27. Chapter 26
Chapter 26
I rush to the balcony, my heart racing, and when I see black wings blotting out the moon, hope blooms in my chest. For once, I’m relieved that Daed didn’t bother with the door. I step into the rain, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding moonlight. But as the boots touch down on the stone and the glow fades, disappointment hits me hard. The familiar ivory hair, streaked with gray, and the rough-hewn face that’s seen too many battles come into focus.
“Arax,” I murmur, unable to hide the sinking feeling. My gaze shifts past him, searching the night sky for another set of wings, for the one set that truly matters. But the sky remains empty.
“Where is the prince?” I ask, my voice tight.
“He is delayed,” Arax replies solemnly, as if he knows how much I didn’t want to hear those words.
I bite back my frustration, but it churns inside me, twisting into something raw. “Why?”
“Negotiations go poorly, Your Highness. Modok…” he begins, his tone cautious.
“Of course, Modok,” I snap, turning sharply on my heel and storming into my chambers, the rain still clinging to my skin.
Solena stands in the archway, draping a robe over my shoulders, the soft fabric absorbing the wetness from my skin. The gesture is comforting, but it does nothing to ease the ache settling in my chest.
“How long until he returns to Baev’kalath?” I demand.
Arax hesitates, and the silence only stirs my anger. I whirl on him, my frustration visible in the hard line of my jaw.
“Your Highness,” Arax starts carefully, wringing the rain from his beard before stepping fully inside. “If we are to defend the Sundered Kingdoms from the Legion, we need the full strength of the houses. Without their swords, The Grove will never be safe.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, my voice sharp and brittle. “You don’t think I understand the weight of this? Everything I do, everything , is for The Grove. I gave myself to the Fae, not caring what it cost me. But this…” My voice wavers, the strength in it cracking as exhaustion takes hold. “I just need this one thing for myself. I need my husband .”
Arax’s expression shifts, guilt and sorrow softening his usually stoic face. He looks down, unable to meet my eyes, ashamed of how deeply my words affect him. “I know I am an unworthy substitute, Princess. But the prince believed hearing this from me would soften the blow.”
I cradle my face in my hands, feeling the sting of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Arax. I’m just so… tired.”
Arax casts a concerned glance at Solena, worry flickering in his gaze. “The princess is unwell?” he asks quietly.
Solena nods, her voice gentle. “Much has happened since the prince left. We must protect her until he returns.”
Arax’s face hardens, his loyalty like iron. He pounds his chest with a clenched fist. “Always.” He strides to the door, drawing his sword in one swift motion, the blade gleaming even in the dim light. “I will cut down anyone who dares to pass through these doors until the prince can stand guard himself.”
With a firm thud, the doors shut behind him, leaving me with the knowledge that I am about to spend another night without my prince. Daed knew what he was doing when he sent Arax. The bond between us grew when I felt adrift, long before my connection with Daed became something real to cling to. While I’d give anything for my husband to be here with me now, Arax was mistaken—he’s far from a poor substitute.
He’s the only other Fae I’d trust with my life.
Solena tucks me in, pulling the covers up to my chin, leaving a soft smile with me, but for the first time, she doesn't leave. Instead, she settles into the high-backed chair near the fire, her gaze lost in the flicker of flames as exhaustion pulls at me.
I feel a gentle patter across the covers and soon Ashen is by my side. He circles a few times, finding just the right spot before curling into a ball, his smoky whiskers brushing against my nose. Somehow, in this moment, things don’t seem quite as hopeless as they once did.
When I first arrived at Baev’kalath, I was convinced it would be my undoing. I still can’t say for certain that won’t be true. Despite my best efforts, this place claws at me, trying to unravel me at every turn. But never did I imagine I would find friendship here, among the Fae who despise my kind. Arax’s unwavering loyalty and Solena’s quiet strength are what keep me anchored, sacred threads holding me together in a world intent on pulling me apart. Without them, I know I would not survive this alone.
And then there’s Daed. My dark prince. My husband. I refuse to believe the ghost’s venomous lies. I have seen the good man beneath the warrior’s fierce exterior, felt it in every tender touch, in the way he looks at me when no one else is watching.
I will endure. I will continue to resist the forces that seek to unravel us, to break me. I just need rest. My heavy gaze falls on my bandaged hand, the dull ache there a reminder. But even as I try to will myself to sleep, the ghost’s words slip through the cracks of my thoughts, lingering in the darkness.
Pain is your awakening.
And then I drift away.
I know I cannot dream, yet the weight pressing down on my chest says otherwise, as if I’m caught in some twisted reality between sleep and waking. The soft bed beneath me melts away and now cold stone is at my back, jagged, and unforgiving.
I cannot move. My arms, my legs—they feel like lead, pinned to the ground by forces unseen. Around me, runes pulse—dark shapes etched into the stone, their glow throbbing in time with my racing heart. They snake out in every direction, forming a perfect circle that cages me in.
The air is thick with whispers, faint at first, then growing louder, surrounding me from all sides. My eyelids flutter open, vision hazy, and through the veil of confusion I see them—figures draped in black robes, their faces obscured, mouths hidden beneath dark hoods. Their chanting is low and guttural, words I cannot comprehend, each syllable sending shivers down my spine. They stand like statues, unmoving except for the rhythmic rise and fall of their voices, their words curling around me like a suffocating fog.
I try to scream, but my voice is swallowed by the eerie quiet between their chants. My eyes strain upward, and that’s when I see it—the void. It tears through the ceiling above me, not like a window, but a wound in the world, edges jagged and raw, leading to a darkness so vast it seems to stretch forever. It pulses, slow and menacing, as if alive, the very air trembling in its presence and with each pulse, the robed figures' chanting grows louder, more frantic, pulling me closer to the gaping abyss that threatens to devour me whole.
The void pulses again, and within it, something stirs—something ancient, a presence that fills me with a dread so deep, I can feel it down to my bones. My heart pounds in my chest, the rhythm echoing in my ears as the air around me thickens with smoke. The chanting intensifies, rising to a fevered pitch, a cacophony of voices that makes my skin crawl. The robed figures shift, their heads tilting toward the void as if in worship, and my stomach turns with a sense of impending doom.
I see him then, within the dark maw of the void—a shadow, larger than anything I can comprehend, creeping closer. A beast born of nightmare and smoke, Gygarth, the demon of the void, takes form. His body is a mass of swirling darkness, tentacled arms extending outward in all directions, writhing and twisting like serpents made of smoke. His face is featureless, save for a gaping, jagged mouth that seems to consume the very essence of the void around him, swallowing it whole. And there, at the center of the beast’s face, are two startling white eyes—blinding in their intensity, empty, and cold.
The chanting grows louder, the robed figures swaying as if possessed by the ritual, their hands outstretched toward the creature, their fingers charred black as it looms above me. I want to move, to scream, but I’m trapped, frozen by terror as Gygarth hovers just inches from my face. The weight of his presence presses down on me, suffocating, and my lungs burn as I try to draw a breath.
Then, slowly, agonizingly, the demon’s mouth opens, a swirling black maw that seems to suck the very light from the air. Thick tendrils of smoke begin to drift from his mouth, curling and twisting toward me. I thrash against my invisible bonds, panic flooding every inch of me, but it’s no use. The smoke snakes its way toward me, reaching for my face, my mouth, and though I fight it with everything I have, I can’t stop it.
The first tendril of smoke slips between my lips, cold and bitter, filling my lungs with a suffocating darkness. I choke, gasping for air, but more smoke pours from Gygarth’s maw, winding its way into me, filling me with his essence. It tastes of death and decay, of something ancient and malevolent, and as it enters me, I feel a searing pain, as though the very fabric of my soul is being torn apart.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I know is the smoke, the darkness, and the demon’s cold, empty eyes staring down at me as he claims me for the void. The chanting rises to a deafening crescendo, the robed figures swaying wildly, their voices echoing in my head as the smoke invades every part of me, dragging me deeper into the abyss.
Panic grips me like a vice, squeezing the breath from my lungs as the smoke fills every corner of my body, sinking deeper into my core. I feel helpless, utterly alone. No one is coming to save me—not Daed, not Arax. No one.
My mind races, but it's too slow, too heavy, weighed down by the smoke, by the pull of Gygarth’s power. The chanting grows louder, the haunting words wrapping around me like chains, and I feel myself slipping, sinking into the dark. But then, through the haze of fear, a memory flickers—blurry at first, but gaining clarity with every heartbeat.
The last time I faced the demon. The moment I escaped. The pain… the pain in my hand. I remember the light, the green light that surged from within me, blasting him away, giving me the smallest window of freedom. My hands clench involuntarily, and I feel it again, the sharp sting of my wound. The bandage tightens around my palm, the familiar throb cutting through the thick fog of dread.
Suddenly, the ghost’s words echo in my mind, clearer now than ever before. Pain is your awakening.
This isn’t the second time I’ve been here. This isn’t a nightmare that I’ve escaped only once.
No. This is where I am brought every night.
When I wake in the morning, weak, my head throbbing, my mind slowly slipping away, it is because I have been here in this room with him. This is where Gygarth feeds me shadows, where he pours the void into my veins. But I never remember. Until now. Until the pain cuts through the veil that clouds my mind, showing me the truth.
This is real.
A surge of clarity hits me like a tidal wave, and my pulse quickens with the realization. I can feel the cool sweat on my skin, the way my lungs burn as they fight for air, the icy press of Gygarth’s tendrils tightening around me. The circle is real. The robed figures are real. And Gygarth, hovering above me, his smoke pouring into my soul, is real.
My eyes snap open, no longer veiled by the haze of terror, and I force myself to move. My hand shakes, but I unravel the bandage, slowly, my fingers trembling as the cloth slips away. The wound is raw beneath, the skin torn and red, but it’s enough. The blood flows, and with it, so does my awareness. The veil lifts entirely, and I see everything as it truly is—the dark room, the symbols pulsing around me, the void above, and Gygarth, his looming form sucking the light from the air.
I grit my teeth, every nerve alive with the agony in my hand, but I use it. I need it.
Pain is my awakening, and I am finally awake.
The green light comes from deep inside me, a flicker at first, then a burning flame. It surges through me like wildfire, traveling down my arm, and before I know it, my hand glows with a fluorescent brilliance, vibrant and blinding. The robed figures stumble back, their chants faltering as they shield their eyes, and Gygarth—he pauses, his swirling mass of darkness pulling back as if sensing the power I’m about to unleash.
I thrust my hand forward, and the green light explodes from my palm, a beam of energy so bright it illuminates the void itself. The force of it sends Gygarth spiraling back, his tentacled arms flailing as the light tears through him, unraveling the shadows that bind him. His guttural roar fills the space, shaking the very ground beneath me, but I don’t stop. I pour every ounce of strength, of will, into the light, watching as it pushes Gygarth deeper into the void, further from me, until he is nothing more than a distant speck swallowed by the dark.
The robed figures scream, their voices shrill as they retreat into the shadows, their ritual shattered, their control broken. The circle around me flickers and dies, the runes fading as the void above collapses in on itself, leaving nothing but silence. I fall back onto the cold floor, my hand trembling as the green light dims. My body is spent, my mind teetering on the edge of exhaustion, but I’m alive.
I’m awake.
Then I bolt upright and I am in my in bed, a scream ripping from my throat before I can stop it. My chest heaves, my hands gripping the sheets as if they’ll keep me tethered to reality. Solena jerks awake in the chair by the fireplace, her eyes wide with alarm. In an instant, the door bursts open, and Arax storms in, his sword already drawn. Ashen arches his back on the bed, hissing, his smoky body shifting with agitation.
“Amara, what is it?” Solena asks, rushing to my side, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, gasping for breath. “It wasn’t a dream,” I choke out, my voice trembling. “It was real. I was… I was there again. The altar. The chanting. Gygarth. It’s not just in my mind— I was there .”
Arax takes a step closer, his brow furrowed, while Solena’s grip on me tightens. “Start from the beginning,” she urges. “Tell us everything.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm my racing heart, but the images of the void, of Gygarth’s monstrous form, flood back into my mind. “There were runes… on the floor, surrounding me. Chanting voices, people in robes. I couldn’t move. Then a demon came, this beast of smoke, with tentacles and these horrible white eyes. He—he was feeding me shadows, filling me with the void.” I shudder, my skin crawling at the memory. “I fought him off… with the light, the green light. I used my wound, and I forced him back, but it was real. It was real .”
Solena and Arax exchange a look, their expressions tight with concern, as if they know more than they’re saying. Solena stands abruptly, her gaze sweeping over the bed, something sharp in her eyes. She circles, her fingers skimming over the sheets, then kneels down, tugging at the edge of the rug that lies beneath.
“Amara,” she says, her voice tense. “Get out of the bed.”
My heart pounds in my ears, but I do as she asks, swinging my legs over the side and stepping onto the cold stone floor. Solena motions for Arax. “Move the bed.”
Arax steps forward without hesitation, his face grim. Using the smoke that trails from his fingertips, he summons a tendril, coiling it beneath the heavy frame of the bed. With a grunt, he pulls the bed and the rug aside, sliding them across the room as if they weigh nothing.
And then I see it.
My breath catches in my throat.
The runes—those same pulsing, ancient symbols that surrounded me in the void—are painted on the floor beneath my bed, beneath the rug, an inverted crescent moon at the circle’s center. They glow faintly in the dim light, twisting and spiraling into patterns I now recognize from my visions. I stumble back, my mind reeling.
“Void runes,” Arax mutters, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.
“Every time you’ve slept here,” Solena says softly, her gaze fixed on the runes with a look of horror, “your soul has been sent somewhere else—somewhere between reality and the void.”
My stomach twists. “How… how long has this been happening?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Inside, I already know. The void has been siphoning its essence into me since the first night I arrived, and the only times I have felt well have been when I spent the night somewhere else.
It’s not just a nightmare. It’s a trap.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the hallways, the pounding growing louder as they approach. My heart leaps into my throat just as the door to my chambers flies open. A fleet of Blades storm inside, their faces hidden behind their shadowy helms, their weapons gleaming in the torchlight. Arax steps in front of me, his sword already drawn, its black edge catching the dim light from the runes on the floor.
“Stand down!” Arax barks, his voice filled with authority. His sword gleams, poised to strike. “You have no place here.”
But the Blades don’t falter. The captain among them steps forward, his voice cold and unyielding. “We answer only to the queen.”
My blood runs cold.
As if summoned by his words, the Blades part, and Lanneth stumbles into the room. She looks nothing like the regal queen I’ve come to know—her face drained, drawn, her usually poised figure hunched with exhaustion. And when I look at her, something far more sinister unfolds before my eyes.
Her glamor wavers.
In the low light, her beautiful face shifts and flickers like a candle about to go out. The Lanneth I’ve known ripples away, leaving behind the monster who first showed itself to me across the table. Her fingers… they’re blackened, charred like the hands of the robed figures from my dreams. And on her forehead, faint but unmistakable, is the same inverted crescent moon rune from the circle beneath my bed.
A guttural rage rises within me. My vision narrows as the pieces snap together, the truth hitting me like a blow to the chest. “It’s you,” I say, my voice trembling with fury. “You are behind all of this. You…” My voice breaks as anger surges through me. “When Daed returns—”
Lanneth laughs, a chilling, hollow sound that sends a shiver down my spine. Her face continues to flicker, her true self—twisted and cruel—peeking through the glamor she wears. Her smile stretches unnaturally wide, and her eyes, dark and empty, lock onto mine with a wicked glee.
“Daed?” she sneers, her voice dripping with contempt. “When Daed returns? Oh, you stupid, naive human.” She steps closer, her voice lowering to a hiss. “When Daedalus returns, he will hold you down until we can finish what we started. Do you understand nothing?”
The flickering of her glamor ceases, her face fully morphing into that of the priestess of the void. I can see it now—her true self, the evil that lurks beneath the queenly facade. Her blackened fingers flex, crackling with dark power as the air around her shrouds with darkness.
My heart races, but her next words rip the ground out from under me.
“Daedalus knows,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “He has always known. He is the Prince of the Void.”
The world tilts.
“No…” I whisper, shaking my head in denial, my voice weak, fragile. “No, that can’t be true.”
Lanneth’s lips twist into a cruel smile, her eyes gleaming with a cold certainty. “It can and it is. This bargain was not just for a bride, Amara Tyne of The Grove. It was for a womb, for an heir, for a sacrifice. Gygarth fuels the Mordorin—he grants us aspects of the void. That is why our house rules over all others. But he must be fed. This is the cost for such glorious power.”
She straightens, her composure rigid and terrifyingly calm. “Now, not all is lost. Had you simply played your part, you could have lived for a time in our world, blissfully ignorant of your fate. You would’ve tasted a life no other human could dream of. But you’ve ruined that for yourself, Amara. Now things will be much harder for you. There is no avoiding that.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as if piecing together something that unsettles her. “But I must know…”
Her voice lowers, and I feel a tremor of dread as her face flickers, shifting between the queen and the priestess of the void. “How did you see through the glamors? There is only one way...” She speaks with disbelief, as though she already knows the answer but refuses to acknowledge it. “You cannot be awakened.”
“I don’t know what I am,” I snap, the bitterness coating my words. “All I know is that I see you for what you truly are—hideous, treacherous, and evil. And when Daed—”
“Are you deaf or simple, girl?" Lanneth’s laughter slices through me, her voice dark and sharp. “How can I make this any plainer? The prince knows. Where do you think his power comes from? Why do you think he’s stronger, faster, more than any of us could ever be? The Father Below blessed him when he came into this world, and the price for that blessing was the life of Queen Veloria.”
My breath falters. I stagger, the truth unraveling like a noose around my neck. But I am not the only one shaken. Arax, standing guard, looks as though the ground beneath him has crumbled. Solena’s hand flies to her mouth, stifling her gasp of horror.
“I served my god,” Lanneth says, her voice dripping with righteousness. Her gaze slides to my stomach, and her words slither through me like poison. “And you… you shall offer the same gift to his heir. The Father must be fed, Amara, and you were chosen long before you knew it. His essence is already inside you, seeping into your very being, filling you with the void’s dark power. One day, it will infuse the Fae child you will carry. It is your purpose—to be the vessel that will feed the Father.”
I stare at her, my heart pounding against my ribs. Every word she speaks burrows into my mind like nails. “There’s no going back now,” she continues, her voice a mockery of pity. “The dark bargain was struck long ago, and bargains… can never be broken.”
I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, like it’s caving in. The room spins as the full weight of her words settle inside me. This fate, this horror—it was sealed long before I even knew Daed. I was never a bride. I was always a vessel.
“Now, we are wasting time. Arax, bring her. Kill the maid.”
The air in the room freezes, heavy with shock. I take a step back, my heart thundering in my chest, and instinctively reach out for Solena. Her fingers lace with mine, trembling as we stand in silence, eyes locked on Arax. He stands still as stone, his face unreadable, his hand hovering over the pommel of his blade.
“Arax!” Lanneth’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “You are a Reaper of the Ebon Flight. You have served this house for centuries, fought for your prince since the day he was born. Obey me! ”
Arax bows his head, his hand lingering near his sword. My breath catches, dread pooling in my stomach. I know his loyalty, his sense of duty, and honor. It is that very loyalty that makes me certain he will carry out her orders. I can’t blame him for that. I can’t fault him for what he may do.
“Princess,” his voice is low, almost a whisper.
I swallow, squaring my shoulders, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Yes, Arax.”
“Move.”
A rope of smoke lashes from his hand, wrapping around the high-back chair, and before I can react, Solena and I drop to our knees as he flings it over us, sending it crashing into the Blades. Half of them tumble to the floor, while the others draw their swords with a sharp ring of steel.
They charge, but Arax doesn’t flinch. His sword remains untouched at his side as his hands move in fluid, mystical patterns, weaving threads of smoke that grow in size and intensity. The black tendrils lash out like whips, ensnaring the remaining Blades, hurling them against the walls with a sickening thud. They struggle, limbs kicking, but they are no match for the smoke that pins them, suffocating their efforts.
“Go!” Arax yells.
But Lanneth is already shedding her black robe, revealing her body covered in the cursed runes of Gygarth. Smoke coils around her fingers like living creatures, and she raises her hands, eyes blazing. Arax sends another tendril toward her, but she merely flicks her wrist, turning it to ash before it crumbles to the floor.
Solena grabs my arm, yanking me toward the wall where a Blade writhes against the shackles of smoke. She taps the hidden panel, and with a soft click, the secret door swings open.
“Hurry!” she urges, pulling me inside.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Lanneth’s smoke wrapping around Arax, twisting his body in mid-air. His eyes lock onto mine, his jaw tight, pain etched across his face.
“Go, Princess!” he roars.
Solena yanks me into the tunnel, slamming the door shut behind us. The sound of footsteps echoes from the other side.
“It won’t hold them,” I murmur, fear creeping into my voice.
Solena’s eyes dart around the tunnel, panic seeping into her movements as she searches frantically for something.
“What? What are you looking for?”
Suddenly, she notices the layer of dust on the door. Without a word, she draws a rune into the dust with her finger. As the final stroke is completed, the rune pulses, glowing faintly, and I feel the magic ripple through the air around us.
“I am not a great runeweaver, but that should hold them,” she says, breathless. “Just not for long.”