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The old Mage worked diligently through the night, long after anyone else would have surrendered to what appeared to be inevitable. His two greatest accomplishments – the new king of the Iron Realm and the king’s mate – both needed him, the latter desperately so. All he had ever wanted was to show the world how smart he was, and he could not do that with both of them dead. No one would know of his greatness if they did not survive.
No one would etch his name into the history books, speaking of his ingenuity. His genius. How he had shoved the magic of Mages to new heights, showed off just how powerful their potions, incantations, and runes could be. The Mages might not have had magic inherently gifted to them like the Goddess and Fates chose to do with the Fae, Shifters, Angels, and Demons, but they deserved to be respected in their own right, for their own skill over the forces of the universe.
With a sigh, the old Mage grabbed a bottle of something he’d only briefly experimented with and returned to the side of the ashen female on his table. If his new master’s mate died, he would kill himself too, though likely after the Mage himself wasflayed and tortured for his failure. The threat of violence from his king kept him working, pouring the liquid between her lips and massaging her throat so it would hit her stomach. He tried everything he knew to repair the heart and spine of the broken female.
Hour after hour passed, and while her body knitted together, her mind was still far away, adrift in a world beyond theirs. Worry crept up his gnarled fingers and along his spine when even the strong salts did not cause her to stir.
The unbridled, fiery hatred that had shone in her eyes, directed at him during each small exchange they’d had, was utterly absent, and the old Mage realized just how much he longed for that look. If she didn’t wake…
He shook his head, not even allowing himself to wander down the path of that thought.
His greatest creations were fated for power, for glory, for world-changing impacts. The Goddess was angry enough at him for what he’d done to unbalance her natural order, and he did not want to risk further wrath from her, a moment of petty vengeance taken along with the final breaths of his master’s mate. But he did not care to stop his experiments completely, for his ideas were more important than the nature surrounding them. Not that he ever desired to leave his study. The world beyond these four walls and all the books that surrounded him was filled with strife and discomfort.
Here, he knew what to do. Here, he was the smartest in the room. Here, he was God.
Underground, time was merely an illusion, with no way to judge just how long he had been focused on his task. So he continued working, saving his greatest creation, despite the sway in his feet and the tremble in his hands.
The old Mage’sking approached him, flattening his palms on the tome-strewn table in the royal library. The request that slipped from his lips filled the Mage with delight. He’d been banned from continuing his work, but the king was changing his mind. His master’s mate had lain slumbering for some time, and the king had thrown all his anger toward the old Mage away like it was sand in the wind. He asked him to make the Félvér even more powerful so the slaughter of the Night Realm would be swift and brutal.
Dark fire burned in those gray eyes the Mage had helped create, tendons popping in his neck as he cracked it from side to side. The king’s rage was like nothing he’d ever seen – and he had seen much of it. The motherless child had brimmed with it, lashing out at everything and everyone, until finally he’d unleashed it on his siblings to win the title of heir apparent. The pain he inflicted on himself and others was personal in a way the old Mage would never understand, and as the young male grew into a mature one, he went from laughing him off to trembling beneath his wrath.
He was more than happy to oblige his master, as it gave him the opportunity to continue his life’s work.
As he returned down the endless spiral staircase to his lair, he thought through all the things he had wanted to try but had previously not had either the backing or the time for. The king had offered him extra help, though his subjects had to be willing, not forced or coerced like they had been when King Azim ruled.
The old Mage rubbed his withered hands together excitedly as he flipped through pages of an old notebook – one wherehe’d begun to think and document ways to help Félvér who were unable to shift into their inherited forms.
Long into the night, he poured over his texts, making new notes where necessary and rising only a few times to mix ingredients or search for what he was lacking. Anything he did not have, he noted on a separate parchment to proffer to the finance minister in a bid to fill his order. The pockets of the Iron Realm ran deep, and for this, no expense could be spared.
He would do this for his master because once the king had gained his victories, the Mage’s experiments would continue unhindered – at least he hoped.
His greatness, his legacy, were not set in stone yet. There was still time to add more to the tableau of his accomplishments.
II
14
The army spread through the valley that nestled Radence like raindrops on a window. From the roof at Roc Palace, the camp was visible, but it was even more impressive up close. The sheer number of Fae and Félvér encamped in the space should have been impossible, but Drazen and his commanders made it work, somehow.
Though, navigating the camp was like trying to leap from stone to stone in a raging river without getting swept away. A laugh ripped from my throat as Liliana and I ducked just in time to avoid a thick wooden beam, only to pop up in the way of a Fae leading two dark horses toward the stables. We spun to avoid them, colliding and grasping each other for balance. Everyone else seemed to know the steps to this dance, and Liliana and I were unwelcome intruders in it.
I tugged her hand to get her moving again. “Come on, we’re already late,” I said, grinning. The energy of the camp was invigorating, and I opened my senses to it as we made our way to the central tent where the others waited.
Liliana rolled her eyes. “If it hadn’t taken so long to wash the sand out of my hair we would have been here sooner. I’m blaming Drazen.”
I snorted, ducking under a bit of rope that acted as a makeshift guardrail for a walkway. “You two weren’t even grappling on the ground. It was anentirelydifferent show.”
Liliana popped up, flicking her wet braid over her shoulder. “You enjoyed it.”
Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “So did every other male there.”
She shot me a mischievous smile. “More males for my harem.”
We fell into laughter simultaneously, doubling over until a very masculine cough sounded. Straightening, we found Ruslan and Drazen watching us, arms crossed over the broad chests. I took one look at Liliana and burst again, though the males clearly did not find our amusement, well, amusing.
“What have the two of you been up to now?” Ruslan teased, eyes glimmering like smoky diamonds.
