Chapter Two: Dusk Descends

The feast ended before midnight.

Lia carried the last of the silver back to the kitchens, so tired she could barely stand. She was heading for the storeroom when she heard, from a corner of the courtyard, a sound so faint it was nearly swallowed by the wind—the snap of a dry branch underfoot.

Instinctively she slid into the shadows and held her breath.

Three figures in black slipped along the courtyard wall, moving with a lightness that was almost impossible. Short blades hung at their belts, and the edges of those blades gave off a faint, dark blue gleam—not the gleam ordinary steel should have.

The Dusk Order.

Lia's heart nearly clawed its way out of her throat. She had seen that kind of blade-light before—on the day her mother was executed, on the shadow-casters the Flame Guard dragged away, on the Order's remnants when they flitted through the street corners like ghosts.

How had they gotten into the palace? Prince Kaelric had only just returned...

There was no time to think. She saw the three figures make for the great hall, where the feast had just ended—the old king and the prince would be conferring in the side hall. She gritted her teeth and followed soundlessly—not to save anyone, but because she recognized the figure at the head of the three.

When the man raised a hand, his sleeve slid back, baring a forearm marked with a tattoo—a black flower, barely visible.

It was her mother Maris's tattoo.

Something seized Lia's heart. She followed the three men through the back courtyard, around the colonnade, and all the way to the flower garden outside the side hall. Hidden among the shrubs, she heard the leader's voice, low:

"Kaelric just accepted the betrothal tonight. His guard is down. Once the Wain girl arrives, that thing falls into the hands of the Ashfall dynasty. We have to move before the Blood Moon."

"But the Flame Prince... in the war in the North, he burned our people to the last one." Another voice trembled.

"Exactly why," the leader's voice was cold as iron, "he should taste what it feels like to burn."

The words had barely left his mouth when the lights in the side hall blazed bright.

"Who goes there!" a guard bellowed.

The three figures exploded into motion at once, blades leaping from their sheaths. But what met them was a wall of fire—Kaelric strode out of the hall, sword in one hand, the other hand burning with red-gold flame, the scar on his brow looking grimmer than ever in the firelight.

"The Dusk Order," he said, his voice utterly flat, "venturing onto my palace grounds. You must not want to live."

His sword moved fast. The first assassin had no time to react before he was pinned to the garden wall. The second tried to flee and was caught by a tongue of flame from Kaelric's palm, screaming as he rolled into the grass. The third—the leader—turned and ran, straight toward where Lia was hiding.

Lia had no time to think. She shrank back by instinct—and snapped a flower stem. The crack was loud in the silent night.

The leader stopped dead, turned, and met her eyes through the shrubs.

He had seen her face.

The black flower tattoo on his forearm glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"You're—" His pupils contracted. "Maris's daughter?"

Lia went cold to the bone.

The next moment, a blade of scorching fire howled past her hair straight at the leader. He barely dodged, vaulted the wall, and before he vanished, he looked back at Lia—a long look, with shock in it, and wild joy, and something she could not name that was almost pity.

"...On the night of the Blood Moon, come to the Temple of the Sunken Moon," he said, low. "Your mother is waiting for you there."

Then he was gone into the dark.

Lia collapsed into the shrubbery, her heart hammering. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. Kaelric came toward her, sword in hand, step by step, until he stood over her, looking down. The firelight carved his cold face and those deep amber eyes.

"You know him," he said. His tone was flat, but the pressure behind it allowed no argument.

Lia opened her mouth, but no words would come. Her lips were trembling, her fingers trembling, even the shadow at her feet was trembling.

Kaelric's gaze dropped to her clenched fist. He crouched, almost idly, and reached out—and pried her fingers open. The dark pendant, long dulled—her mother's pendant—lay in her palm.

On it was carved a black flower.

Exactly like the tattoo on the assassin's arm.

Kaelric's hand, holding the pendant, tightened slightly. He raised his eyes to Lia, and for the first time, something complicated surfaced in those deep amber eyes.

"Shadow-caster's blood," he murmured. "Voss... is the surname of the Shadow Queen Melaira's maternal line."

All the blood in Lia's body ran cold in a single instant.