Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 21

C HAPTER 21

PRINCE RION

286 Y EARS A GO

T he whole of the Aurora court gathered in the throne room, every eye on their fledgling prince, who had entered the world in a fit of screaming and blood a mere three weeks ago.

It was a tradition in the court for the Torch to officially welcome the next Primary into the fold, and an entire gaggle of nobles had gathered to pay their respects.

Meora held the boy in her arms wrapped in a bundle of soft blankets. Rion stood at her side, looking down, peering into the scrunched face of the child— his child. Despite everything, Rion had hoped some latent rush of affection would manifest for his son, but it had yet to happen .

His gaze slid to his father, Garnet, seated on his throne. Barely a trace of breath remained in the king. Wisps of white hair fluttered meekly on a nonexistent breeze, his skin stretched over his frame so thinly it looked like it would rip at the slightest pressure. Still, he clung to life, refusing to move on.

Rion’s fist clenched as he ground his teeth and rolled his neck. It was uncommonly warm in here with all these people crammed into the space. The flames from the Torch gave off an impressive amount of heat.

One by one, the citizens of The Aurora approached to greet the child. Meora beamed proudly, tipping the bundle to show him off, offering exclamations and giggling at everything the baby did, no matter how mundane.

Rion pinched the bridge of his nose and resisted the urge to snap at her to maintain her sense of decorum. Normally, the woman was a nervous wreck, and as much as that grated on his nerves, it was preferable to this bubbleheaded fool.

Once each noble had viewed the child, they moved to the king and queen, falling to their knees in respect. Rion peered again at his son, and inexplicably, the child seemed to notice him. Did he imagine the accusation in the baby’s gaze? The knowing? The understanding that he’d already disappointed his father in more ways than he could possibly imagine?

Rion clasped his hands, spinning the wide ring he wore around his finger. He’d recently created it, chiseling out a piece of virulence to always carry with him.

He’d been testing the material for months, using his magic against it and keeping notes of his own. The process was difficult and complex, rarely producing the results he sought. He’d wondered why the rulers hadn’t used the arks in other ways, but he was starting to understand it wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Herric had given them instructions on using the arks to control the strength of their own magic, but that was all he’d shared.

He also suspected this was what Zerra had come for all those years ago during the Burning. While she’d pretended it had been about loyalty, he wondered if she’d created the priestesses to root them out. If the arks were killing her, it stood to reason that she’d want to keep them close.

Rion hypothesized the rulers must have hidden them during the strife, which was why he’d never learned of their existence. It had all happened long enough ago that they’d fallen out of the collective memory. And The Aurora hadn’t needed an ark.

Through Herric’s journals, he’d also learned that virulence could be manipulated only with Imperial magic and that once used, it would work again only with the same vein of magic. Thus, no ruler could use another’s ark.

Zerra’s actions had lost her the trust of the Imperial courts all those years ago. She was a ruler in name only amongst the High Fae. Any support she had left was to be found in circles of humans or low fae, and that wasn’t worth much.

Rion watched the Torch spark to life, the flames in its mouth burning with violet, crimson, and emerald. Now would come the time for the official anointing of the future Primary.

When Rion had come to the end of Herric’s journals, he’d scoured the vaults for more but had turned up nothing else. What he couldn’t understand was why King Elias was credited as The Aurora’s first king of the Second Age and not Herric. What had happened to him? And was it Elias who lived inside the Artefact now or Herric?

Ribbons of magic curled from the Torch and wrapped around Rion, Meora, and Nadir—one happy family—encasing them in a column of bright lights.

As the magic twisted around them, Rion heard that voice .

Rion.

It was low and rough, like something rusty dragged from under the earth—the same as he’d heard it on the day of his bonding. He’d returned many times since, hoping to hear the voice again, but eventually convinced himself he’d imagined it.

Rion , it whispered.

But here it was again.

Rion studied his surroundings, searching for the source of the sound. Everything appeared normal. Meora cooed at the baby, bouncing and swaying with the bundle in her arms. Suddenly, the ring on Rion’s hand burned hot, and he did his best not to flinch as it seared his skin.

Rion , the voice said again.

The heated sensation faded as Rion held completely still, listening for the voice to return. His gaze wandered to Garnet, who watched Nadir with the love in his rheumy eyes that Rion should have felt. Maybe he’d just been waiting to meet his grandson before he finally moved on.

Rion , came the deep voice again as the virulence blistered his finger.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the glowing Artefact in the middle of the room. Last time, he’d thought it had come from the Torch, and now he was almost certain. But he wasn’t ascended, so why would it be speaking to him?

Rion , it said again.

“Who is this?” he said under his breath.

Don’t you know? You found my journals, did you not?

Rion blew out a sharp breath. Herric?

All you needed was a little guidance. A nudge towards them.

Rion thought of those vivid dreams. Was it possible a dead king had led him to that chest?

I’ve been waiting for someone like you for a very long time.

Rion looked around, studying the ceiling and walls, the faces in the crowd. Was someone playing a prank? Or was he losing his mind?

The virulence , the voice said. Ussssse it.

Rion blinked. Use it for what?

Alter the Torch’s course , the voice said. You have the power.

Rion’s eyebrows pulled together as his gaze flicked around the room.

At that moment, the Torch’s magic surrounding Nadir and Meora swelled, filling the air with ribbons of light obscuring them from view of everyone in the room. He channeled a thread of his own magic into the virulence, and then, against every instinct—against everything he’d ever known—he filtered it into the Torch.

At first, it resisted the intrusion, trying to shove his magic out. But he gritted his teeth, propelling more power into it. He pushed against the barrier holding him back.

That’s it , came the rough voice again. You’re doing very well.

Emboldened by those words, Rion channeled more magic into the Artefact as the voice continued encouraging his efforts .

“Now what?” he heard himself saying. Meora gave him a curious look through the translucent bands of light surrounding them. He schooled his expression into coldness, and she quickly looked away.

Now, decide what you want it to do.

Rion hesitated. It? As in the Torch?

His gaze fell to Nadir, who stared up at him with that same accusing glare.

You want to punish the boy, don’t you?

Without really understanding, Rion forced more magic into the Torch, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could sense its surprise. Rion attempted to wrest control of its magic, and it fought him, trying to push him out.

He winced as his ring heated again, pain searing his skin. He reached into his pocket, where a polished stone of virulence sat, and wrapped his hand around it for strength. With another press of magic, he felt the Torch’s resolve crumbling.

There was a shift, a moment, when Rion realized he’d taken control.

His gaze went to Nadir, and Rion forced out another ribbon of the Torch’s magic, concentrating it on his son. He touched it to the baby’s forehead, the power camouflaged by the ribbons already swirling around the room.

Immediately, Nadir began to scream, his little fists bunching and his face turning red. The child thrashed in his blankets with such force that Meora stumbled.

Gasps around the room accompanied a chorus of horrified whispers.

“What’s happening? ”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nadir?” Meora sobbed. “What’s wrong?”

Rion paused for one more breath before he pulled the magic away. Meora hugged the child, bouncing up and down and making soothing sounds.

“It’s okay,” she whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. “What’s wrong, my baby?”

After another moment, Nadir’s cries calmed, his little body jerking with hiccups. Rion studied the boy with cool detachment. Then he slid his magic away from the Torch. He felt its relief as he withdrew, and it continued bathing Nadir and his mother in a benevolent light.

The incident was soon forgotten as the ceremony came to a close—congratulations and refreshments were passed around the room. He noted the look on Meora’s face, a mixture of relief and confusion, as she showered Nadir with kisses.

But Meora hadn’t forgotten.

She stared across the room at Rion, fear darkening her expression as she pulled Nadir against her, some instinct telling her she’d need to protect him against his own father.

Rion wouldn’t forget either.

He’d controlled the Torch. Forced it to do his bidding. The former king of The Aurora had helped him, and Rion was too eager about his discovery to wonder why.

His gaze wandered to his father, sitting on his throne with the dark crown of the Aurora King perched on his head.

Finally, Rion had found a way.

Finally, Rion would get his crown.