The Stolen Throne

Also by Abigail Owen

Dominions series

The Liar’s Crown

The Stolen Throne

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

PART ONE

1

2

3

4

5

6

PART TWO

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

PART THREE

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

PART FOUR

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

PART FIVE

66

67

68

69

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

80

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

88

89

Acknowledgments

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Abigail Owen. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave., STE 181

Shrewsbury, PA 17361

[email protected]

Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Heather Howland

Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

Cover images by matrioshka/Shutterstock

Map created by Kellerica Maps

Interior design by Toni Kerr

ISBN 978-1-64937-281-9

Ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-298-7

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition May 2023

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Liz Pelletier—for your support, your friendship, your brilliance, and for creating Entangled, which has made such an impact to my life and writing career!

At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage.

https://entangledpublishing.com/books/the-stolen-throne

The heavens are empty because

all the souls are missing.

The hells are next.

PART 1

THE ISOLATED PAWNS

1

THE BROKEN

SHADOWRAITH

Reven

You’d think stealing a queen would be easy for a Shadowraith.

Considering I once kidnapped a princess from this very palace and no one stopped me, it should be. But that was before Eidolon, the king of Tyndra, moved in. He is why, instead of using my power over shadow to get to her unseen, I’m standing in a forgotten room at the top of a set of dark stairs that lead down into an underground cistern. He’d know if I used my shadows.

As my maker, he can use them, too.

Goddess help me, a voice whispers in the darkness, and for a heavy second, I think it’s her.

Meren.

My heart surges to life as I listen, waiting, straining to hear that voice again. To make sure it was actually her.

Nothing.

The breath of hope I’d been holding rattles out of my chest. Who am I kidding? I’m not that lucky. Besides, there are plenty of other things that whisper to me. Most aren’t good.

I don’t think it was one of Eidolon’s Shadows—the fractured, evil pieces of the king’s soul that I carry inside me. The voice would have sounded like my own because I’m one of those Shadows, too. The one to get away. To stand against him.

It could have been a desperate stranger crying out for help. I hear them every night, their voices coming from all over the six dominions of Nova—despairing people who whisper pleas into the dark that they think go unheard, but the shadows carry their words to me. I used to find them—the Vanished, people would call them—and take them to the safety of the Shadowood for a chance at a new life, but the Shadowood isn’t safe anymore. I can’t save anyone.

Pathetic. A new voice rings in my head. This one I recognize, because it comes from within. This is one of Eidolon’s Shadows. If you can’t save them, why could you save her?

Shut up, I mutter.

That sets the other Shadows off. Their voices in my head blend and blur as they talk over one another. The foul things I carry fight for control every second of every hour of every day. If my tenuous control slips, the Shadows will gleefully bury my consciousness down deep in a tomb made of my own body and take over. There’s no telling what they’d do after that.

Tightening my hands into fists, I force them back down.

It works—for now.

Luckily, Cain, who is with me down here, doesn’t seem to notice any of that. He’s too pissed off about what we’re about to do.

In the history of bad ideas, kidnapping the woman everyone believes to be the queen of the dominion of Aryd out from under the nose of the powerful king they think she’s married to, especially when I can’t use my powers to do it, ranks right at the top.

But it’s the best we could come up with.

I refuse to wait even a second longer to get Meren out of there. I’ve been hiding and waiting for what has felt like an eternity—every plodding, torturous minute spent healing after the wounds I sustained in the last battle with the king. The battle where I lost Meren.

We’ve been hunted the whole way, constantly having to evade Eidolon’s soldiers, keeping out of their grasp by moving all over the blasted dominion. Almost every single one of Aryd’s different deserts, in their varied colors and landscapes, has seen our ragtag band of misfits. The king’s men have been relentless.

Granted, I have Eidolon’s Shadows…and a few other things he needs. He wants them back.

But he has something I want back, too.

Standing beside me, Cain snorts an unamused laugh. This is a joke, right?

I grit my teeth.

After all this time in the desert, endless sand and heat are now my idea of what the seventh hell must be like. After three weeks traveling here together, just the two of us, having Cain’s ugly mug in my face every single day might be the eighth.

If you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a joker.

Cain grumbles something under his breath and stares at the inky water the stairs lead down into, expression dubious. "Let me get this straight. You want me to trust you to get us into the palace by swimming through an underground labyrinth—a dark underground labyrinth—that you’ve used once. Once. And that one time, you weren’t in control, and you couldn’t see anything in the pitch black, and Meren was the only one who actually knew the way. That about right?"

We’ve already discussed this. A lot. Yes.

No. He crosses his arms, jaw taking on a stubborn cast.

I train a hard gaze on Cain. In his early twenties, like me, he’s as tall as I am but lankier, leanly muscled thanks to growing up in the desert. Black hair. Nearly black eyes. The guy laughs a lot, when not among enemies. Which, to him, I mostly am.

He and I are…complicated.

Meren sent us to Cain for protection. As the son of Zariph Cainis, who leads a zariphate of Wanderers—proud, nomadic people who thrive in the desert—he could offer us a unique form of protection. This man is the entire reason why the people of the Vanished I try to protect, Meren’s twin sister, Tabra, who is technically the true queen of Aryd, and I aren’t dead yet. Cain has sheltered us all while putting his own people at risk.

I should respect the man. Feel grateful.

I can’t stand him.

I hate him because he’s known Meren most of her life and wants her for himself. I hate him because he’s had years with her, years when he could see her face or touch her, when all I had was her voice in the darkness, begging for a different life, and a few stolen weeks with her at my side. I hate him because I know he would be better for her than I am. He could protect her, cherish her, keep her safe. She could grow old as his heartmate.

I, on the other hand… I bring only death.

It also doesn’t help that all he’s done is doubt me and argue with me all the way here. He’s lucky I haven’t disappeared him yet. I could. I’ve done it before.

My control over shadows is a blessing and a curse. I can manipulate them to do my bidding. I hide in them, travel by them, wield them as weapons. I can also obliterate everything within leagues when I lose control.

Right now, though, I can’t do any of that well. I’m better than I was, but I’m still weak.

Something Cain knows.

Eidolon’s Shadows know it, too.

The dark corners of the room shift restlessly around us. Cain snaps his gaze to me, body tensed and ready to defend himself.

I force the darkness to still. He doesn’t relax, though.

He’s smart not to.

What’s the real plan here? Cain asks with narrow-eyed suspicion. Get your shadows to drown me? Hide my body in darkness?

Is that my plan? No. Tempting as it is.

Could it happen anyway? Maybe.

Hells, a few weeks ago I came a hair’s breadth from accidentally killing Cain’s father, the zariph, for refusing to let us leave to rescue Meren sooner.

If Cain knew that…

Do you have a better way in? I know he doesn’t.

A tic sets off in his jaw. He despises this plan, but we have no better option. We need to get into the castle grounds undetected, and I can’t use my power to do that.

We agreed—and by we, I mean Cain strongly pointed out and I eventually agreed—that I shouldn’t use my shadows to get us in and out of the palace. Not with the way it drains me. Not with Eidolon likely able to sense it, waiting like a spider in a web.

I’m saving my power for in case this goes sideways and I need to get us out quickly. And the likelihood of that happening is high. We haven’t been the only ones with time to plan.

Months. Meren’s been trapped with that monster for months. Who even knows what sort of protections he’s put in place? Or what he’s done to her.

Tabra was with Eidolon less than two weeks, and look at what shape she’s in. Wasting away. Prone to violent fits. With Meren’s face, it’s been very easy to picture the same happening to her, too.

Screw waiting.

I imagine stuffing the king’s Shadows into a box made of indestructible stone with a heavy lid. I shove all of what I feel in there with them. Every strong emotion. Emotions are dangerous for someone like me. I’m going. Stay here and wait if you want.

Cain flashes out a hand to stop me before I can do more than shift my weight forward. Hold on.

"What now?"

He straightens with a light in his eyes I don’t trust and a cocky grin I’ve seen way too often. Actually… He holds up his hands, palms glowing a cheerful yellow. I’m not the only Imperium—humans who were born with powers gifted to them by the goddesses—here, though he’s Hylorae while I’m Enfernae. Just another reason to hate each other. His light bounces off the water but doesn’t penetrate beyond a few feet into the tunnels.

I cross my arms. Seeing won’t help all that much. Breathing is the bigger issue if I get us lost down there.

He ignores me, focusing on the water, which begins to bubble like a current, pushing toward us from the sunken passages beyond. The level in the chamber where we stand rises, coming up the stairs until I have to back up to keep my shoes dry.

Then, suddenly, the water parts, clearing a small, walkable path for us down the stairs and into the exposed hallway beyond.

I glance at Cain, who shrugs. Better than drowning.

At least he’s handy for something. His power to draw water from the driest part of the desert saved our asses more than once these last weeks. Handy for the zariphate, too.

Together, Cain and I descend into the dark and now dripping tunnel only to encounter a wall of water before us. As we get closer, the water behind us moves, slipping across the walls and ceiling but not touching us until it fills in at our backs, locking us in a bubble of sorts.

Cain cocks his head at me with an air of expectation.

What? You want a pat on the back for creativity?

Wouldn’t hurt.

Your ego doesn’t need any help.

What can I say? Self-confidence is part of my personality the same way asshole-ness is part of yours. Then he sobers, the warrior in him focused. Since I don’t know where I’m going and space is limited in here, I can’t move all of it. Just enough air so that we don’t immediately die if you get us lost, but it will only last so long.

Between the two of us, we make it through the cistern—dry, I might add. Yes, thanks to Cain. It only took two wrong turns that would have killed us if we’d tried to swim it. Peering through the crack in the door that leads out of the cistern and up to the patrolled grounds between the outer and inner walls that surround the palace, we wait, timing the guards, like Meren taught the Shadow that was in control of me when she showed him this way into the palace.

Finally, we take our shot, running across the open land that protects the palace like a dry moat, softly lit by only the third moon, then up and over the inner wall to drop into the private royal gardens.

Which is when we hear it.

Music. Laughter. Talking. Far enough away that no one is near us, but still, a big problem.

Hells and damnation. A party, I whisper. Quite the occasion by the sounds of it.

Cain thinks for a moment, then grimaces. Sandrats. It’s Meren’s name day.

Wait. Her birthday is today? Perfect. Just perfect. And you didn’t think to mention that?

He throws his hand out, waving around us. I’ve been a little busy to keep track of the day. And what about you? If you’re so arrow shot for her—

Arrow shot?

So taken you’ve lost your wits.

Before I can blast him with shadow or at least punch him in the face for that one, a shout rises up nearby.

Hey!

On sheer instinct, without even blinking, I will the shadows behind the guard running at us to grab him and slam his head into the trunk of a tree. He falls to the ground in a heap. The purple glow of my palms douses immediately.

Cain and I both go silent, waiting for any other guards to pick up on the alarm, but the garden remains peaceful.

I should have handled that, Cain grumbles after a bit.

The glint of moonlight on his knife blade tells me he was ready. I’m not apologizing, though.

Scaling the side of the palace itself, we make our way up to the balcony. Instead of going left toward Meren and Tabra’s old rooms, we go the opposite direction, wrapping around to an even wider terrace. Every room in this wing opens onto the private balconies.

At least the queen’s name day celebration means the people in the palace are distracted—and probably gathered in the ballroom, which is in another building. Except that includes Meren. The thought of having to wait for her is already an itch under my skin.

Let us out!

The scream comes from within, exploding the metaphorical box I had locked the Shadows inside.

Fuck.

I put a shaking hand behind me and form a fist, the Wanderer signal to stop, while I wrestle for control. Damn it. I had the Shadows buried so deep that they shouldn’t have seen anything or known where we are.

But they do. They know the king is near. Our maker is near.

Their screams are like ragged blades shredding my insides as they try to claw their way out. If I look down, I know I’ll see their faces bulging out of my skin, even under my clothing. Seven hells. Eidolon doesn’t need to find me—the Shadows want to find him. Especially now, while I’m weakened. I went up against Eidolon once, when I was physically whole…and I lost.

There’s no way I can face him and live. Not tonight.

We need to get Meren out of the palace before Eidolon realizes I’m here. That’s the only way this works without us getting dead.

Cain taps my shoulder.

Don’t. The word comes out as a snarl that even I don’t recognize.

The sharp blade of a knife slides against the skin of my throat. Just give the word, Cain’s voice says in my ear. Not a threat. A mercy killing.

He means it, too.

I hold up a hand, and neither of us moves. I need to be in control before we take another step.

I slip a hand into my breast pocket and run a finger over the perfect, smooth glass of the flower, the one Meren made and gave me one night in a moonlit wood when we pretended we were the only two people in the world.

I’m so close. Damned if I’m going to let the Shadows win tonight.

I take a long, slow breath, stuff the grinding fear that I’m already too late to save her in the box with the Shadows, and pull the metaphorical lid back over it, containing the evil. I’ve got it.

Mostly.

The knife doesn’t move. You sure?

Meren probably wouldn’t like it if I pushed her best friend off this ledge. Yes.

The knife leaves my throat, but I don’t miss the way Cain releases a breath of his own. I’m pretty sure I scared the life out of him. These past months, he’s seen what happens when I lose it. More times than I like to acknowledge.

We continue on until we reach the biggest balcony with alabaster columns leading into the room beyond, rather than the usual black marble, reminding me of stripes on a banded alder vulture from home. The curtains are thrown wide open as if in direct defiance, daring anyone to try something with this queen.

This has to be Meren’s room.

It smells of her—fresh and subtle and clean.

Inside, beyond the columns, is a massive bed covered by a gauzy netting, empty. So is the rest of the ridiculously opulent room, one large enough that a small house could fit inside it. It feels hollow in here. Cold. Unfeeling. Not like Meren. She must hate it. Feel so alone.

That’s assuming she hasn’t succumbed to Eidolon the way her sister did.

We’ll have to wait, Cain whispers. Somewhere no one will see us.

We both look around. There aren’t many places to hide one of us in this breezy, wide-open space, let alone two of us. Not that I can see.

Wait. The hidden room, Cain says. There’s got to be one, right?

I know what he’s talking about. In the rooms Tabra lived in when she was princess, there was a secret chamber for Meren, the hidden twin. The queens of Aryd have been concealing their second-born twin sisters for centuries, generations. Makes sense the queen’s chambers would have a space like that, too.

We split up, pressing against the walls until I get to a section that looks as solid as the rest, but when I push against it, a hidden panel springs open silently.

Here. I wave him over.

Cain grabs a candle.

As if that’s going to protect him from the Shadows if they break free. Or me if I accidentally lose my temper. We’re about to lock ourselves in a small room together, though, so I decide not to point that out.

Before closing the door, I pause and look across the room toward the passage that leads deeper into the palace. To where Meren is celebrating. Now that I’m here, I don’t know if I can make myself wait. She’s so close.

I’ve waited months. Months I’ve been forced to exercise patience I don’t claim to have. Months of roiling terror for her as I waited and planned and prayed to the goddesses that she wasn’t dead or being tortured. Months of being drip fed news about her.

I’m not sure what I’ll do when I finally see her. Hopefully keep my head and get all three of us out of here safely. But the fact that I can hardly make myself wait in her room until she returns should be a warning.

I will do anything, kill anyone, sacrifice everyone—including myself—to get to her. To keep her safe.

Because she is mine.

What are you doing? Cain snaps.

I don’t answer. Instead, I close the door, and we wait.

2

The False Queen

Meren

Fear is like sand.

It’s impossible to get rid of once it touches you. The tiny grains in small amounts might only chafe, but if it’s left to build, to collect more and more, those grains turn into massive dunes that are exhausting to scale, or worse, become quicksand that will swallow a person whole.

I sit stiffly on my onyx throne, an inane half smile pinned to my mouth as before me, my kingdom dances.

Highborn authoritates currently in favor with the crown—my sister’s crown—are dressed in fancy costumes that mimic flowers that only grow for a single day after a rain in our desert dominion of Aryd. The dancers swirl by in a kaleidoscope of color, blurring together until all I see are flashes.

Cunning eyes turned my way, always watching.

Smiling mouths that look more like bared teeth.

Jangling laughter that sets my nerves on a knife’s edge.

They’re all here to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. Mine and Tabra’s. Only my twin—the true Queen of Aryd—isn’t here. I am. And they all think I’m her.

A large hand lands on mine. Gently, or so the people looking on will think. What they don’t know is there’s always purpose in the way Eidolon touches me, and I have to try hard…so bloody hard…not to flinch. I force myself to face him.

Turquoise eyes.

I don’t like meeting his gaze. His eyes remind me too much of—

I cut myself off from thinking the name and focus instead on the man at my side right this second.

King Eidolon. My husband as long as I continue to play this role of queen in my sister’s place.

His lips draw back in a smile. Happy name day, my queen.

Name day. What a joke.

My name was erased from the Book of Names on the day of my birth. Until recently, no one has ever known that our line of queens produces twins. One to rule. One to forfeit.

I’m supposed to be the forfeit. The second born. The body double. The decoy. The fake.

Look how well it’s working.

A shudder slithers down my spine and I have to consciously try not to pluck at the material of my gown. I’m supposed to look like a cactus rose, all pale pinks and soft petals, as a foil to Eidolon’s ice blue costume. But the skirt is so flouncy it annoys me, the mask itches, and the bodice presses my breasts up practically to my chin. Every breath makes them heave.

All of which make sitting beautifully still for the king at my side near impossible.

He knows I’m not Tabra. He knows. And he and I are both putting on a show together for my people while he hunts for my sister and everyone else I hid from him. What he doesn’t know is that I’m also putting on a show for him.

Months spent pretending to be besotted with this man, just like Tabra had been before I got her away from him. Away from the man who has secretly killed our queens for centuries. The man my sister married after he poisoned her with a gift of an amulet—the same amulet that now hangs around my neck. A man I also happen to be magically bound to by a sand nymph’s curse.

I only just found out about that.

With every passing heartbeat, I’ve expected to become Eidolon’s puppet, my strings pulled by his every whim and wish. But I feel…nothing. No tug. No urge to follow. No sense that he controls me or my power—either with the amulet or the curse or any other magical means. I honestly don’t know what’s supposed to happen.

So I’ve been playing like one or all of those things have done their job and I’m his.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice my shiver of revulsion as he leans closer. If I haven’t said so already, you look truly enchanting tonight.

I want to vomit.

Thank you, I murmur instead, lowering my gaze in a flutter of lashes. Do I sound pleased enough? Insipid enough? Flattered enough? How did Tabra sound when she was the one under his thrall?

I force my stiff cheeks to move and smile back. And thank you for my name day celebration, my king. Are you enjoying it?

He gives a small hum that could be either agreement or denial. There’s a look in his eyes I can’t quite pinpoint, and I have to keep myself from fidgeting in my seat.

Then he gives my hand a squeeze. Do you know the biggest mistake of my life was falling in love? He leans back in his high-backed throne covered in cold-looking gemstones—all blues and whites, reminding me of the portal room in Tyndra—the picture of relaxed and casual. The first incarnation of me. He says this in a low voice for my ears only. No one else knows the source of his immortality, how for centuries he’s shed his shadows to create a younger version of himself. That man fell in love.

Looking at this incarnation of Eidolon, it’s hard to imagine he ever loved anyone but himself. This one is evil incarnate. Although I did fall in love with a different version of this man, the only Shadow of his to escape him.

Reven.

He’s hiding in the desert somewhere. With Tabra. With the Vanished. I should be with them. Instead, I’m stuck here.

Eidolon cocks his head. Do you want to know what happened?

All I can do is nod.

His lover betrayed him. In the most ruthless, heartbreaking way. The Eidolon of that age made a vow to himself that he would right all her wrongs against him and against the world…and he would never allow himself to be so pathetically weak again.

Why is he telling me this? In the middle of my party of all places. Is it a warning not to fall in love with him?

"I would never betray you." I have to say it. He expects me to.

He hums and runs a hand affectionately over my hair, which is slicked back in a bun at my nape, like he’s petting a dog. As sitting queen of this dominion, what do you think is your most sacred duty?

This feels like a trick. Like a test. Or am I being paranoid? To protect my people.

He huffs a laugh. Does the polish of his smile tarnish a little bit? "I had hoped you would say to love and honor your husband, the king."

I blanch. Does he know? The question rips through me. Does he know I’ve been faking being under his thumb and infatuated? That the truth is I hate him with the fires of the burning lands? But he can’t. Nothing has changed recently.

I don’t know how I hold my composure, but I don’t flinch. I don’t look away.

He studies me a long moment, then, I have a gift for you.

Eidolon gets to his feet, an intimidating figure of a man—tall and lean with jet black hair silvering slightly at the temples, and with a commanding aura that most mistake for leadership but I know to be cruelty. Immediately, the music stops, and the dancers watch him and wait. He holds out a hand to me, his expression a charming mask as he gazes at me, lips tilted and striking eyes unblinking.

Everyone around us—all my viziers, authoritates, and even the servants—believe his act.

I know better.

Every day, they tell me how smart I was to align our struggling dominion with his strong one. How lucky I am, the way he loves me so much that he never wants to let me out of his sight. They tell me a lot of things about him.

They would probably find it very odd if I ran away screaming right now.

I glance at his hand.

The last thing I want to do is leave the relative safety of the crowd to go anywhere with him, but I have no choice. A girl under his spell would go quite happily.

So I let him help me rise. Eidolon turns us both to the room with a wide smile, like he’s presenting us to our people, and waves his other hand. Carry on without us while I treat my queen to her gift in private.

The expressions all around us are variations of delighted or sly. Immediately the music resumes, and so does the dancing, as he leads me down the steps of the dais. The crowd parts as we walk, bowing and murmuring things like joyous name day and many happy summer solstices, domina as we pass.

We make it out of the throne room, into the gardens between it and the palace. I can’t walk through here without thinking of the night a certain Shadowraith kidnapped the wrong princess.

Reven won’t come for me tonight, though. It’s been so long that I don’t anticipate it every second. Not anymore.

I haven’t given up. Just…settled in.

We enter the palace itself, our footsteps echoing off the smooth obsidian floors. Eidolon takes me to his chambers in the royal suites, next door to my own. With what I can only describe as a flourish, he opens the door and ushers me in. The light of the brazier fire casts a warm glow over the king’s massive bedchamber—

I jerk to a halt, my lungs freezing in my chest.

No.

Standing before me is my handmaiden, Achlys—the woman my sister loves deeply and my only friend in the palace. She stares at me with wide, terror-filled green eyes as Eidolon’s trusted general, Quinten, holds her at sword point.

Goddess save us. He knows.

3

Ashes, Ashes

I stand very still, Eidolon beside me. Watching my reaction.

What I don’t do is babble. I’ve learned to control that particular nervous tell these last few months in the palace.

Achlys? Her name punches from me in a way I don’t have to fake. I turn to the king with equally authentic wide-eyed horror. What is going on here?

He gives me a pitying look, then waves a hand in her direction. Isn’t it obvious, my queen? She is your gift.

Wait, what? Panic sets in, the tremble of my hands spreading to my shoulders. I can’t fall apart now, not when I don’t know what’s happening. How would a girl who was supposed to be under his thrall react?

As if he senses my struggle, he narrows his gaze. Rather…her life is your gift.

Bile churns in my stomach. The air in the room…it’s so thin. Or am I hyperventilating? My breasts strain against the tight bonds of my dress with each inhale. Can he see how fast I’m breathing? I can’t slow it down. I still don’t see—

She was found riffling through my chambers.

My heart plummets to the floor. I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have told her about that book. Eidolon kept a diary for centuries. Reven described it to me once. That book has to have answers. Answers for why Eidolon steals and kills our queens. What his end game is. Maybe even how we defeat him.

We’ve fought him and failed once already.

The book is important.

I would have been looking if I could, but the king has a way of keeping me locked up without anyone else knowing. I’m not even sure how. But any time I leave any room, he appears at my side. And of course, I have to pretend like I’m thrilled at his attentiveness rather than alarmed.

This under his thrall thing has been a pain in my royal ass.

I told Achlys about the book only a day or two ago. I’m guessing that while Eidolon and I and the rest of the palace were distracted with my celebration, she must have gone searching in here, the most likely place he’d keep it.

The question now is, what kind of response is he expecting from me?

I try to make a show of goggling. Is this true? I demand of Achlys in my most queenly voice, channeling my grandmother, who was ruler of Aryd before Tabra and me.

She doesn’t answer. Why doesn’t she answer? Why doesn’t she whimper or make a noise? Blink? Something?

After a beat, I face Eidolon. Was anything taken?

The way he’s watching me… I can’t tell if it’s with amusement or suspicion. Is he toying with me? No.

Let’s be thankful for that, at least. I fluff my fancy, floral skirt, trying to play the part of a frilly, empty-headed royal.

But you know the punishment.

My heart rate kicks up another notch, because I do. Are you sure she wasn’t simply cleaning? I mean, she must be punished, of course, because you’ve made it quite clear that your rooms are off-limits even to servants unless one of your advisors is here.

He only hums. I can’t get a read on him, but he’s definitely watching me.

I try a tentative smile. It feels wrong on my face. Death does seem a little…excessive.

He clucks his tongue like a nanny scolding a toddler. Then slides an arch look at Achlys. Answer my next questions with the truth, and I won’t kill her.

The words drop between us like a Devourer bursting from the ocean to swallow me whole. The truth? What does he know? What is he trying to get me to reveal?

My knees are wobbling so hard, I press my thighs together so I don’t fall over.

Pull yourself together.

That’s Omma’s voice in my head—my great-aunt who raised me and trained me to be who and what I am. She wasn’t what I’d call a soft woman. Stone-cold bitch is closer. It doesn’t help.

Eidolon sobers, no longer hiding behind the sham of charm. Was she in my chambers at your order?

Goddess save us. What do I say?

Achlys did this without my knowing, but she did it to help me. To help Tabra.

I touch the signet ring on my pinkie. The one bearing the striking snake sigil of our house. The one identical to my sister’s. I can’t let the king kill Achlys, which he’ll definitely do if he thinks she did this on her own. The problem is, confessing to giving an order would expose my own deception of being on his side.

He needs me, for now, so I don’t think he’d kill me. But resort to other means of making me do what he wants? Tell him what he needs to know? I’m pretty sure torture of some sort will be in my future.

I don’t have any choice here.

I close my eyes. Yes. I gave her the order.

Quinten, you know what to do.

At Eidolon’s command, I jump and open my eyes. What? My gaze swings between the two men and then to her. To my loyal friend, who stayed with me here in the palace when she didn’t have to. She could have run. Could have saved herself months ago. Could have gone to find Tabra, who I know she worries about desperately every single day.

Eidolon unclenches his hands. I hadn’t even noticed they were fisted, hiding the purple glow. Darkness unwraps from around her body, and her eyes flood with tears. She makes a gagging sound, and more shadow pours out of her mouth, like a black silk swath.

She’s been bound and subdued and silenced by his darkness this entire time. I know why. So we couldn’t try to communicate with each other. Warn each other. Try to think of some way out of this together.

Without a word, Quinten takes her roughly by the arm and drags her to the door.

I’m sorry, domina, she whimpers as they pass us.

As she disappears into the hallway beyond, I lunge after her.

To do what, I don’t know. Stop him. Help her. Give her a chance to run. Except a new rope of darkness wraps around me, pinning my arms to my sides, Eidolon’s violet light competing with the glow of the fires in the room now that he’s no longer hiding it from me.

I’m lifted into the air and deposited on the other side of the room. Before I can protest, Quinten returns, not with Achlys, but with the head butler here in the palace. Ushi. He’s been a servant here for three generations of my family. He used to sneak Tabra—or me, when I was standing in for her—sweet treats at dinner, knowing she loved anything with sugar. His cragged face, aged by time and our hot, dry climate, is as familiar to me as any in the palace.

Ushi is bound and gagged not with shadow but with linen strips. Quinten leaves, the door closing behind him with finality.

What is Ushi doing here? I demand. Or try to demand. Panic laces my voice like poison.

Darkness snaps out from the corners of the room and wraps around Ushi’s neck so violently his sunken eyes bulge and his face immediately turns purple.

Stop! I struggle against my own bonds. Stop! You said—

I said the truth would save Achlys. For now. Eidolon isn’t looking at Ushi, but at me. However, I can’t let this transgression go unpunished. Someone must be the example.

The example? Goddess. Ushi is the head of the servants here. He is beloved and respected and old enough that the younger servants try to help him. We tried to get him to retire, offered him a permanent home here in the palace to enjoy the end of his days. He refused.

Eidolon picked him because without him, the workings of the household will suffer. Because Ushi is familiar enough to me that I’ll feel the loss personally. And…because Ushi is old enough that his death won’t be questioned by anyone in the palace.

A secret threat for Eidolon to hold over me.

I reach toward him. No—

The shadows writhe, and with an audible pop, Ushi’s neck snaps. He goes suddenly, sickeningly limp. Then the shadow disappears like smoke in the wind, and he drops to the floor in a heap of twisted limbs.

4

We All Fall Down

The king steps over the corpse, closing in on me, and I flinch. I can’t help it.

Every scrap of the veneer of his charm is gone. The churning bile surges up my throat, choking me. The man before me isn’t human. He’s evil in a skin suit.

Reven was right to steal all of Eidolon’s Shadows when the king shed them the last time. Someone had to try to stop him.

I guess that sand nymph’s curse didn’t bind our souls after all. He says it almost casually.

Immediately, an image of the day the curse snapped into place—the first time we locked eyes—flashes through my mind. A line of glittering sand connected us, and then shadow swirled over and around those grains like dense smoke until it obliterated the light.

I thought I saw a hint of my own death in that moment. Suffocated. Annihilated.

Is that what he’s about to do to me?

Eidolon’s hand flashes out, and he yanks the amulet—his amulet—from around my neck in a painful snap of the chain. Then he shoves it in a pocket. It’s time for us to be completely honest with each other, Mereneith. Starting with you making me a portal.

The first time Eidolon saw me, I used my powers over sand to create a magical glass portal that could take us anywhere. It’s how I got my sister and Reven away from him and to safety.

I can’t.

Stop lying. The p comes out like a pop of sound, and he rolls his shoulders like he’s having to hold himself in check. Now he’s letting me see the blistering anger underneath.

I’m not. I scramble to find words. Ever since I’ve been here, my powers have dwindled. They’re practically gone.

It’s the truth, but I see in his eyes that he doesn’t believe me.

A torrent of shadow rises over me, and everything goes dark and loud, like a sandstorm, before it disappears just as fast, only now we’re standing in my chambers.

Then darkness shoots out from his hands and fills the space between two of the large white columns that lead out onto my balcony. The shadow spreads and grows, smoothing into a parchment-thin barrier until it blocks the view of the night sky and the gardens outside.

He does it again to the next gap between columns. And another. Until every window, every doorway, every single way out is blocked. Then, with a snap of his fingers, those shadows turn clear like the towering glass walls that run the entire outside border of Aryd. The ones that keep out the Devourers.

Not gone, but gone enough that no one other than me will know they are there.

So this is how he’s kept me prisoner. He’s showing me the trick now, which I admit is way more frightening than not being sure.

Why? To make absolutely certain I can’t leave? Or to muffle the sounds of my screams?

I’m not the monster you think I am. I have people of my own to protect. People important to me. You won’t believe my reasons—not after a lifetime of being fed lies. He stalks toward me. "So I won’t bother trying to convince you. However, if you want to live, I suggest you stop giving me excuses and do everything I say."

Behind him, our combined silhouettes are cast by the firelight from the brazier at my back and the glow of Eidolon’s hands. I watch in horror as his shadow on the wall, in silhouette, wraps its hands around my own shadow’s neck.

I can’t feel it. He’s not actually touching me. But it’s like I’m watching what he really wants to do to me play out in shadow.

He’s going to kill me. Get what he wants and then kill me.

A fresh wave of terror is chased by a hotter, more violent surge of anger that ignites every inch of my body. A vicious concoction of emotions.

I will never help him. I will never be his puppet or do anything that would let him gain more power or go after the people I love. Not if I can help it.

If I’m dead anyway…then, screw him.

Eidolon shoves his face close enough to mine that I can smell mint from the iced treat served at my name day celebration on his breath. Quinten is still out in the hall with your precious servant.

I understand the threat.

I have a choice: protect her or protect hundreds of innocent lives. My sister, Reven, Cain, the Vanished, and the Wanderers. Thousands when I count the people of Aryd. My people. Maybe even the people in the other five dominions of Nova. They think they’re safe in Mariana, Tropikis, Savanah, Wildernyss, and even the king’s dominion of Tyndra. They’re not.

If I make him a portal, he can go anywhere. If I make him several, he can send his armies wherever he wants.

Giving in to Eidolon puts them all at risk. Every soul in this world.

I stare at the