Shadow Heir

pregnancy and was hesitant to presume.

“That’s because I left my children behind,” I said. I kept my words light too, but their meaning left an ache inside me. “They were born about a month ago and are doing well.”

Shaya looked awestruck. “Truly? They’re thriving after being born that early?” She shook her head in amazement. “Human medicine,” was all she said on the matter. From the moment I’d met her, she’d been very outspoken about humans “twisting technology,” but I think this had made her reconsider the benefits. Probably not enough to handle hearing about my C-section and the NICU, though.

Her awe soon gave way to joy. She embraced me, and even Rurik did too. Dorian and Pagiel didn’t, both keeping their distance for entirely different reasons. Once the welcomes were done and we were all seated, Rurik leaned back and sighed with satisfaction.

“Well, then,” he said. “Now that you’re back, we can get rid of this blight.”

There it was again. I grimaced. “Why does everyone think I can fix things?”

“You’re Storm King’s daughter,” he replied. “The weather obeys you.”

“Not this weather,” I said. “I mean, the little parts, yeah, but all of it? It’s an enchantment that’s bigger than just a weather pattern. It’s permeated the core of the land ... corrupted it.”

Dorian nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. And I suspected as much—that your formidable capabilities wouldn’t be enough to break this.”

Rurik seemed undaunted. “Even if it’s not a matter of controlling the weather, can’t all of you just ... I don’t know ... band together and break the spell?”

I glanced to Dorian for this answer. Roland had hinted that something like what Rurik was suggesting had already been attempted. “Several of us monarchs tried to unite our powers and break through,” Dorian confirmed. “It was ineffectual, and I didn’t get the feeling that we were close—like if we had one more person, we could have managed it. This enchantment is going to require something more, I’m afraid.”

“Maiwenn helped you,” I said, trying not to sound accusing.

He shrugged. “What is it humans say? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Right now, the blight is everyone’s enemy. Maiwenn wants to end it as badly as we do, and she’s a force that shouldn’t be easily dismissed.”

“She plotted to have me and my children killed!”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “I can see where that would bother you.”

I arched an eyebrow at that. “Bother” was kind of a mild way to put it.

Shaya’s face had initially reflected Rurik’s enthusiasm, but now she’d grown grave. “We have to do something. We can’t go on like this.”

My gaze fell on Pagiel, who was watching me warily. “We also can’t raid the human world for food.”

He straightened up, and I knew he’d been bracing for this. “Why not? There’s plenty of food there! It just sits around. And most of those humans are fat anyway. They don’t need it.”

I sighed. “That’s not the point. Most humans don’t even know this world exists. They’re not ... ready for it. Plus, what you’re doing is practically an act of war. It isn’t morally right.”

Pagiel crossed his arms and leaned back. “Morals don’t mean much when friends and family are starving to death. And I don’t even think it’s wrong. Humans have plenty. We have none. Taking it from them is better than letting the Yew Land abuse us for their food. That’s robbery right there.”

It was hard to argue against his Robin Hood logic, and seeing his stubborn expression, I knew it would take more than a “talking to” to win him over. Dorian, as his king, might be useful, but my guess was that even if he didn’t actively condone it, Dorian wouldn’t feel the food raids were severe enough to warrant intervention. After all, Dorian was a supporter of the Storm King prophecy. What was a little theft here and there compared to outright invasion? He probably thought Pagiel’s raids were an acceptable warm-up act.

Still, Pagiel’s words brought up another concern. I glanced around at the others. “The Yew Land. What do we know about them?”

“That they suck,” said Jasmine.

“Noted. Anything else?”

Dorian propped his elbow up on the chair’s arm and rested his face in his hand. “Everything suggests they’re responsible, though we have no hard proof.”

Rurik snorted. “No proof? That bitch queen has said she can lift the blight to those who choose to follow her.”

“Yes,” said Dorian, “but she’s very careful with her wording. She doesn’t say she can lift it because she caused it. She acts as though she simply has the power to—if we bend the knee.”

“Same difference,” growled Rurik.

“I concur, but it’s irrelevant. We don’t know enough about their magic to puzzle this out,” said Dorian.

The answer came to me like a slap in the face. “Volusian,” I said.

The others regarded me questioningly. “What about him?” asked Dorian. “I assume he’s as charming as ever, though I wouldn’t know since you went to great pains to keep him away.”

I ignored the jab. “Volusian’s from the Yew Land. That’s where he was cursed. It happened a long time ago, but obviously, they’ve still got some pretty serious magic going on. Maybe he knows something.”

Jasmine leaned forward eagerly. “See? I knew you’d know how to fix this.”

“I don’t know about that. But at least it’ll give us a place to start.” I stood up and spoke the summoning words. That familiar, cold feeling spread throughout the room, though for once, it was easy to shrug off. After I’d trudged through that Arctic wasteland outside, Volusian’s aura felt pretty soft-core. Moments later, Volusian appeared. He inclined his head to me.

“Welcome back, mistress.”

Around me, the others shifted uncomfortably. Roland had disapproved of Volusian since the beginning, and for once, he and the gentry agreed on something. None of them liked Volusian either. Dorian had even offered to help me banish him, since the curse was too much for one person to break.

I sat back down. “Volusian, we need to talk to you about the Yew Land.”

Volusian’s expression remained unchanged, but like before, I got the vibe that his former homeland was nothing he wanted to discuss. “Yes, mistress.”

“Is the Yew Land responsible for the blight?”

A pause. Then: “Most certainly, mistress.”

The others exchanged surprised looks. I shared the sentiment. With Volusian, such a direct answer was rare. Even though he was compelled to obey me, he excelled at finding ways to evade the truth.

“That’s not quite the same as ‘yes,’” I pointed out.

“Indeed,” Volusian agreed. “I have not been to the Yew Land in centuries. I have not spoken to Queen Varia. I have seen no spells cast. Without that, I cannot say, ‘Yes, they caused it.’ This magic that’s blighted these lands feels exactly the same as the sorts of spells the Yew people work. It is possible someone else has learned their magic—but unlikely. Hence my answer: most certainly.”

“Fair enough,” I said. Volusian-logic was wearying sometimes. “I don’t suppose then that you know how to break the enchantment.”

Volusian’s tone remained flat. “Of course I do, mistress. I have known for some time.”

I nearly jumped out of my chair. Rurik actually did.

“What?” I cried. “Why the hell didn’t you tell someone sooner?”

I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw the tiniest shrug of Volusian’s shoulder.

“Because, mistress,” he said. “You never asked.”

Chapter 13

“God. Damn. It.”

It was one of those times—and believe me, there’d been many—when I wished I really could just blast Volusian into the Underworld. Usually those times also just happened to be when I desperately needed him. This was no exception.