Shadow Heir

“Yes, mistress.”

“What do you know about Varia?”

“I do not know her at all, mistress. As I said, I have not been in the Yew Land for many centuries. Much has undoubtedly changed in that wretched place.” His red eyes flicked toward the statues. “Except for their abhorrent taste in art. If my mistress has need, I would gladly destroy those monstrosities and blight their unsightliness from her gaze.”

“Very kind. Why do you hate the Yew Land so much?” Before he could answer, another question came to mind. “Volusian, are you from the Yew Land?”

He took a long time in responding. I think, had he been able, he wouldn’t have answered. The binds that held him were too strong, however.

“Yes, mistress.”

He offered no more. I could’ve grilled him further but thought better of it. Volusian was an old, old spirit. Maybe he was from the Yew Land, but by his own admission, he hadn’t been there in recent times, nor did he know Varia. My guess was whatever animosity he held toward that kingdom predated her and was probably of little use to me. What intrigued me, though, was that I had my first real piece of background about Volusian. I’d always known he had done something terrible that had resulted in him being cursed to wander the worlds without peace. I now had a good idea of where his troubles may have started.

“Is there anything else, mistress?” he asked when I remained quiet.

“Huh?” I’d been lost in my own thoughts. “Oh, no. That’s it for now.”

Volusian nodded in acquiescence, then began to fade into darkness. For a moment, only his red eyes seemed to remain, but then they too disappeared in the shadows.

Chapter 4

Life soon returned to whatever passed as normal in my world. The many guests and visitors who’d arrived for the wedding dispersed to their own lands, and true to their word, Shaya and Rurik continued their duties just as before. There was little outward sign that much had changed with them, though occasionally I’d catch them secretly exchanging happy looks.

One guest who didn’t leave right away was Dorian. He kept saying he would. He’d even make comments that began with, “Well, when I leave tomorrow ...” But the next day he’d still be hanging around the Rowan Land. Almost a week went by before I finally brought the matter up.

I found him out in some of the woods beyond the castle. While this was still fairly secured land, I was nonetheless trailed by quiet, discreet guards who kept a distance that was respectful but still close enough to pounce, should the need arise. Dorian was engaged in a typically Dorian activity: hunting. Well, kind of. The forest clearing was littered with thin, wooden cutouts of various animals. They were life-size and painted in bright, gaudy colors. As I approached, I saw Dorian’s long-suffering servant, Muran, nervously holding up a cutout of a pink stag. On the opposite side of the clearing, Dorian focused on them with razor-sharp intensity and drew back a giant longbow. There was a twang as he released, and the arrow shot forward, implanting right near the edge of the target’s upper body, only a couple of inches from Muran’s hand.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” I asked.

“Hardly,” said Dorian, notching another arrow. “Those animals aren’t real, Eugenie.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “The purple polka dots were kind of a giveaway. I was talking about Muran.”

Dorian shrugged. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?” He drew back again, and this time the arrow hit the side of the stag’s head, not far from Muran’s own. The poor man yelped at the close call, and Dorian gave me an expectant look. “See?”

I had to suppress an eye roll. Those targets were too big and Dorian too good a shot for him to be “accidentally” making such close calls. It was a testament to his skill that he was purposely hitting so near the edges to torment Muran.

“Let’s do the rabbit next,” suggested Dorian. “I need more of a challenge.”

“Y-yes, sire,” squeaked Muran. He returned the stag to the pile of other targets and produced a yellow and green striped rabbit that was much, much smaller than the stag. After first pausing to wipe sweat off of his forehead, Muran held out the rabbit off to his side, as far away from himself as he could.

Dorian tsked. “You’re tilting it. Use both hands to keep it steady.” Doing so, of course, forced Muran to bring the target directly in front of him.

I groaned. “Dorian, why do you do this?”

“Because I can,” he replied. He let loose an arrow and impressively hit one of the rabbit’s ears, again only just missing Muran.

“When do you think you might be able to go home?” I asked.

He didn’t even look at me as he sized up his next shot. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No, but I do have to go to the Thorn Land soon and commune with it.” As part of the bond between monarch and kingdom, it was necessary that I connect to the land periodically. This usually just involved me meditating for a while and reaching out to the land’s energy. It was a seemingly small task, but if I didn’t do it regularly, both the land and I would suffer. The longest I’d gone without was about a month, and during that time, I’d dreamed nonstop about the land. Possessing two kingdoms now meant twice as many meditation sessions.

“I’m surprised you don’t just send your sister,” Dorian said. “Seeing as she’s getting so good at it.”

“Oh, don’t start,” I said.

I was in a good mood, and the atmosphere between us had been so easy recently that I didn’t even rise to the bait. Jasmine and I had discovered that as a quick fix, she could do a type of makeshift connection with the land. Someone had told me that monarchs’ children occasionally did this as well in other kingdoms, so maybe the land just recognized some sort of genetic connection. Dorian feared I was opening up the door for Jasmine to conquer my kingdoms, but I was confident she’d long since given up such ambitions. Besides, I’d felt the connection between her and the land when she did it, and it was nothing like what I experienced. The land accepted her as a Band-Aid in my absence but never truly let her into its heart like it did for me. The land was always grateful for my return, and I too pined for it when gone.

“You know it’s better if I do it myself,” I told him. “And if I’m right around the corner, there’s no reason not to. I mean, you’re welcome to stay here if you want, I just thought ...”

“... that if you were leaving, there’d be no reason I’d want to stay?” he suggested.

I shrugged. That was exactly what I’d been thinking, and I now felt a little embarrassed at my presumption. For all I knew, Dorian just liked the change of scenery. I’d given him no reason to want to spend extra time with me.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, hitting the rabbit’s tail. “Perhaps I should return home. It’ll be harvest time soon.”

That brought a smile to my face. “It’s always harvest time.” One of the perks of the Oak Land’s perpetual autumn was that trees and plants that normally only bore fruit late in the year were always producing. I’d seen servants pick all the apples from the trees surrounding his castle, only to find those same trees heavy with fruit again in a couple of days.

“Yes, yes, but my people fall apart without me. You’d think they would’ve learned to manage after all this time, but it’s still quite dreadful.” He finally lowered his bow and glanced at me. “You want to take a shot?”

I shook my head. “That bow’s too big for me. Besides, I don’t really get off on shooting animals—even fake ones.”

“That’s preposterous. You eat them, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between killing them for survival and killing them for sport. I know, I know,” I added, seeing him start to protest. “These aren’t real, but the resemblance is close enough that when I look at them, it’s still like taking joy in real animals’ deaths.”

Dorian looked over to where one of his personal guards stood ready and alert. “Alik, would you remedy this situation? Use the stag, please.”