47. Phoenix
Chapter 47
Phoenix
AIDAN
A masculine voice echoes through the tunnels as Beth and I sneak closer to the secret passage allowing access to the Hall of Eternity. The Lord of the Tides is taking his vows as the new king of Summer—using my body, my voice—and my fists clench at my sides.
He’s powerful enough to fool the King of Light himself, and the thought fills me with dread.
“I want you to stay here,” I tell Beth.
She snorts in the most telling show of disbelief. “No chance.”
“Who knows what he’ll do when he sees me coming…”
“And I’ll be right there beside you the whole time, Aidan. As you did for me on that boat.”
She’s right, but my instinct to keep her safe begs me not to put her in the presence of that monster again.
The secret door leading into the throne room has always been a well-guarded secret, though I know at least a couple of other royals are aware of it. I click the mechanism preventing the door from being opened and roll the heavy stone out of the way, the back of the tapestry concealing the door letting a faint light through.
I grip a fist of the red fabric, the tapestry flaking off into ashes and revealing our intrusion to all the monarchs at the same time.
The imposter is sitting on my mother’s old throne, chatting with the others as though he belongs on it, and anger lances up my spine. Thorald Storm, Damian Sombra, and Elio Lightbringer on one side, the imposter, Freya Heart, Ethan Lightbringer, and Eliza Bloodfyre on the other. All in their finest, Ethan even wearing his wings for the occasion. They all gawk at Beth and me. The entire magic of Faerie buzzes at our arrival, sharp bites of power numbing my cheeks.
Only the empty throne of the Mist King remains unclaimed.
“Aidan. What a surprise,” The Lord of the Tides says on a smirk, not at all put out by our arrival.
Elio, Damian, and Eliza jolt to their feet, exchanging alarmed looks.
“What’s going on?” The Red Queen asks, a jewelled scarf covering her forehead and masking her brows.
Freya gasps. “Ethan, what is the meaning of this?”
Ethan squints at me and the Lord of the Tides in turn, clearly annoyed.
Damian sits back down, gripping the armrests of his onyx throne. “Is this another one of your schemes, Ethan?”
Elio clicks his tongue. “Enough games, Father. Which Aidan is the real one?”
“This is no place or time for parlor tricks. This is a sacred ritual, and our actions here are watched closely by the Gods—” Thorald Storm spits as he summons a long sword to his side, a dark cloud gathering above our heads. “You’ve gone too far this time, Ethan.”
Ethan raises his hands in surrender. “Calm down, cousins. I’m not to blame for this intrusion. I do not know which of them is real, or what’s happening.” He squints, sliding to the edge of his seat. “But I’m curious.”
The uneven flow of magic swirling through the air creates a wild draft in the small room, raising all my hairs to attention. If all of them were to use their powers at once in a space as cramped as this, it’d probably blow up the whole castle.
“Let me explain, then,” the Lord of the Tides quips, finally rising to his feet.
He walks to the center of the room to the chalice and snatches it from its pedestal. “Aidan thinks I came here to steal his birthright and cheat my way to a Faerie crown, but that’s actually not the case. I was intrigued, though, by the instrument which allows you all to choose between the contenders to the crown, and sometimes overrule the will of the Gods.” He tips the chalice at the Spring Queen. “Freya here is a good example of such meddling. When Devi was put on trial for misplacing a couple of her forbidden arrows, you all forced her to abdicate and placed Freya on the throne.”
Freya’s jaw is set in a hard line, “Why are we even listening to this impostor?”
“I agree. Let’s put a stop to this,” the Red Queen snaps.
The Lord of the Tides rolls up his sleeves to expose the myriad of jewels embedded in his arms. There’s dozens of them, the precious stones shining under the light of the torches. “Please, give me a minute. I wouldn’t want to have to kill any of you before the show.”
“The show?” The Red Queen scoffs.
“You’re a rebel scum. Why should we listen to you?” Thorald grits through his teeth, his sword raised in warning.
The Lord of the Tides saunters closer to Ethan. “As I was saying, the chalice here was meant as a failsafe to prevent any deranged king to keep ruling if he was found unfit. To temporarily put the power in someone else’s hands. But your lot used it as a way to cheat the rules of succession. And I came here not to bypass the natural order of things, but to make sure it could never be done again.”
Ethan rolls his eyes at the impostor. “The chalice can’t be dismantled. It’s made out of the souls of the first kings and was forged by Hephaistos himself. Nothing can destroy it.”
The Lord of the Tides bristles at Ethan's confidence, his smile stretching beyond unbridled joy into something sinister. “Even something as pure as a soul can be broken. You’re the one who taught me that, Ethan.”
Shadows, ice, blood, and light twist into vines, slithering from the thrones to ensnare the rulers of the Fae Continent. Thorald swings his blade at the tendrils creeping toward his midriff, but the sword shatters on impact. In mere moments, every Faerie monarch is bound to their throne by the Lord of the Tides’ magic. Only Beth and I remain untouched, though the sight leaves us sobered and still.
The kings and queens writhe against their restraints in a futile struggle, and Ethan’s eyes betray a hint of worry.
The impostor, still wearing my face, strides toward the Spring throne. “Freya stole Devi’s crown because all of you let her,” he scolds. With a leap, he lands behind Ethan’s throne, advancing on the Red Queen. “Eliza is a rotten queen. She slaughtered so many of her kin that the Red Forest still drips with their blood.”
He steps closer to Thorald, leaning down to prod the Storm King’s forehead. The vines curl tighter, silencing Thorald’s furious shouts. “Thorald Storm… Your queen is dead. Your sons despise you. Yet you still rule over their lives as if it’s your right.”
From Storms, he saunters toward the Shadow throne. “Damian Sombra. You hung to your crown with both hands, knuckles bloody, for decades, and now that you’re finally back to full strength, finally happy, you hide your wife so that others in this room don’t harm her.”
My doppelg?nger takes a pregnant pause, then doubles back to reach the Winter throne. “And Elio. You escaped your father’s cruelty only to be stuck in a never-ending loop of death. All because you had to marry someone who didn’t love you. How long do you think Ethan will let you keep your new wife before he destroys her too, just for the hell of it?”
“Who are you? How can you use Light magic against me ,” Ethan says on a sneer.
“Have you destroyed so many souls that you can’t even remember? How many women did you blackmail into your bed? How many did you trick with your powers? How many did you rape outright because they dared to say no?” The Lord of the Tides asks in a stark, accusatory tone, his composure slowly slipping away.
Shadow vines crawl over Ethan until he’s covered in them, worming their way inside his nostrils, ears, and eyes as though they mean to choke him from the inside out.
“Do you see the damage you’ve done to your victims, your wives, your children ? To the realm you’re sworn to protect? While you all watched and said nothing.” He shifts his focus to the rest of the Fae royals, quietly scanning the room for a moment.
"Three of you never should have been crowned, and the rest have proven themselves unfit to rule." The Lord of the Tides points the chalice at every monarch in turn, ready to impart his own brand of justice. “I only hope the next kings and queens will be more worthy than you were.” An impish grin curls his lips, his chest heaving as though his performance cost him quite a bit. “It’s a good night for a revolution.”
A smoldering heat radiates from his incandescent frame, his body shifting from orange to red to blinding white. Globs of molten metal spill over the chalice’s rim as it begins to warp and melt. I meet the imposter’s amber gaze—the only part of him that still resembles anything human—and realize he’s no longer using magic to mirror me.
With a deafening crack, he slams the most powerful relic ever forged onto the ground. It shatters in an explosion of molten solder. But the destruction doesn’t stop there. Flames erupt from the Lord of the Tides, racing outward to engulf the thrones.
Beth steps forward, her voice sharp with desperation. “Willow! Stop!”
My heart pounds as the truth snaps into focus. The Lord of the Tides has dropped her disguise. Her amber eyes—hauntingly familiar—confirm what I refuse to believe.
Willow is the fuse, the spark, and the kindling. How could this be?
The mark on my upper thigh ignites with searing heat, ten times stronger than before, as the Hall of Eternity is consumed in flames. The destruction of the chalice triggered my immediate crowning, the magic acting of its own will and consecrating my rise as Summer King. The divine power bestowed upon me merges with the inferno born of my sister’s wrath.
Everything and everyone is swallowed by the fire, the acrid stench of burning flesh choking the air. The flares of my new magic are too strong and unfamiliar for me to know exactly how to control them, either to stop Willow from burning all the others alive, or simply tame the blaze.
Beth strides forward to grip her wrist. “Willow, please! This isn’t the answer.”
Each mention of her name seems to weaken her grip on the magic, and Willow staggers outright at the unexpected touch. The vines of magic vanish into smoke, freeing the monarchs.
Chaos erupts. Flames lick the hem of Freya’s dress, and she screams, fleeing toward the tunnels. The Red Queen’s face twists with fury as she lunges at Willow, her blade aimed at my sister’s neck. But before the strike lands, the fire engulfs her, turning her into a human-shaped torch at the heart of the inferno.
Ethan’s wings ignite, the sharp stench of burning feathers choking the air as he howls in agony beneath the weight of the flames. A bubble of light ripples from his skin, expanding outward—his magic strong enough to repel the inferno. With a roar, he charges toward the entrance, punching through solid stone as if it were water, leaving a jagged hole in his wake.
Willow chases after him, drawing the worst of the heat with her. The temperature drops slightly, but the flames still rage, devouring everything in their path.
Beth and Elio seize the Shadow King, dragging his unconscious, charred body toward the tunnels.
“Come with us!” Beth pleads, her voice shaking with desperation.
“I have to speak to her.”
“Aidan!” she cries again.
I lean down, pressing a swift kiss to her forehead. “Get them out. I’ll see you soon, Songbird.”
Through the swirling smoke, I watch Beth and Elio disappear into the tunnels, struggling to carry a severely burned Damian. They’re safe—for now. But I can’t follow them.
I just have to see her.
I stagger forward, past the gaping hole Ethan left behind, and into the burning remnants of the ballroom. Reaching for the banister of the grand staircase, I recoil in pain as my hand grazes molten metal. The once-magnificent railing has become a twisted, warped ruin.
The heat is relentless, a living thing that presses against my skin, smothering everything else. Flames lick at the stone walls, devouring tapestries and wood beams with a crackling roar that drowns out all other sound. The air is thick with smoke, acrid and choking, a bitter mix of charred oak, burning fabric, and molten iron. My fire magic hums beneath my skin, keeping the inferno from claiming me, but even that can’t dull the sharp sting of ash scraping my throat.
I dodge falling timber, the beam crashing to the ground with an ear-splitting boom, sending embers skittering like angry fireflies across the stone floor. The Eternal Halls, once so grand, a symbol of the strength of my kingdom, are crumbling around me. Every step feels precarious as the structure groans and shudders, a beast in its death throes. I push forward, my bare feet sliding on slick patches of melted varnish, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows against the walls.
"Willow!" I shout, my voice hoarse, swallowed by the roaring blaze. She has to be here. My sister is as much a part of this fire as the flames themselves, her magic feeding the destruction as though it’s a living extension of her will. The thought both enrages and terrifies me. The smoke claws at my lungs as I push toward the heart of the octagonal room, its center glowing with an unearthly light. Every instinct screams at me to turn back, to let the place fall, but I can’t leave without her. My family. My responsibility. Even if she’s the arsonist, even if this was her doing, she’s still my sister—and I’ll drag her out of this hell if I have to.
I find her at the heart of the ballroom.
“Willow!”
She turns, her amber eyes almost red in the firelight. “The thrones are gone. Poof. Just like that. Isn’t it curious? I always thought they were imbued with magic, too, but I guess not.”
Flames lick at every surface of the room. She stands at its heart, unbothered by the heat that would have killed me, had the powers of the Summerlands not ripped into me the moment she melted the chalice.
Our clothes didn’t survive the flames, yet the jewels carved into her skin remain. Her chest and arms glint with precious stones, their alloy links glowing red-hot, creating the illusion of armor. She looks formidable—untouchable—while I stand before her, exposed and vulnerable.
“What have you done?” I manage, the shock of seeing her again nearly eclipsed by the horror of what she’s become.
“I changed the world for the better.”
“You’re burning down our childhood home. Hundreds of innocents will die. You…you killed our mother.”
“Sacrifices need to be made for the greater good.” She gestures toward the center of the Eternal Hall, where her marital bed once stood. “Every single one of them—besides maybe Elio—would have died tonight if not for your meddling. The rising tides would have cleansed the Continent, a fresh start without alliances and politics poisoning everything.”
“Why?” My voice cracks. “Without the Chalice, anyone with ambition and a sword will think they can claim power by force.”
“Better that than forcing children and grandchildren to become pawns in a lifelong quest to maintain it.” Her gaze hardens. “The system was broken, Aidan. Wicked. Now every king and queen of Faerie will be chosen by the Gods—not Ethan Lightbringer or anyone like him.”
A heavy sense of guilt weighs down my heart. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from him.”
She scoffs, her lips pursed in a bitter pout. “The real Aidan wouldn’t have stood by while that man used and abused me. But they took the fight out of you, didn’t they? Washed away your memories and toyed with your essence. I tried to cure you, but nothing worked. I was so miserable that Ezra helped me fake my death just so I could escape.”
The mention of my old friend sends flames down my neck. “Where is he?”
“Gone. Vanished. Probably dead.” She doesn’t wait for my reaction. “Beth wouldn’t have survived without your magic—the shared power of the Summer King.” She bites her bottom lip, her gaze narrowing as though she’s slowly coming to terms with the ramifications of Beth’s unlikely survival. “When did you marry her?”
She’s right. Beth’s ice magic barely slowed the flames, and even Elio, wielding the strength of a glacier, struggled to contain the blaze.
“Last night. On your boat.”
She nods, her expression unreadable, a mix of relief and disappointment. “I guess even deceitful moths can be queens in my new world. I’ll have to make my peace with that.”
“You used to love her,” I croak.
“That was before.” Her voice is flat. “The Lord of the Tides doesn’t have friends—or a brother. The sister you knew is truly dead.”
“I can’t let you go.”
“Fire can’t hold fire, Aidan. And I never meant to kill you. If I’ve known one thing, it’s that you were always meant to rule.”
“I thought the Tidecallers wanted a democracy,” I say.
“Democracies are dying, too,” she replies coldly. “No elected politician can do what needs to be done. There’s no vision, no long-term planning—just fear of losing the next election. A true meritocracy was always the answer. You just got crowned as the new Summer King on merit alone, and so will the other crowns follow once all the usurpers are vanquished. Don't forget, there used to be eight thrones in that room, but since the Mist King fell, no one dared crown a successor. They trapped his magic in the chalice, letting it fester.”
My breath catches. “A new Mist King was crowned tonight?”
She gives a sharp nod. “As soon as the Chalice melted. The Islandtide’s Hawthorn is small and sickly, but now that its magic flows freely, its people will return and rebuild. The sins of our ancestors can finally be wiped clean.” She takes a meaningful pause, close to tears. “This fire will burn itself out soon, and the Summerlands will look to you for guidance.” She turns, hands clasped behind her back, a casual gesture in stark contrast to the devastation around us. “You should thank me, really. I gave you everything a phoenix needs to shine: a tall, enormous mound of ashes to rise from.”
“What about you?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Because of your meddling, I still have a lot of work to do. I won’t rest until Ethan Lightbringer is dead.”
And with that, my little sister—or what remains of her—vanishes in a flicker of light.