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I didn’t bother asking why I couldn’t eat in the great hall. I didn’t want to be amongst the wraith fae.
“Thank you, Hava. Won’t you eat with me?”
“Oh, no, my lady.” She poured red wine into a brass goblet and handed it to me. “I am most content to just sit here with you.” Then she poured another. “But I will have a drink if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” I encouraged her, hoping it might loosen her tongue. “Please tell me the tale you were going to tell me. About the prince.”
She clasped her clawed fingers around her goblet, her red eyes glittering by the pale blue firelight.
“It was wondrous, I was told. After the prince and his allies took the palace, he rode his dragon to the war’s front.”
I coughed on a sip of wine. “Hisdragon?”
“Oh, yes. You didn’t know?”
I shook my head, completely dumbfounded. “No.”
There hadn’t been a wraith king dragonrider in centuries. It was believed that the rightful kings of Northgall had dragon blood pulsing through their veins.
“According to legend,” Hava added in whispered excitement, “their blue and gold eyes are a sign of their dragon ancestry. There have been many kings come and gone in his line.” She added with a haughty tilt of her chin. “But Prince Gollaya is the only one in ages who has ridden a dragon. He’s been riding Drakmir for many years. But he has kept him a secret in the mountain caves outside Silvantis.”
For a moment, I was silent, wondering how I’d never read about this in the many books I’d read on wraithkind. But then I hadn’t ever focused on their royal line. I’d never known that the one who’d saved me was their prince.
“But why?” I asked, tearing off a piece of bread and eating it. “He could’ve killed his father with his dragon and taken the throne any time he wanted.”
“No, no, no. He could not.” She shook her head, wisps of black hair hiding one eye. She tucked it behind her high, pointed ear. “In order to be considered the true king, he must face his father. He would’ve been contested by others if he had used his dragon to usurp the throne. It must be by his own hand.”
“I see.” I ate a piece of the roasted fowl. “And what happened when he flew to the front?” My gut clenched, knowing the front was in Lumeria, near my home.
“He stood high on a hill above them all and promised he would finally end this long war his father had dragged them into. He raised his father’s head high above and—”
“The prince carried his father’s head?” I interrupted.
“Yes, yes. He did. It was a glorious sight”—she beamed brightly—“or so I was told.”
My stomach twisted at the barbarity of it, but I didn’t interrupt again.
“He promised to be a better king to his people, to raise Northgall to its rightful place as ruler of all faekind and withoutthe shedding of more of our kinsmen’s blood. That was when the soldiers roared and chanted his name.”
“How?” I asked, my stomach souring as I placed the goblet and napkin back on the tray. “How does he plan to win the war without more bloodshed?”
For I knew my brother, and he wouldn’t simply roll over and give up our homeland to be subjugated under Northgall.
Hava dropped her gaze to her lap then gestured toward the tray. “Would you like some more wine?”
She evaded my question, which spread a sickening feeling through me. I shook my head.
“Where was he at the front?” I asked. “Where was he in Lumeria when he made this fine speech?” I couldn’t help the tension hardening my voice.
She cleared her throat and stood. “I cannot tell you more, my lady.”
Silence tightened between us.
“I see,” I said softly, despondent. “I’d like to be alone now, Hava.”
Reality sank in again. I wasn’t visiting with a friend or an ally. I was still a prisoner, and I feared what the prince, the new king, planned to do with me now.
“Of course, my lady.”
