The Eletian’s image flickered and waned, and he was hunched as if in considerable pain. Blood soaked his gray cloak. Good, she thought, and she wished him more pain and then some, but Amilton stood with him lending him strength. A direct current of power, like a bloated vein, flowed from Amilton’s stone and into the Eletian’s chest.

Amilton-Shawdell glanced vaguely in their direction, but his eyes did not fall on them. So far he seemed blind to them. He put his hands on his lips. “It seems the Greenie has decided to join us.”

Karigan backed away, drawing the king with her. “Slowly,” she breathed in the king’s ear, “so no one detects movement.”

“I thought I told you to stay with the horse marshal,” the king whispered.

Karigan grinned though he could not see it. “And miss the fun?” Just before Amilton had slammed all the doors shut, she had vanished in the secret corridor, and against Marshal Martel’s protests, slipped into the throne room. A good thing, too, or she would have been cut off from her father and the king.

A black ball of energy, the type of which Karigan was already too familiar with, formed above Amilton-Shawdell’s hand. He smashed it on the floor very near where they had stood. Currents of energy slithered away like black snakes.

Karigan guided the king into a shadowed alcove.

“Do you see the Eletian?” she asked.

“The Eletian! No. I thought you destroyed him.”

The king must not see the world as she could even when under the spell of the brooch. Karigan bit her lip. “He was not destroyed. Now he stands with your brother, weakened, but feeding off him.”

“The eyes and voice were familiar to me.” Zachary leaned against the pillar, this new despair weighing down his shoulders.

“Come out of hiding,” Amilton-Shawdell said. “We shall see you soon anyway. Why not preserve your strength?”

“If he is weak now, how can we stop him before he gets stronger?” Zachary asked. “Even Brienne and Rory could not close in on him.”

Karigan gripped hard on the hilt of the sword of the First Rider as she thought. “Perhaps we must force him to expend a large amount of energy at once. Using my magic has a weakening effect on me, and maybe it is the same for him.”

Zachary did not look pleased by her answer. His features in the dimness of her gray sight were taut.

“It’s that,” Karigan said, “or we try to get that black stone away from him. That is where the power is coming from.”

Amilton-Shawdell paced in front of the throne chair, his eyes darting into the shadows. The half light of the chamber skewed the shadows of the assembled into monstrous shapes on the walls and ceiling.

“We could send our guards to relight the lamps,” Amilton-Shawdell said, “but we would hate to destroy such an appropriate ambiance.”

The king glanced at her . . . through her . . . with concern. His eyes were blackened sockets in her gray world.

“Can you sustain this?” he asked.

Karigan sighed, deeply tired. The events of the day and night combined had taken their toll on her long hours ago. Her gray vision had turned leaden, and though she did not wish to admit it and thus disappoint the king, she felt as though she might drop from the weight of the magic she used, “Not much longer.”

“Perhaps we can persuade you to come forward,”Amilton-Shawdell said. His eyes scanned the assembled as if searching for someone. “You there!” He pointed into the group before him and beckoned with his finger. Stevic G’ladheon walked forward with halting steps as if he were trying to resist but could not.

Karigan clenched the king’s wrist hard.

“Uh . . .” The king grimaced, and squirmed in her grip. “I will hold onto you. You are crushing my good wrist.”

Karigan obeyed only half aware as he fumbled for her hand. “This is peculiar,” he muttered. “I talk to a pillar and hold onto air.”

Karigan wasn’t listening. Her attention was riveted on her father.

“Yes,” Amilton-Shawdell said. “This one is related to the Greenie, is he not?” He stepped close to Stevic, looking him up and down. “A merchant. A merchant by the name of G’ladheon. We know this name.” Another black ball of magic formed over his hand.

A small gasp left Karigan’s lips.

“Your offspring,” Amilton-Shawdell said, “knows well how this feels.”

He lobbed the ball at Stevic. The magic exploded on his chest and ropy tendrils of black twined around his shoulders and arms. Stevic threw his head back in a silent howl of agony.

THE FINAL PLAY

The tangle of black currents snared Karigan’s father. They blanketed his chest and wove between his arms. They rippled down his legs and up his spine. Her father could not move, he could not speak, he couldn’t even scream.

When Karigan wavered on her feet, the king’s grip firmed and steadied her. She knew her father’s pain. She knew it too well, but how could she choose between protecting the king and helping her own father?

The king made the decision for her. “You had better go help your father,” he said. “I cannot defeat my brother by hiding in the shadows anyway.”

She looked at him, at his earnest expression, and she knew she looked upon a man unlike any other. This was why he must be king; this was why he had to succeed. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“I know,” the king said, “though it is not your doing. The heavens know there has been enough suffering this night.” And he let her go.