The world was full of soft shapes, gray shapes, meaningless shapes. He moved through it in silence as he walked out of the Hall and went to the tree. He often came to sit beneath it and read when he wanted some time alone. He often sat in its shade while keeping an eye on Mephis and Peyton when they played around the pond.

He sank to his knees, put the box down, and opened it.

No pain now. No feelings at all. Nothing but a terrible clarity. The mist had absorbed his grief, his rage. They were no longer inside him. Now, he was inside of them.

The baby was crying. Somewhere in the mist that turned the world into gray and ghostly shapes, the baby was crying.

He stripped off his shirt, laid it on the grass. Gently took the pieces out of the box and arranged them on the cloth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried to do what was right for the people I rule. Tried to keep the promises I made. I didn’t know the price would be so high.” Tears filled his eyes. “You’ll never know your brothers, you’ll never sail a toy ship on the Ph-phantom Sea, but you won’t be alone. You won’t be forgotten. When I come here with them, I’ll be here for you, too. That I promise you. For as long as I live, you will not be forgotten.”

Carefully wrapping the shirt around the pieces, he used Craft to sink the bundle deep into the earth. When he was done, there was no mark on the ground to indicate the spot, no sign of a grave. It was as if his little son had never existed.

Except the baby kept crying.

He rose to his feet, vanished the box, and walked back to the Hall, empty of everything but a terrible clarity—and a growing storm that was hidden in the mist.

Chapter 8

8

Andulvar stood back from the desk where Saetan sat. There was nothing on the desk except the trade agreements, a quill, and a small bowl made of black marble.

The Zuulaman Ambassador stood in front of the desk, clearly unhappy about being in a room with Warlord Princes who wore the Ebon-gray and the Black.

Andulvar didn’t give a damn if the Ambassador was happy or not. Saetan had asked him to stay for this meeting, so he would stay. Besides, the glazed, sleepy look in Saetan’s eyes worried him.

“You won,” Saetan said quietly. He pushed up his left shirt sleeve and nicked his wrist with a long, black-tinted nail. Blood spilled into the marble bowl.

“What—” The Ambassador gave Andulvar a startled glance before focusing on Saetan. “What are you doing?”