Mist Rising by Eve Langlais
Chapter Fifty-One
The King returnedwith as little fanfare as his departure. He hated a fuss, and in these uncertain times, there was no need to advertise his movements to his enemies.
Then again, having invited three Shield Soraers to stay—one who especially questioned everything—might have compromised any hope he had of keeping the Citadel out of harm’s reach. Could he trust them?
There were so many things they didn’t know. Secrets kept for the good of the Kingdom.
At the same time, did it really matter who knew? Nothing worse could really happen. They were already in a deadly spiral. His journey had been for nothing. Another ward had fallen, and there was no more spare magic to feed it. The mist was about to get worse.
Tomorrow, too late, the training fields would be set up, dealing first with those who volunteered and wanted to learn to fight. He imagined it wouldn’t be long before they’d be handling an influx of recruits as things worsened for the Kingdom. With the wards failing, it wouldn’t be long before the mist took up residence.
No suns for the crops. No chance against all the monsters. No shield against the perversions the mist would bring.
Why did the enemy have to learn strategy? Stealing the Blessed, their only defense. Brilliant, really. They should have never relied so heavily on them, but it was too late to change now. The course had been set, and now they had to see this to the end.
For a while, he’d thought they might have found something when his men picked up those Soraers and the trio of Blessed. He just couldn’t see how they’d make a difference. None of them had the level of magic needed to counter what they faced.
He returned from the mission ahead of his men, ghosting through the secret passages, some needing magic to be accessed, until he made it to his rooms unnoticed. He poured himself a drink and sighed. A difficult task faced him.
He’d only managed three sips before Xaav entered without knocking. The man had an uncanny ability to know where the King was at all times.
“We have a problem. A few, actually,” Xaav said without ceremony.
“Already? We just returned, dammit.” He downed the rest of the liquor. If he were going to be bombarded by bad news, he wanted to soften the blow. “Hit me. What blew up while we were gone?”
Everything, apparently.
First, it appeared as if the last Blessed had gone missing. Soldiers were sweeping the streets, looking for her. Not a big loss. She had little magic and way too much attitude. She would have been more trouble than benefit to use.
“The girl ran away. Don’t really care.” He downed another drink.
“You should care since she didn’t go out the front gate. And neither did the missing Soraers.”
That had him sitting up straight. “Which Soraers are missing?”
“All of them. They were last seen entering the Hall of Learning. They are no longer in there. It seems they escaped via the conservatory. That’s not all.” Xaav paused. “In the gallery, some of the art is on the floor, and that includes some paintings I’ve never seen.”
No need to say more. He knew exactly which ones Xaav meant. All Kings saw them and then hid them again.
“I thought we disabled the statue. How were they able to use it?” the King asked.
Xaav spread his hands. “I don’t know. It appears to have been shoved off.”
Another impossibility, given he’d overseen the locks on the other side himself.
“I want to see.” He already had a bad feeling as he trampled down the stairs and made straight for the treasure room. The wall didn’t even quiver as he stepped through.
As he entered, his gaze roved around to the familiar displays before stopping on the empty pedestal.
Stolen!
A second later, he spotted the crown on the floor.
Lifting it, he could feel the emptiness of the stone. No more magic. That presented an impossibility in more than one way. He placed the crown back on the pedestal before rejoining Xaav, who’d been unable to follow.
“She was here,” he stated, taking long strides.
“You’re sure?” Xaav asked with a frown.
“The power is gone.”
Xaav gaped. “That’s impossible.”
“Apparently, not.”
“I’ll track her down and bring her back.”
“Hold off before you do that.” Because he was curious what would occur. A Blessed retaking their magic? It had never happened because it wasn’t supposed to be possible. So why not? They had nothing left to lose.
Especially since her actions had fulfilled a verse of a prophecy, a few extra lines direct from the prophet’s mouth that only the King ever knew about.
The entire poetic divination recited itself in his head:
Monsters, monsters sneak out to slay,
When night does fall and shadows day.
Close your doors and shutter your eaves,
For death in the mist does roam the streets.
The Goddess calls, and three will answer,
Soraers to mothers, for a purple-eyed disaster.
Monsters, monsters will come out and play,
When the fog does hide the bright rays.
The enemy comes for the orphan of night.
The hope of the Kingdom has a terrible plight.
One wrong choice and death will prevail,
And then what will happen to the humans so frail?
But where the public version went on to say,
Monsters, monsters, have one thing to say—
Crunch.
The original actually went like this:
Monsters, Monsters, come one, come all.
To feed the orphan and save us all.
She is the hope of a happily thereafter,
And upon giving her heirs, the King will rule
Now and forever.
