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The way he says it sends another chill through me.
“It wouldn’t let him go.” Beneath the glove I’d put back on, the blood sigil warms my palm, Elionn’s presence reaching me through the connection. “So I gave it an alternative. I offered myself in Elionn’s place so he could escape.”
A beat of silence passes before Nyctarian answers. “Yet he did not.”
My attention cuts to Kelaros. “No. He did not.”
Anger surges through me, triggering a savage pulse from the fragment. Light splinters, reflections warping for an instant before snapping back into place.
The Dark guards shift with unease along the perimeter, hands moving toward their weapons.
Kelaros takes a step forward, though he remains outside stabbing range. He bows first to Nyctarian, then offers Theron the lesser courtesy due a foreign king. “If I may add to my cousin’s account?”
My hand tightens around my dagger at the claim of familial ties. Theron’s fingers close over my shoulder before I can decide one murder attempt shouldn’t disqualify me from another.
Nyctarian waves his hand for Kelaros to speak.
“The Wolf’s description is accurate, but incomplete.” Kelaros folds his hands behind his back. “The court is trying to replace what it lost, but it has also found another means of sustaining itself.”
“The hollow stag,” I say with a shudder.
Kelaros dips his head in agreement. “I believe this creature is the last remnant of the Opal King’s connection to his court.”
Nyctarian’s attention sharpens. “The king survives?”
“Not in any form that could awaken again,” Kelaros says, confirming what I had already told Theron. “But when he took the eternal slumber, his magic and purpose lived on. The stag has been carrying out the task of guarding the court for centuries without a mind left to guide it.”
My fingers curl tighter over my chest. “Its purpose has been warped, though. Guarding it became ensuring it survives, which means…”
Bile rises up my throat.
“The stag takes the heartblood of those it kills,” Kelaros confirms. “The power returns to the court.”
“But it’s not working. The court doesn’t have enough sentience to fully wake at its current rate of consumption.” I shake my head. “It’s just getting enough power to hold off dying.”
Kelaros seems almost pleased by my conclusion. “The court needs a Royal. Heartblood can sustain its magic, but it cannot replace what was lost.”
The blood sigil prickles across my palm, a visceral reminder of the prince still trapped inside. “And Elionn is the closest it’s come to succeeding.”
Kelaros tilts his head, considering me. “Until you offered to take his place.”
As Nyctarian listens, the shadows around his boots begin to writhe. “And the stag? Can it distinguish between what the court means to keep and what it means to feed upon?”
“The stag does not differentiate between good and bad candidates.” Kelaros begins to pace. “When we three were in the room of mirrors, the court made an active decision to trap one of us instead of opening a pathway for the stag to find us.”
My hand tightens on my dagger hilt. “The cocoon was meant for me.”
“But it was happy enough to take Prince Elionn back. Which bought us time to regroup and devise a plan of attack before we return.”
Nyctarian’s fingernails click together. “Which we are now obligated to do after you forgot yourself and spoke of the Opal Court in front of everyone.”
Kelaros dips his head in apology. “I lived too long alone, fighting for my life. I misplaced my diplomacy.”
“Funny,” I murmur, “what you can forget when you said it only felt as if a matter of weeks had passed.”
“Indeed.” Nyctarian gives Kelaros a narrow stare. “So if the stag dies?”
Kelaros considers the question. “Then I suspect the court will finish fading without an anchor or a food source.”
