates.”
“Mates! You didn’t tell me!” Sylvan crossed his arms, staring in disbelief at Darvon. “How could you not tell me?”
“He swore me to secrecy.”
Sylvan glared. “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
Darvon shrugged without replying, keeping tight-lipped about the presence of his own mate somewhat nearby. In the direction of the castle, his mate was, but also… off to the northeast. That was new. A second mate for him as well. Wanting to know who they were, Darvon needed to scry again, but he wanted privacy to do so. He glanced out the window, admiring the dancing flickers of light atop the castle gates a moment before he spoke.
“Soric, have you something for us to eat? We’ve been traveling for days, and the food we’ve eaten has been meager and bland.”
“Of course, Your Highness. When Jarrah sent word of his and your approach, I made preparations. Come into the kitchen with me. It will only take a moment to set you a plate.”
Darvon held Sylvan back from following Soric when he left the room. “Do not disturb me once we retire for the evening, unless absolutely necessary.”
“I understand. I’ll stand guard.”
Darvon shook his head. “That’s unnecessary. Get some rest. In the morning, we’ll travel to the docks and make a few inquiries. Someone might have survived.”
“Do you really think so?”
“No.” Darvon sighed. “No, but I want to check, anyway.”
“Alright.” Sylvan’s stomach rumbled, coinciding with Soric’s call for them to come eat. “Also, I can tell there’s more you’re not saying. Do not forget I have abilities of my own.” He pointed at Darvon, swung his finger toward the kitchen, and left him standing there.
Darvon cursed. He had forgotten. A bright light reflected in the mirror, and he turned to look at himself. He’d pulled his long silver hair back in a tie, but bits had come loose, fanning around his forehead and ears. The look was unappealing, and his attempt to tame it barely worked. It was a bit like he felt… unraveled, messy. He liked everything lined up, but ever sinceJarrah had given Valter a few drops of his blood, events had begun to conspire against him.
Seventeen years wasn’t long in a Fae’s life, but when that crackle of strange power had crossed Darvon’s the moment Valter joined their “family,” Darvon had known change was coming. Years later, discovering he had not one but two non-Fae mates while aiding his brother, however, was not the change he’d expected.
Another roll of energy swept across his senses, but the taste of this one was sweet on his tongue, unlike the ashiness of evil. The power ebbed away and then returned, a mix of confusion and joy as it swirled around him before retreating up the hill.
High atop the city, a flame of power stood, drawing Darvon closer. He stared out the window, placed his fingers to the glass, and reached out as if to touch the man within… his mate. For a moment, their powers merged, but just as abruptly, his mate cut the ties.
