Blake
Veiled Valley is shrouded in rain clouds as I walk through the castle, met by a welcoming gust of warm air. The spirit of the house is usually happy to see me compared to others. I’ve often wondered where it came from, why it chose this place to make its eternal home.
It follows me through the castle while I make my way to the office Ryatt keeps here, despite being a few months into his retirement, which I think was Ella’s idea more than his.
Sconces light my way, flickering on with each step I take up a winding stone staircase older than anything in Moonrise. Veiled Valley has been around since the dawn of time, I think. So long, in fact, I can’t see its origins in the tapestry weaving between the stars.
A blond young man steps out of a room carrying a stack of books. He flinches when he sees me in the shadows, then sighs, shaking his head. Silver eyes meet mine in the flickering haze of amber-hued light as he greets me, saying, “Shit, Blake, I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”
“Neither did I.” I step past Aris, taking notice of the iron cuffs inlaid with sapphire and black diamonds. He never takes them off, and I know that in battle, those gems glow. He went through his trials in the cave beneath Veiled Valley, the same cave where Ryatt found the sword he still wears despite, technically, passing it down to Kenna. I’ve always found this side of the family to be slightly odd and secretive, if I’m being honest, especially when it comes to their ties to the ancient line of wolves they belong to–the Shadowsyngers.
Aris follows me, however, keeping in step as we turn another sharp corner and meet another spiral stone staircase. “Did you come here for a vacation like Maeve?”
“No. I doubt I would have chosen Veiled Valley if that were the case.”
He smirks. “What’s wrong with Veiled Valley? You can just walk out of the gates here without being totally bombarded by people, unlike Moonrise.”
“I honestly prefer Maatua,” I admit, which seems to shock him. I doubt he’s ever seen me in swim trunks lying out in the sun. “Your grandfather summoned me here. I plan to leave once he’s given his directive.” My cloak swishes as I turn to Aris. He’s a year younger than me, unmated, and turning into quite the warrior from what Evander told me. He can also shift into both a fox and a wolf, like his father, which is so rare that they may be the only ones in existence as it stands, other than Aris’s maternal grandmother, Amanda, who still lives in Moonrise with her mate, Granger, and the rest of Evander’s many siblings. They have an enormous family at this point. Brie, Maeve, and Aris have at least ten, if not a dozen, cousins on their paternal side.
And then they have us. The tangled web made up of Isla and Maddox’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m meeting Maeve and Soren out for a night on the town later,” he says, turning toward an archway at the top of the stairs. “They’re out to dinner right now, and none of us were invited. Mom says it’s because they haven’t had a chance to go on a real date yet, and they already have a kid. Seems a little backward to me.” He smirks and then disappears into the shadows.
I suck my lip between my teeth and move in the opposite direction, hiking another short staircase to a tower that houses a private suite for Ella and Ryatt. It’s less than a quarter of the size of the wing of the castle in Moonrise now inhabited by Maeve and Soren, but it feels more like them, if that makes sense. Dark wood and emerald walls greet me when I step inside, passing a foyer, then a formal sitting room, walking a straight line toward the grand archway that melds into an angular office with walls the color of burnt sapphire. Ryatt sits in an armchair beneath a window flooded with rain. His eyes scan my face when I breach the archway and come to a stop a few feet away from him, my cloak swishing to a stop around my boots.
“Sit down, Blake. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“I won’t be here for long. I have business in Moonrise.”
He motions to the armchair across from his, which holds Ella’s scent. I wonder if they sit up here in their old age and gossip about the family. I would if I were them.
He doesn’t take no for an answer, ever, so I sit, but my back remains straight, barely grazing the plush cushions. “What do you need? I’ve already explained my current findings about Hannibal and his coven to Evander.”
“I don’t care about that. There’s little we can do as it stands if the man is no longer in Eastonia.” He drums his fingers against his thigh, glancing away from me for a moment. “I’ve spoken to your grandfather recently and wondered if you’d be willing to talk to me about your plans for Crescent Falls.”
“My plans? For what, exactly? Crescent Falls is in a boom–it runs on its own–”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I ignore the twisting sensation in my gut. “You want to know if I’m going to be king one day?”
He gives me a short nod.
I weigh my options. I could easily dance around the question and deflect, but why bother?
I’m tired. Every thought and action these days is… not about my job, my birthright, nor my family. Not this one, at least.
Just her. Just them.
“I will not be Alpha King of Crescent Falls.”
Ryatt stares at me, his silver eyes inspecting the dead, hollow expression I wear so well to mask everything I’ve ever felt. He doesn’t seem surprised by my answer in the slightest.
“You seem unsurprised,” I note, finally relaxing into the chair.
“You’re right. I’m not surprised in the slightest. Isaac had his doubts.” When he catches the briefest glint of confusion behind my eyes, he amends, “Not about your ability to rule. In fact, he thinks of it as a great loss. You are the most like your great-grandfather out of everyone in the family, who was a great king. The best Crescent Falls has ever had, and your reign would have been an incredible one.”
“Did you call me here to try to convince me otherwise?”
“No, the opposite.”
Now, I’m confused. Thoroughly. “I haven’t announced my plans to my parents, and I would appreciate the chance to do so before others find out and spread the news to them.”
“This conversation is not leaving this office,” he replies. “You have my word.”
“Is that all you needed?”
“No.”
My jaw flexes. “Why am I here, Ryatt?”
“The Mystics call you their king.”
The mask slips, and I roll my eyes. “I really wish they wouldn’t.”
“You are in a great position of power within the temples across Eastonia.”
“I’m not here to play chess, Ryatt.”
“I understand that you…” He holds my gaze, tapering off. Fear washes through me for several seconds while I wait for him to say something about Skye, but he continues, “I understand you have no interest in further training with them, and I understand why–you don’t need the training, and you never have, which I told your parents back when you were fourteen. You should have trained with Arthur, here, in Veiled Valley, learned the history of the Mystics and their kind instead. But you cannot deny the power you hold over those–those beings.” He motions in a dismissive manner. “And our kingdom–Eastonia–where I’m under the impression you mean to make your home–has been occasionally fooled by them, or worse, blindsided by their actions when a Mystic falls into the wrong hands.”
“You’re talking about the Draven Coven.”
“Draven, Arcane Umbra, and whoever comes next, yes. I am not going to deny the risk of a Mystic falling into step with someone–something–like Hannibal Archanis. I’m not going to sit here and pretend everything is all right and that there’s not a chance he doesn’t already have Mystics working for him, given that every footsoldier that fell under the Viper’s command had their minds picked apart. Only a Mystic can do that. Am I wrong?”
“Hannibal himself has the ability,” I admit. “It was him. He wiped their minds, and I believe it was simple. The Viper, and den leaders like her, use fear to create a hive mind among their warriors. Soren was an exception, which is why he was so dangerous, such a huge risk to them, but they benefited from his abilities. I’m under the impression that every single warrior that has ties to Hannibal in some way now has no recollection of their time under his control.”
“Then he’s a mystic, as well?”
“He’s something like us. But I believe… I believe he’s something like… Logan and Kieran.”
Ryatt closes his eyes for a moment. “Soren mentioned this to me.”
“The ears–”
“I am aware, and both Arther and Misty are at work–”
“They will not find anything in our history about people like Logan and Kieran.”
“Why not?”
“Because they never lived in Eastonia. They’re from somewhere else, somewhere outside of our kingdoms, our maps, and the best thing we can do is prepare for history to be rewritten, and for war.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am.” I rise, my skin tingling with a sudden sense of… knowing. I feel slightly unsteady as Marianna’s image flashes through the fragmented visions and voices constantly at play behind my eyes. “And I already know what you’re going to ask about the Mystics. I plan on choosing a few to train directly under me, a few trusted individuals who can look beyond the hive mind they were trained to live within. They will be the ones who give us the first glimpses of enemies on the horizon.”
“You’ve been hard at work, Blake.”
“I like to keep myself busy. Excuse me.” I give him a short bow and leave, my boots thundering down staircase after staircase as the voices and images yank my mind from side to side, trying to decide what to show me and why. Usually, it’s easy enough to ignore them. I have my ways. My headphones, my music, an all-consuming video game and the like, but right now, even the soft echo of EDM music as I walk through the arts district of Veiled Valley isn’t doing a Goddess damn thing to ease my mind.
I pass a restaurant and then backtrack as a couple comes into view. Soren meets my eyes through the glass, cursing, but Maeve gives me a shocked, then annoyed, look.
The voices fade, which likely means I’m supposed to be here, at this restaurant, interrupting what I think is Soren and Maeve’s first official date.
“Do not sit down,” Maeve snarls, trying to keep her voice low so as to not alarm the other patrons scattered through the tight little restaurant.
I ignore her, sliding into a seat between them.
Soren sighs, motioning to a waiter. Maeve’s eyes narrow on her mate as he orders another round of scotch for himself and a glass for me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Maeve sneers, reaching under the table to violently pinch my thigh. “We finally, finally have a night alone to be normal and you–”
“Do you feel anything amiss? Anything whatsoever?” I ask her, holding her gaze.
Her furious expression shifts to concern. “What do you mean? What are you seeing?”
“I can’t make sense of it,” I growl, unnerved–too worked up by my powers to keep the mask on any longer. I’m sure my real feelings are showing because even Soren stiffens, his eyes locked on my face. “I was here to see Ryatt. He summoned me. Then I started to feel–started to see–” I look at Soren, who stiffens further until he’s totally rigid, hackles raised in what I assume is solidarity, unless he’s about to lunge over the table and kick my ass for interrupting this date.
“Something’s wrong with Marianna,” I say, more to myself than anyone at the table. “But I don’t know why I’m here, why the voices called me… here…”
“Where’s Skye?” Soren asks.
“Skye? Marianna’s daughter?”
“My daughter.” I meet Maeve’s eyes. “She’s my daughter.”
“Blake?” Maeve gives me a skeptical look, but my eyes blur with a vision–something happening in real time. I can feel the cool spring breeze in Moonrise as a man walks up Marianna’s street under a cloak of darkness. Blood drips onto cobblestone where the security guard groans, trying to claw his way back to the gate. The man stops in front of Marianna’s house and looks up as her bedroom light turns off.
“Fuck,” I growl.
Soren rises, slaps a hand on my arm, and we disappear into the aether.