A thin line of light appears in the air in front of me, and Falion steps through it. This time he has two knives, which he juggles with apparent ease. One of them is mine.
Light. He’s… manipulating light as well?
“A baby Shadow Walker who’s never been trained,” he muses. “One born to a wraith king. But the question remains: Who was the mother?”
I can’t help feeling Keir’s words lancing through my heart. Zyra. Zyra Starsworn. It’s a truth I haven’t even allowed myself to consider.
Hope, once again taunting me.
“Why do you care?” I spit the words. “You want a name to add to your list of kills? You want to gloat about how you killed the Wraith King’s bastard daughter? Fine.” I push to my feet. “I don’t know my mother’s name but whoever she was, she named me thrice. She loved me. She loved me enough to give me three names. Gravekissed, the Black Hawk, Winterborn. And that’s all I know.”
Falion freezes.
I lunge forward, kicking my knife out of his hand. It whirls through the air, and I spin, driving the same heel high into his chest. He staggers back as the knife lands in my hand and then we’re facing each other again, and though I caught him by surprise I know it won’t happen again.
But then he surprises me, because he bows his head and sheathes his knife. “I know who you are. I know who your mother was. And I’m not here to kill you.”
“No?” My fists clenches around the blade. It would be nice to believe him, but I’ve seen this trick played a thousand times before. “Then who was she?”
There’s a wealth of sadness in his blue eyes. “She was Zyra Starsworn. Lost to the world when I was but a baby. Stolen from her bed in the middle of the night and never returned.” A hint of anger clouds his expression. “Zyra Starsworn. Starblessed. Lightkissed. The Queen Who Was Promised. The queen who never had a chance to live up to the promise in her name. And now I know. Now I know what became of her.” His face locks down tight and hard. “How did she die?”
I lower the knife. The weight in my chest feels like it’s going to drown me. I don’t dare hope. I don’t. But this is the second fae male who’s confirmed that name. “If she was truly my mother then she died in childbirth. My…. My father cut me from her womb. Her magic was killing me.” I taste the truth on my tongue like bitter acid. “And mine was killing her.”
We stare at each other.
It’s a little akin to looking in a mirror. My face holds more feminine softness, but there are… hints….
“You knew her?” I ask, barely daring to breathe through the hope.
I may as well be speaking to a frost-glazed lake. “I knew her but briefly.” His voice drops. “She was everything to me. Everything. And yet, I have only one true memory of her—the one my father gave me. A memory trapped in a crystal ball. A beautiful woman who smiles down at me as I lie bloodied and bruised on her chest.” His gaze seems far away in that moment. “She kissed my head and she drew me to her breast, and then she named me thrice.”
The heat drains from my face.
Only a fae mother gives such a gift.
Falion smiles as if he knows exactly what just went through my mind. It’s a bitter, twisted smile, one that holds the edge of a knife. “I was four when she was stolen from us. And now I am the sole remaining heir to the throne of the Court of Stars and Moon. I am Falion Starforged. The Prince Who Shall Never Rule.” He takes a deep breath. “And you are my sister.”
No. No.
“How do you know?”
“Because you are Gravekissed,” he whispers, “for your father. Winterborn for the time of your birth. But the Black Hawk was all for you. It was the mark she wore, inked into her skin. The mark of her warband, her own personal coat of arms. The mark she would have embossed on her banners had she ever come to her throne. The promise of her name and future glory.” His voice falls away. “A glory that never came. A throne that was never claimed. And now a court that is nothing more than rubble and ashes.”
Because of me.
“Well, it’s a lovely family reunion,” I snap, “but you’ll forgive me if I doubt your intentions. As you can see, those I call brothers tend to have a tendency to try and drown me in wells or put arrows through me.”
“My intentions are this: You’re pathetic. You’re weak. You’re half-trained and know nothing—”
“It wasn’t as though I had someone to instruct me!”
“As such, you’re an embarrassment to my family line.” He eases out a breath. “But you are also my sister. She named you, and in so doing, she has forced my hand. I cannot walk away and allow her sacrifice to be without meaning.” He closes his eyes. “I will train you.”
Train me?
I can’t stop myself from thinking of how easily he walks through shadows. He trapped me with but a single move.
If I knew how to do that, then maybe…. Maybe I could steal back the soul-trap with my soul in it. Maybe I could… kill my father and set myself free. Set us all free.
For the first time in my life, I see a way out of the trap I’ve found myself in.
“Now come,” he says, turning on his heel and glancing toward where I’d hidden the horn as if he can see right through the shadows I wove around it. “Fetch your horn.”
“My horn?”
“You blew it,” he points out. “And as such, you are bound to it until you die.”
“I thought it was Mistmark’s?”
Falion gives me a sidelong look. “Alaric no longer needs it.”
And then he’s gone, leaving
