love you…but I can’t remember your face.”
Frustrated, I sigh. Why is it the first time a man says he loves me, he’s hallucinating?
Not to mention our kingdom’s mortal enemy, a snide voice reminds me.
Leaving him, I walk to the door. “Eat and then sleep. I’ll be back tonight.”
“They’ll let you return?”
“Even if they try to stop me, I’ll come.”
“Why?”
“Because someone must keep you from accidentally inviting the saelties into your room.”
“Saelties?”
I open the door, but before I step out, I say, “Your singing rats.”
When I close it behind me, one of the guards gives me a strange look.
“Don’t ask.” I shake my head and hurry off to complete my daily tasks since it appears I’ll be spending the night guarding the prince’s window.
“How is Braeton?” Edwin asks as soon as I find him in his study.
As I often do these days, I think of Rhys when I visit my eldest brother. It’s not because they look the same, but rather, it’s their presence. There’s something stalwart about them—something strong and right and just. It’s woven into their very beings.
But other than that, they look nothing alike. Rhys has an agile strength—powerful but fast. Edwin is stouter, stronger, and not quite as tall. Rhys’s hair is warm brown, but Edwin’s is a cool, ashen shade of blond.
Despite my brothers’ differences, every time I see Edwin, I miss Rhys something awful.
Wherever he is, I hope he is well and safe.
“The prince is hallucinating,” I answer, dropping into the chair across from Edwin’s desk. “He told me of singing rats outside his window.”
My brother gives me a sharp look.
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”
Edwin frowns. He lowers his spectacles and sits back in his chair, pushing the documents away. He’s handsome and smart, good with a blade, excellent with numbers, and the kindest man I’ve ever known. Even though he’s only six years older than Rhys and me, he’s practically a second father.
In many ways, he’s better than our actual father, though that’s not Father’s fault really. His time on the throne, tending to the needs of his dying people and watching his beloved wife deteriorate a little more every year…it’s broken him.
I understand.
But that doesn’t make me any less thankful for Edwin.
“I ask too much of you,” he says.
“No, you don’t,” I say with a smile. “You ask less of me than you ask of yourself.”
“But with Mother and Father, and with Rhys and Tryndon gone…”
“We both know Tryndon is more trouble than help, so with Rhys tending him in Renove, it nearly cancels itself out.”
Edwin laughs and idly picks up a parchment from the top of a pile.
I stare at the endless paperwork, glad he took on that task and not me. They’re reports from all over the kingdom—charts noting the movement of the creatures, their numbers, their patterns. Father’s advisor used to tend these things, but he died two years ago when he ate a poisonous imposter mushroom that found its way into our reserves.
Everyone dies. It’s just a matter of when and how.
Most outside the castle only live to see the age of forty, and only if they’re fortunate. Those beyond the city walls…well, they’re lucky to be alive at all.
When the evil first started crawling from the Chasm, our soldiers were able to contain it to a point. But about fifty years ago, it had so fully contaminated the kingdom, people had no choice but to move into the protection of the cities.
Daytime isn’t so bad. To avoid the light, most of the monsters bury themselves in the earth or hide in dark crevices and caverns. But you don’t dare find yourself caught without shelter after sunset.
I personally have never ventured far from the city walls.
My mind wanders to Tryndon. I saw him briefly when Rhys’s men returned with Braeton. He said the impossible rumors are true—Renove is a dream. They have green fields, plentiful wildlife, soft white clouds, and sheep that are just as fluffy.
Could it be ours soon? Can we truly escape this nightmare?
Will my children be raised somewhere safe? Where they can play in the sun during the day and catch fireflies at dusk? I saw the little insects in a book when I was young and was so enchanted by the illustration, I carefully tore it out and hung it on my wall. It’s still there.
They look…magical. If magic were anything but evil.
Of course, having children that catch fireflies is contingent upon both Father’s plan actually working and