Page 16 of The Nymph King

“Someday.” Esa glanced toward the mercenaries beyond the wagon before lowering her voice again. “I don’t even know enough yet to know what questions to ask. We need to understand what’s happening here first. Your crown. Kiran. The Fabric. Whatever the other realms are doing. Then, if my brother really does have the answers, we find a way to reach him.”

“Esa, you can’t just stroll into the realm of the dead,” Imani hissed. “The dead don’t mingle with the living.”

“No, but you can. You’re a creature of the Under. You can take stowaways.”

“What makes you think I’ll take you? I have my hands full trying not to be assassinated.”

“I know.” Esa’s nostrils flared. “Which is why I’m not asking you to go now. I’m asking you not to forget what comes after.”

Imani could only blink, a lump forming in her throat at everything that lay ahead.

“If I’m right about the Source, this war is only part of the problem,” Esa continued. “Something is happening to the Fabric, and sooner or later, we’re going to have to understand why. My brother might be our best chance of doing that.”

“Does Kiran need to be with me to open the doorway?” Imani’s hands clenched at her sides.

“No. He only needed you there to prove to Mataus that you were heartmates, making you contenders for the Under’s throne.”

Dread spread through Imani’s chest. She didn’t want to be a monarch of the Under, especially not at Kiran’s side. Let another Heir Apparent take the Crown. She had too much to fix right here in the living world. For now, that was enough. Essenheim came first. The Crown came first. Kiran and whatever waited for her in Vathis could kill her long before the Source ever became her problem.

But she looked at Esa’s torn wings and battered skin and knew the Under had not disappeared simply because she refused to face it yet. One day, she would find her father.

And when the time came to understand what was happening to the Fabric, she would help Esa find her brother too. Imani loved her magic too much to let the realms tear themselves apart.

CHAPTER 5

On the fifth afternoon since fleeing Niflheim, the trees thinned, and more houses appeared as they traveled down the road. Imani lifted her hand to shade her eyes and saw the High Sentinel’s estate towering over the city. It was so white that the sun struck it and fractured, scattering light across the city below.

The estate rose in broad tiers of pale stone above the surrounding roofs, its long wings stretching across the hilltop. Tall, narrow windows reflected the afternoon sun, and several white towers broke the roofline, their pointed peaks visible above the walls even from the road. A wide outer terrace wrapped the front before dropping toward the city in ordered levels of stone and greenery. It dominated the city, intentionally placed at the highest point, where nothing could stand above it or rival its presence. Even from this distance, it felt less like a residence and more like a declaration.

Ellisar ruled there openly, without concealment, his authority carved in stone and light. It was a different kind of power than Stralas—less hidden, less layered, and far more direct.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as they neared the vine-covered city walls. Squinting, she could even make out her wanted posters plastered on the gates.

Tanyl had papered the realm with her likeness. The bounty was an invitation to slaughter. She suppressed a grin and twirled her wand. If Ellisar could be convinced, she’d come to him instead of running. She was tired of running. Running required reacting. It required letting someone else set the pace, the direction, the stakes. She had done enough of that. If she stepped into this city and claimed her place, everything that followed would begin to shift. Not just her position, but the way the game itself was played.

Shining gates welcomed her like an old friend. Her childhood home wasn’t far away.

The closer they came, the more familiar the faces around her became in ways that had nothing to do with recognition. Silver hair caught the afternoon light everywhere she looked, worn in braids, short cuts, and loose lengths down pale backs. Blue eyes turned toward the approaching cart beneath delicately pointed ears. Pale Norn skin ranged from almost translucent to weathered from years spent beneath the Draswood canopy.

Imani had spent so long surrounded by other breeds that the concentration of Norn struck her harder than expected. These were her people, at least by blood, even if half of them might currently believe she was a murderer.

Guards checked papers as elves lined up to enter the city. Ellisar allowed visitors in, but only under strict guidelines. Vathis was a beautiful, safe place to live, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. She didn’t know how they would explain their arrival, but Gavin’s swagger suggested he had already accounted for it.

The open-air cart crept forward through the crush. Imani and Esa straightened their backs and kept their heads held high while people stared and pointed. Some gazes lingered longer than others, measuring, comparing, deciding whether what they saw matched what they had been told. That mattered more than fear. Fear could be swept away, but earning their respect was more valuable to Imani.

A pixie and an elf, with the Crown of Life on her head, were riding together in what must have looked like a captive situation. She suspected the crowd had never seen anything like it. Some were already making the connection to Imani’s face on the wanted posters.

As they approached the guards, her crown fluttered in the breeze, and everyone’s attention snapped to it. Their eyes widened first. One guard glanced from her face to the wanted notice beside the gate, then back again. Gavin tore the poster from the wall and shoved it at him. “There. That’s her. We’re taking her to Ellisar.”

“The poster says she’s a murderer,” a guard muttered.

“It also says she claims the Crown of Life,” Gavin snapped. “Look at her head.”

“I am looking.”

Which is precisely the problem, Imani thought. Everyone could recognize Imani from Tanyl’s posters. Recognition did not tell them whether Tanyl’s accusations were true.

“We don’t deliver every fugitive who walks through Vathis directly to the High Sentinel,” the first guard said.