Chapter 47
We landed with a crack of magic and silence. My knees hit marble. Cold. Impossibly smooth.
I gasped, blinking hard.
An opulent hall stretched before us. High ceilings carved in onyx and obsidian. Crimson banners hung from the stone.
I could hear the gasps of the others around me, the shuffling of bodies forced to kneel.
I tried to rise. A soldier slammed me down again.
I looked up to see Ashterion standing at the head of the room, crownless, but every inch a ruler. Behind him, Xyliria reclined on her throne, legs crossed, a glass of wine in hand, eyes gleaming with malevolent delight.
“Well,” she purred, smiling over the rim of her glass. “Welcome home.”
I lifted my head, throat raw, breath scraping past clenched teeth.
Then I saw them.
Linc was closest to me, his chains rattled—heavy ones, far heavier than the others. Shackles bit into his wrists, raw and torn from repeated struggle. But even through the grime and blood caked along his jaw, he looked… dangerous. A storm biding its time.
Darian knelt nearby, his face a map of bruises and blood, one eye swollen nearly shut. But his attention wasn’t on his own injuries, it was fixed on Shaelith and Brynelle with the protective intensity of someone ready to throw himself between them and any threat.
Fenric was thrashing against his bonds with characteristic stubbornness, snarling curses. A guard stepped forward and drove a boot into his ribs.
The sound of impact echoed through the hall.
Cindrissian’s composure shattered instantly, a feral snarl tearing from his throat that was all teeth and promised violence. Beside him, Lincatheron made a sound like a wounded predator, something that wanted to paint the marble with that guard’s blood.
Shaelith and Brynelle were pressed together, Shaelith’s body curved protectively around her wife despite the restraints.
The collar around Shaelith’s throat was reinforced with additional bands of metal, pulsing with suppressive magic.
Brynelle’s magenta-streaked braids hung limp as she leaned into Shaelith’s warmth.
But it was the figure at the head of the room that made my blood freeze in my veins.
Varyth.
Kneeling.
Blood streaked down the side of his face, dripping from a split brow, trailing down his throat.
His arms were bound, his wings drooped behind him, and his tunic was torn and soaked with blood—some of it his, some of it not.
A collar gleamed against his skin, its metal dark and pulsing with faint magic.
His chest rose and fell with deliberate breaths, but every line of his body radiated violence, fury simmering beneath the surface.
I could feel it in the air—the crackle of restrained power, even muted as it was.
Then his head turned.
And for one suspended, infinite heartbeat—the world vanished. His silver gaze locked to mine, blood and ruin and pain carved into the planes of his face.
I saw it—all of it. The anguish. The fear. The bone-deep need to reach for me and destroy everyone who stood between us. His fingers twitched, his entire frame leaning forward as though instinct alone would tear his restraints apart.
Footsteps echoed through the grand hall, slow and measured. I tensed, fighting the urge to turn and face the speaker. Instead, I kept my eyes locked on Varyth, searching his face for any sign, any clue of what to do next.
The footsteps stopped behind me, and a presence loomed over my kneeling form. Sharp nails trailed over my shoulder, tracing the line of my exposed neck, moving as though admiring a delicate trinket.
“Look at you,” Xyliria said, mockingly fond. “So defiant. So stubborn. That’s what happens, isn’t it? When humans slither their way into the world of fae.”
My jaw tightened.
“So predictable.” Xyliria stepped around me, glancing up to the dais where her husband now sat.
His dark throne loomed above us, an elegant construct of blackened wood and stone, carved with sigils of power.
He sat utterly still, his expression empty, one arm resting against the arm of his throne, his long fingers curled loosely over the edge.
“You know, I thought it would be more difficult.” Xyliria tilted her head as she paced in front of us. “But you made it so easy. Tell me—what was it?”
She turned her eyes on Linc first.
“Loyalty?” A smirk. “Foolish bravery?”
Then to Darian. “Or maybe something else?” Her lips curled. “Maybe you couldn’t bear the thought of losing your precious shadow wielder. How sweet.”
Fenric spat blood onto the pristine marble floor. Xyliria’s smirk widened.
“And you,” she purred, stepping toward Varyth. “Your little court will be so lost without you, won’t they?”
Varyth said nothing. Xyliria crouched before him, running a single nail beneath his chin, angling his face to look at her.
“Shall we make a deal?” she offered, sweet as poisoned honey.
Silence.
A slow, dangerous smirk from Varyth. “You can go to hell.”
Xyliria sighed dramatically, as if he were a petulant child who refused to behave. “Tsk, tsk.”
Something slammed into me. No, not something. Everything. The world itself, crushing my ribs, splitting me open.
I gritted my teeth. I would not give her the satisfaction.
But it tore through me. My bones were splintering, my skin peeling away in ribbons, my veins burning from the inside out.
A scream broke free.
Xyliria’s laugh was musical, delighted. Her hand lifted, and the pain intensified, white-hot agony that turned my vision to static.
The others sounded far away. I knew they were roaring, screaming, cursing. But I couldn’t focus on any of the words. My hands twitched, clawed at the floor, at anything, trying to fight against the unbearable.
The world was slipping, slipping, slipping—
“Stop!” The word cracked from Varyth. His chains rattled as he lunged forward. His silver eyes blazed so brightly they should have burned through Xyliria herself.
Xyliria’s smile widened at his desperation, and her magic surged deeper into me. The pain exploded beyond anything I’d ever imagined possible, as if she was unravelling me at a molecular level, pulling apart every nerve ending.
“Please,” Darian’s plea broke through the agony. “Please, you’re killing her.”
The crimson energy wrapped around my bones like molten wire, each pulse sending fresh waves of torment through my body.
“Enough.” Ashterion’s voice cut through the chaos.
The agony vanished so suddenly I collapsed forward, gasping. Blood splattered the marble beneath me. It sheeted from my nose, my mouth, copper flooding my throat as I retched and shuddered. My body felt like it had been turned inside out, every nerve screaming phantom pain.
“You’re being wasteful,” Ashterion said, his tone flat. “Dead she serves no purpose.”
Xyliria’s laugh tinkled through the hall. “Oh, my love, always so practical.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But you’re right, of course. We need her functional.”
My vision swam with black spots, and I could barely draw breath past the agony echoing through my bones. More blood filled my mouth, and I couldn’t stop the broken sobs that tore from my throat.
Xyliria merely sighed, looking down her nose at me as I whimpered on the cold floor.
Her gaze flicked lazily to the guards.
A simple gesture. A bored wave of her fingers.
“Take them away.” The words were casual, dismissive. But they were a noose tightening around my throat.
I was hauled forcefully to my feet. I stumbled, disoriented from the searing pain, but managed to keep my footing.
We were led down winding corridors, deeper into the bowels of the Nyxarian palace.
With each descending step, the temperature dropped further, until a bone-deep chill settled over my skin, seeping into my marrow.
The air turned damp and thick, pressing against me.
Moss and mildew clung to the ancient stones, the scent of rot and decay hanging heavy in the oppressive silence.
Faint drips echoed in a rhythmic plink, plink, plink, water falling from cracks in the ceiling to pool on the slick, uneven floor. The shadows lengthened, stretching grotesquely across the walls in the weak torchlight. Everything about this place was forgotten, abandoned to darkness, to despair.
Finally, we stopped in front of a heavy iron door, rusted and covered in thick layers of grime. One of our captors pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest, a harsh metallic screech that reverberated through the corridor.
Before I could even brace myself, we were shoved inside.
Xyliria’s magic clung to my bones, and I couldn’t catch myself before I slammed hard into the stone. A weak sound escaped me as I hit hard.
Warm arms surrounded me before I could even process the movement. Varyth’s scent, wrapped around me as he hauled me against his chest.
“Isara.” My name was a broken prayer on his lips, rough with panic and fury. His fingers traced my face with desperate gentleness, cataloguing each mark of pain Xyliria’s magic had left behind. “Gods, what did she do to you?”
I tried to speak, but only a rasping sound emerged. Blood coated my tongue, metallic and thick. The collar around my throat felt heavier now, its weight pressing against windpipe already raw from screaming.
“I’m okay,” I finally managed, though we both knew it was a lie.
Varyth’s jaw tightened as he took in my condition. The blood trickling from my nose, the way I flinched when he touched certain parts of my face. His silver eyes burned with a fury that made the shadows in our cell seem to writhe and dance despite the collar suppressing his magic.
“I’m going to kill her,” he said quietly, the words carrying absolute conviction. “I’m going to tear her apart with my bare hands.”
“Get in line,” Darian snarled from across the cell. He was cradling his ribs where the guard had kicked him, but his attention was fixed on me.
“Everyone alive?” Fenric’s voice was hoarse, but steady.