Mawyndulë moved down the steps of the dais toward the golden doors. He paused, facing them, his back to Dray. “Unless of course you want to see if I can really do it. Do you, Dray? Do you want to see how powerful I am? Suri destroyed the entire city of Neith. I have to admit, I’m curious what that was like. I’m envious. I want to feel what she did—to strum Troth. To really hit the Big Chord and see what it can do. What do you say, Dray? Shall we play a song?”

The golden doors opened.

“How disappointing. Not today, I guess. But I’ll be back. You know I will, and the next time I’ll be ready for you.”

Mawyndulë passed through the exit into the corridor where Kolby and Enzio stood to either side of Farilane.

“It’s a shame,” he told her sincerely. “You really should be the empress. Everyone else is an idiot.”

Chapter 20: The Horn

Chapter Twenty
The Horn

Princess Farilane had never once been accused of being a hugger. While often exuberant—and prone to laugh, sing, and even dance when the moment took her—she simply wasn’t the sort of woman to greet friends or family with an embrace. She’d wondered where such tendencies came from. Family, she supposed. Hers had never been close, which explained a lot but not everything. That morning in Memorial Hall, however, Farilane forgot herself. The moment she saw Nordyan, she gave him a tight, around-the-neck squeeze that pressed their cheeks together.

“I thought you might be dead,” she said into his ear, holding him captive.

Their grandfather was dead, and so was Ethan. But the constant dread—that fear of the unknown doom that had plagued the palace for days—was over. At least the waiting was. Grief would be sticking around a while longer.

Mawyndulë was gone. Despite efforts on the parts of Teshlor Knights and Dibben Artists, the Miralyith had managed to disappear somewhere along Braxton Street near the Grand Circus. A search was underway. Farilane had no idea what they would do should they find him. Perhaps they hoped to force the Fhrey to open ground where they could battle safely. Mawyndulë didn’t appear that stupid, and Farilane wasn’t holding out much hope for a capture.

When she let Nordyan go, he pulled back, looking as if he might cry.

I’m missing something, she thought, seeing the glassiness of his eyes. Hugging was one thing, but this reaction was something entirely different. Nordyan wasn’t prone to displays of affection. No one from the House of Nyphron ever was. Green eyes and a lack of sentimental attachments were their bloodline’s hereditary traits.