Princes of the Blood 1 - Of Last Resort by Megan Derr

Author:Megan Derr [Derr, Megan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

DEMON OFNIGHT

They were met by a castle that was far too quiet, a collection of solemn faces that felt too much like staring into a mirror and seeing his own pain reflected a thousand fold. Alrin kept his eyes firmly in front of him as they walked on through the crowd that parted for them and into the great hall. Only half the torches were lit and the fireplace was banked, the colorful tapestries that minimized drafts and helped hold heat draped in pale mourning gray.

The tables had been cleared away and the bodies laid out for viewing—all the Geomancers, Paladins, Dragoons, and potential Princes who had been sacrificed but not yet burned. The ashes of those already burned were arranged on the tables pushed against the walls. Some of the bodies were uncovered; others were far too decayed and so had been draped in burial linens. Priests formed a loose wall around them, quietly singing prayers. Alrin pushed through them to go to his men, crying as he said goodbye to each one and leaving a dragon blossom on their chests. Most of those laid out would be burned, but Dragoons couldn't burn and so must be destroyed and set free by other means, usually a grisly chemical developed by Alchemists that reduced a body to nothing in less than a bell.

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder, and Alrin looked up to see Telmé standing over him. He gave a nod of gratitude and slowly stood, looking across at the others who were paying respects to their fallen. "We have to stop the other seals."

"I am hoping that if his Majesty has recalled all of us then he must have a plan," Telmé said. "Come, he is waiting."

Alrin fell into step behind him, silent as the others joined them, reaching out a hand to briefly grip Kristof's arm in comfort. He felt Raffé's presence somewhere behind him and swallowed against the raw pain that cut through him. Too much, too much. He needed space, a chance to breathe and mourn in peace. Soon, hopefully—if he survived the audience with the king.

Guards pulled open the heavy doors to the king's solar as they approached and closed them again once everyone was inside. Alrin knelt and bowed his head, Kristof on one side, Boris on his other, with Telmé, Håkon, and Raffé in front of them. Around the room, all the other heads of the Legion were gathered. The king's solar was not by any definition a small room, but it felt like a wardrobe right then.

"I'm glad you're all finally here," Waldemar grunted and motioned for them to rise and join the others. His wives were curiously absent—normally Waldemar did not do anything without them, having no taste for his father's practice of keeping women tucked away. It was troubling they were not present. The crown prince, Birgir, was present, however, on his father's right and looking decidedly unhappy. Strangest of all, Korin sat on Waldemar's left, and the Master of Magic sat beside Korin.

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