Page 53 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

Between the two groups stood Raiden, wearing a path into the white carpet leading from the grand, sleek metal doors to the dais. The walls were white within here, compared to the sunset-toned castle. The floor was still a blinding pearlescent tile, with violet rivulets running through it. Windows stretched across the circular walls, leading up to a domed ceiling, with the most intricate golden detailing it made Raiden dizzy whenever he looked at it.

Lingering behind the dais was Aryn, almost undetectable if it wasn’t for the giant fucking longbow permanently strapped to his damned back.

“Why are you here, skildaj?”

Aryn’s ethereal gaze shifted, gold lining the hazel iris almost as a threat. Raiden shuddered as his stare bore into him. His power at Mossfell Castle had been otherworldly, disintegrating Barron’s magic with his bare hands. Aryn still refused to divulge his power, the only sign he possessed it in his fluctuating eyes.

But Barron’s magic . . . that was also unique. Something not of this world. Something not gifted by the gods. He refused to believe Barron’s magic had amplified Kora’s, allowing her to speak to his mind. No one could ever reply to Raiden’s gift—no one, except Kora. It’d been glorious, to know he wasn’t alone.

It felt different with her, like a lifeline tied between their minds. Even with Kordelia, he hadn’t experienced such a connection. Except Kora’s was riddled with ice and frost, and something darker the deeper he travelled in that void. A cold like no other, worse than death, worse than the journey to Umbra.

Aryn’s eyes slid to Hector, narrowing slightly before returning to Raiden. He jerked his chin once before pointing to the west. Raiden’s brow furrowed.

“What are you on—” The doors flew open, interrupting Raiden’s pacing.

“Who allowed the traitor to return to our blessed land? Erick Cadell must be killed at once!”

24

Kora

Kora’s heart pounded in her ears as she descended the wide staircase. Her boots were near silent, as she followed her path back to the ballroom she’d fled a week ago. Sunlight filtered through the iron-paned windows, breathing life into the warm walls. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen, a true old-age castle from before the Galenite War. Pearls, opals, and moonstones embedded the floor, encased with resin. The walls painted over with what Kora could only describe as pure sunrise.

Tapestries and portraits lined every hallway she stalked on the ground level, seeking a familiar face. Hopefully Aryn. Endless generations of the Windward family, stern paintings of memories lived within these walls, all framed by a white wooden loom with gold brushed along the top. Kora paused by one. Unlike the others, the little girl in it had her eyes closed, surrounded by a field of lilac flowers. The skies behind her danced, pink hues shimmering, curling into her braided blonde hair.

Kora continued, her breaths coming in quick and shallow as she wrestled with her anxiety begging her to return to her room, to hide under the cream blanket soaked with grief-laden tears.

But she could hide no longer, wallow in her grief no more. She needed to fight this darkness lingering inside her.

Samuel needed her, Theron and Ivar needed her. She needed to see Erick, she needed answers to long-buried truths. To know what had happened ten years ago when she’d been ripped from her life. She pivoted down a hallway past the ballroom, the furniture oddly pushed and stacked against walls. Plants had withered and died, left in porcelain pots with sweeping patterns painted on the white base.

“Erick Cadell must be killed at once!” a chilling voice thundered through the walls.

Kora’s gut twisted, her mouth drying as she sprinted down the wide hallway towards an open set of towering doors made from pure, untarnished platinum. They were oddly out of place with the remaining décor of Windspire, and blinding bright light beamed from the chamber they led to.

“Father, welcome home.” Aerion’s voice was distinct, his jovial tone muted, and he spoke with calm reverence.

Kora hovered by the entrance, the windowless hallway a saving grace as she peered into the chamber. Harsh sunlight bathed the domed room, a ring of windows making it near impossible to see as she shielded her eyes.

Her heart jumped at Raiden kneeling on a thick, white carpet, gold lining the trim. His head hung low, one hand resting on the hilt of his favoured short sword with intriguing etchings. A male sat in one of the moonstone thrones, resting casually as his purple cloak spilled onto the dais floor. He bore riding leathers, his frame wide and tall, and equally as muscled as Raiden.

The family resemblance was uncanny, the male’s features an aged replica of Skylar and Aerion standing either side of him. The same slender features, dark brown eyes, light brown skin, except he possessed a full head of long, gleaming white hair. Half had been tied up in a knot, and fanned across his shoulders and down his back.

“Respectfully, Father, Erick Cadell is here as a fugitive to the empire. He’ll be dealt with appropriately when he awakes.” Raiden’s voice was hoarse, his confidence dimmed.

When he awakes? What was wrong with Erick?

“Only members of my court shall address me during an audience,” the Windward patriarch retorted. Kora swallowed the lump in her throat as everyone stood to attention, sneering down at Raiden still kneeling, staring at the floor, his shoulders so tense they bulged through his shirt.

What in the gods? A brush of heat rushed to the surface, coiling her body tight. Raiden’s head moved ever so slightly, his chin dipping to the side.

“You shouldn’t be here, Huntress.”

How did he know she was there? Frustration rose within Kora, her mind hazing out the noise as she tentatively stepped forward. They were discussing Erick’s life in there. Raiden’s father—Zephyr, she recalled—wanted him dead. And despite Erick’s faults, all his lies, his betrayal, Kora would defend it with her own. She knew deeply, since the rescue where he’d nearly died on Bone Rattler, that she couldn’t sacrifice the only family she had. Agatha would’ve wanted him to survive, just as he’d kept her alive until her end.

“There’s been evidence that Erick fought back against the empire. He desires to aid us in our cause,” Aerion added, his hands clasped together behind his back.

“That’s the same lie he spewed last time, and he left us with less than nothing!” Zephyr’s voice was loud, bouncing around the chamber. A boom resembling a firing cannon.