Chapter Thirty-Four
Aelia
Heaton was alive.
Somehow, I still couldn’t quite believe it as I stood in the archway, watching him.
Pushing back the acrid taste of dread still coating my tongue from Reign’s cryptic message, I focused on our team leader instead.
Our lost friend, one of the few Light Fae who’d made my arrival at the Conservatory bearable over a year ago, was finally safe.
The barracks were unusually quiet, the typical hustle and bustle of constant movement and voices absent at this early hour.
The Royal Guardians surrounding us slept the most soundly, unaccustomed to the absence of the ever-present sun.
The interminable night had dulled their rais and their spirits.
Today, we would have to commence training once again. Idle minds and bodies and all that…
Heaton shifted on his cot, legs curled into his chest, rocking ever so slightly.
His cheeks were hollow, and dark smudges pooled beneath his lifeless eyes.
Horror twisted his expression, gaze unblinking.
He’d been like this since the moment we’d rescued him from the horde of Night Fae warriors nearly a week ago.
Tiptoeing closer, I glanced at Rue, to where she slept in the cot beside his, exhaustion marring her typically perky features.
She hadn’t left his side for more than a quick trip to the bathroom.
I’d watched, grief-stricken, last night as she alternated between soothing whispers and sweet lullabies, but nothing she did or said seemed to wake him from this nightmare-ridden, half-conscious state.
Guilt coiled through me, sharp and unwelcome, for not having rescued him sooner.
Only the gods knew what sort of terror had been inflicted upon him all these months.
Worse, I’d been so consumed with war strategizing, and my tumultuous relationship with Reign, that I’d also neglected my friend since his arrival at the fortress.
Slowly, afraid to startle him, I reached for his hand and offered a squeeze as I settled down beside him. “Heaton, it’s me, Aelia. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe now, here with us.”
Languid pale blue eyes lifted to meet mine, his pupils unfocused.
“Do you remember me, Heat?”
His eyes focused, for just an instant, and a faint smile slipped across his cracked lips. “Aelia…” he murmured. His lips formed my name again, a whisper so fragile it barely made a sound. Relief surged through me, loosening something tight in my chest.
He was still in there.
“Heaton.” My throat tightened, and my vision went blurry, as I squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay. You’re back now.”
“I’m back,” he repeated, the deep lines between his brows softening.
For a heartbeat, I thought he was really back. His gaze locked on mine, sharp and lucid, like the Heaton I remembered—the leader, the protector, my friend.
“And you’re okay…” he murmured.
“I am. We’re all going to be okay. Helroth won’t hurt us again—”
Then, something snapped. His eyes darkened, pupils constricting into narrow slits. A shadow passed across his features… not nox, but something else. Something fouler. Zar. Its presence slithered across my skin, summoning my own to the surface.
His palm slid from mine, and his fingers tightened around my wrist, steel strong.
“Heaton?” My pulse faltered. “It’s… it’s me.”
His lips curled back, teeth bared like a cornered beast. “Liar,” he hissed, his voice a rasp of something that wasn’t entirely his own. “You’re not Aelia. You’re the darkness, the infantum od twilit. You’re the one who—”
Before I could pull away, he sat up, his hands shooting to my throat. Cold fingers clamped around my neck, crushing, squeezing until black spots dotted my vision.
“Heaton—stop—” My hands clawed at his wrists, but I knew this wasn’t truly him. I restrained the surge of rais threatening to erupt, barely fighting back. I couldn’t hurt him. I wouldn’t. Not after all he’d been through. Not after what Helroth had done to him.
This was my fault. I should have gone back for him sooner. As he would have done for me.
Tears stung my eyes as the room narrowed, spinning. His body trembled with rage, his lips moving in frantic whispers, over and over. “Destroyer. Child of twilight. Bringer of ruin, bringer of ruin…”
“No,” I gasped, lips parting for air that wouldn’t come. “It’s… it’s me… Heaton. Please.”
A flash of light shifted in the corner of my blurred vision. Rue.
“Heat!” she screamed, lunging across the cot.
Her blade wasn’t in her hand, but her arms—freakishly strong for such a little thing—were enough. The year of relentless training kicked in as she tore her brother off me, wrenching his hands from my throat. I slid to the floor, panting.
Heaton thrashed, snarling, eyes wild and tear-filled. He couldn’t even recognize his own sister.
“Rue… be careful… he’s… he’s not himself!” I choked out, voice raw, clutching my neck as I sucked in ragged breaths.
“I can see that!” she snapped, wrestling him back against the mattress and pinning his arms, trying her best not to hurt him. “It’s okay, Heat. Calm down. It’s me, your sister.” Her gaze flicked to me, panicked, but controlled as he continued to thrash.
A few of the Royal Guardians nearby finally stirred, awakened by the scuffle. The male that had served with my father, Eryndor, leapt to his feet. “Your Highness—”
“I’m fine,” I rasped, even though my throat burned. “Please, go summon the healer. Hurry!”
He dipped his head without hesitation, silver strands of hair falling across his face. “Right away, princess.”
As he ran off, Rue turned to me, eyes wide. “Aelia, are you—”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I crawled to my knees, watching Heaton writhe, his body jerking beneath Rue’s hold. His eyes were glassy again, but the whispers kept coming.
“Destroyer… destroyer…”
His hissed words carved through my mind like a blade. Destroyer… child of twilight… It shouldn’t have mattered. I knew that. But it did. Because somewhere, in the deepest recesses of my soul, a small voice whispered back: What if he’s right?
Helroth’s blood vow over me still held. It was only a matter of time until he claimed it. The icy grip of fear the thought ignited threatened to consume me, but I shoved it back, refusing to succumb to its clutches. Now was most definitely not the time.
Rue’s lip trembled. “He doesn’t recognize you...”
“I know.” My voice cracked, not only because of Heaton, but at the ache plain to see on my best friend’s face. “It’s the zar. It’s infiltrated his mind too deeply.”
This wasn’t Heaton. Not really. This was whatever Helroth had left behind.
And gods help me; I had no idea how to fix it.
Elisa, the healer who’d fled the Conservatory shortly after us, rushed in a moment later with a glittering ampule clenched in her fist. Her healer’s robes fluttered behind her, embroidered cuffs shimmering faintly with glyphs. Her normally serene expression was taut with worry.
“Heaton,” she breathed, dropping to her knees beside the cot. Her eyes flicked to Rue, then to me, and finally to the bruises forming around my throat where Heaton’s fingers had been.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, yet again, even though my voice was barely a whisper now. Rue shot me a look, but she said nothing, her hands still trembling as we watched the healer with her brother.
Elisa pressed two glowing fingers to Heaton’s temples, murmuring soft incantations.
He thrashed once beneath her touch, but she was ready for it.
With swift efficiency, she cracked the ampule, releasing a pulse of silvery mist. The scent of chamomile and dew drops filled the room, weaving calm through the air.
“Make sure he doesn’t move,” she instructed.
With a nod, Rue slid her hands from his arms to clamp them around Heaton’s wrists instead. My best friend’s jaw was tight, eyes glassy with unshed tears. I moved beside her to steady her shoulders, ignoring the sharp tremor in my own hands.
Elisa brushed the mist across Heaton’s lips, whispering something too soft for me to catch. A moment later, his body slackened, the rigid tension in his muscles ebbing away. His breathing slowed and the jerky inhales smoothed into deep, even breaths.
Thank the gods.
“He’ll sleep now,” Elisa whispered, brushing a lock of damp hair from his brow. “The draught will keep him still for a few hours, at least. I infused it with both healing rais and a mild sedative from the vaults I ransacked at Luce before my hasty departure. Nothing that will harm him.”
Rue exhaled shakily, her forehead dropping to Heaton’s chest. A small, broken sound slipped from her lips. It sounded like a whisper of relief and grief intertwined.
I ran my palm over her shoulder. “He’ll wake,” I promised, though my throat tightened around the words. “And when he does, I’m sure he’ll eventually remember who he is.”
Elisa’s gaze met mine over Rue’s bowed head. Her eyes were grim, but gentle. “This is not just physical, princess. The Night Fae left their mark in his mind. We’ll need time. Patience.”
Time and patience. The very things we didn’t have.
My stomach twisted as I looked down at Heaton’s sleeping form. His face was peaceful now, but the bruises on my neck and the shadowed memories in his eyes told another story.
What if we couldn’t bring him back? What if we’d already lost him, and this was just another ghost I’d have to carry?
I pushed the thought away, tightening my grip on Rue’s shoulder, steadying myself against the storm that hadn’t yet come.
Heaton would wake. He had to.
Dropping down beside him, I whispered into his ear, “I need you, Heaton. We all do. There’s a war coming, and we won’t survive it without you. Please come back to us.”
A light hand landed on my shoulder, drawing me away from Heaton’s soft breaths. “Let him rest, princess.”
Straightening, I glanced back at Elisa and nodded.
“Do you have a moment?” she murmured. “I’d like to speak to you in private in my chambers, if I may.”
Gaze darting between the now-sleeping Heaton and my friend, my shoulders slowly lifted. “Sure.” Before I followed the healer out of the barracks, I turned to Rue with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “We’ll find a way to fix him. I promise.”
Her head slowly dipped, but the uncertainty in her expression remained. It was more than just exhaustion, though, it was utter despair and anguish for her brother. “I know we will,” she mumbled.
Compelling my leaden feet forward, I marched through the door after the healer, forcing myself not to look back.