It became my escape from a lifetime of misery.
I became adept at stealing from the markets near our house. One sidestep into the shadows, and suddenly, I could take everything and anything I wanted from the market stalls. I stole to eat. I stole to survive. I stole because sometimes it was the only way to revenge myself upon those older brothers who liked to hit, and kick, and ambush me in dangerous places. I’d leave those treasures in their boots and other hidey holes, where they’d be found. It earned them several thrashings and nobody ever knew it was me.
When my fifth birthing day came around, I was hauled before the king. I knew who he was and that I had to please him or the money would stop being sent.
I feel the same weight of condemnation now.
Somewhere, deep in my heart, I will always be that sickly child who knows she needs to prove herself.
“Daughter.” The king’s cold black eyes lock upon me, and then they slide down my length. “You look unwell.”
“Torture does that to a body,” I rasp, and can’t stop my right fist from curling in upon itself.
He notices. He notices everything.
I’d love to say I have the wherewithal to mutter “Fuck you,” but I’m pretty sure I do nothing more than tremble as the chancellor sweeps his torch closer to me.
“Is she even in any sort of condition to do this?” The chancellor asks.
My father’s eyes harden. There is no choice. Whatever he wants of me, I must do.
“The other one failed, after all,” says a new voice, coming from my right.
A chill trembles through me. I cut a sharp look toward the newcomer as he strolls out of the shadows, toying with something in his hands. Black hair tumbles over a pale forehead, but where my father is wildness and aggression, Ruhle is cultured malice. Every inch of him is sleekly poised, from the gleaming leather of his body armor to the silver skull ring on his finger. His boots gleam, and there’s a joke among the court that you don’t want to get on Ruhle’s bad side, or your tongue will be the one that polishes them.
My father has sired many children.
But few survive the training camps, and those that do are the killers. I didn’t have the killing instinct—I still don’t—but Soraya did, and those were the days when she had my back.
Ruhle is the eldest of the wraith king’s children and heir apparent. He was the only wraith-born bastard who survived the training camps during his year, and some whisper there’s a reason for that. The first five to get across the finish line of the year-end challenge are allowed to live—but he was the only one who returned from the mountains.
That doesn’t mean he works alone.
No, he has his own little circle of wraiths to do his bidding. Seven of them, to be exact. And they’re all as cruel and malicious as he is.
“How was the Abyss?” he asks of me.
“Somewhat chilly. How was exile?” I return, squaring my shoulders. Drawing his attention is never wise, but cowering before him is a certain means to earn his full attention. He preys on the weak and after years of small aggressions, if I give him one good reason to believe me unable to fend him off, I’ll find him in my bedchambers one night with a knife in hand.
Ruhle’s lip curls. “It was never exile—”
“No?” I turn my full attention toward him as he prowls toward me. “Three of our brothers die, and you are sent to the watchtowers along our southern flank during winter? Perhaps it was a gift instead, a boon for our precious crown prince to learn to control his temper.”
Father hates that title.
He rules. Absolutely. And with his longevity, the concept of an heir makes his lip curl.
“The Blessed courts were starting to look north,” Ruhle grates. “Someone had to ensure they didn’t cross the Shadowfangs.”
“How brave of you, to take a captain’s job—”
“You little slut.” Ruhle starts toward me, his fist clenching. “Your bitch sister isn’t here to save you now—”
“Enough.” The word cuts through us and we both kneel toward Father as he watches us with simmering fury in his eyes.
The word echoes through the throne room with all the finality of the chancellor bringing his staff down on the slate floors with a ringing thump.
“Yes, Father.” Both Ruhle and I parrot, as we bow our heads.
But I can sense my brother’s cold glare.
I’ll pay for that little moment, but he won’t dare try to kill me. I’m still valuable to my father, and while Ruhle might have murdered three of our weaker brothers, he doesn’t dare touch the king’s Shadow Walker.
He’d also have to catch me first.
“I have a task for you, Zemira,” Father continues as we both straighten.
Twice in one night. A girl can only be so lucky.
“And here I thought you were prepared to welcome me back into your loving embrace,” I reply. “Imagine that. What would you have of me?”
“You failed me this summer. I sent you to steal the Dragon’s Heart from the Court of Dreams, and not only did you fail to find it, but you mistook it for this worthless scrap of gold.”
He flings something at my feet.
A golden amulet shaped like a dragon’s claw. It fetches up by my bare feet. The last time I saw it, it hung around Prince Keir’s muscled throat, but my sister stole it and presented it to my father as the Heart.
Stillness runs through me. This moment is dangerous.
Because I mistook nothing.
The Dragon’s Heart was never a relic. No, it was a story twisted to hide the truth of the matter: Many, many years ago, Keir was one of the powerful dragon kings who ruled this world. Rumors abound that when
