Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
I woke with a jolt, pain exploding at the base of my skull. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through my head as the world around me slowly came into focus, shifting from hazy darkness to the dim glow of candlelight. My wrists burned—bound tight to the arms of a cold wooden chair. My entire body ached, muscles straining from the tension of whatever nightmare had just passed. Each breath was a battle, the air thick and suffocating, laced with the overpowering scent of incense—sweet, cloying, and choking, as if it were meant to smother the truth.
Where was I?
Panic flared in my chest, sending my heart racing. The last thing I remembered… the attack. Bombs tearing through the ship, fire erupting across the deck. The Dragon King. My spear, slick with his blood. Rhydian, Bertha—I saved them. I had to.
But were they still alive?
I shifted, trying to free myself, but the ropes only dug deeper into my skin, burning like fire. I gritted my teeth, my pulse pounding in my ears, and jerked again, desperate to move—to fight. But it was no use. The restraints bit into my wrists, my body too weak from exhaustion and pain. I was trapped.
Then I heard it—the slow, deliberate echo of footsteps, soft at first, but growing louder with each passing second. The shadows shifted, parting as a figure emerged from the dim haze.
She stepped into the light, and I stilled.
Her.
The first wife.
She was everything I had feared and more—tall, her presence commanding the room with an ease that sent a shiver down my spine. Her dark hair fell in waves, black as midnight, like the endless night skies of Emberfall, glistening as it caught the flickering candlelight. But it was her eyes that froze me—black as obsidian, sharp and unyielding, gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere curiosity.
Her gown, blood-red and embroidered with intricate symbols that vibrated faintly with magic, clung to her form. Everything about her spoke of deadly elegance, the kind of beauty that could kill without ever lifting a finger.
“You’re awake,” she said. “Good. I hate being kept waiting.”
The panic clawed higher in my chest. “Where am I?” I croaked, my voice barely audible, rasping against the dry burn of my throat. “Why am I?—”
“Bound?” She stepped closer, cutting off my question before it could fully form. She was so close now that I could feel it, that tangible force radiating from her, pressing down on my lungs. She tilted her head, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. “Because I chose it.”
My heart stopped.
She moved with grace and ease, like someone who knew she held absolute power, and the very air around her seemed to vibrate with magic. A cold, creeping feeling spread through me. This was no mere woman.
“I thought it would be wise for us to meet first,” she continued, ignoring my confusion as if it were beneath her. “Before you see the king.”
My pulse quickened. “The king?” I shifted in the chair. “My friends… what happened to them—are they?—”
She held up a single finger, silencing me with ease. “They are irrelevant right now.”
“Irrelevant?” I choked, disbelief surging through me. “They’re my?—”
“Do not interrupt me again,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. She let the silence hang between us, oppressive and thick, before she spoke again. “You seem confused. Perhaps you don’t realize who I am.”
She took another step forward, her presence dominating the small room. “I am Lady Lyra, the first wife of King Ciaran, daughter of Warlord Makar of the Sticks Range.” Her voice dropped to a softer, more dangerous tone. “I like to meet the new wives before they see the king. It allows me to… understand who is joining our court. And it reminds them of their place.”
She reached out a hand, brushing her fingers across my cheek with unsettling gentleness, her nails cold against my skin. “You… you will be the seventh wife. The last wife. A mere formality. I need to ensure you understand that.”
My chest tightened. “I don’t… I don’t want to cause any trouble. I’m here because?—”
“Because you were sent here,” she said, cutting me off. “Do you think you’re the first girl sent to marry King Ciaran as part of some political alliance?” Her lips curled into a slow, calculated smile. “You’re nothing but a pawn. The seventh wife is a weak position, and it always will be. You are here to serve, nothing more.”
I flinched at her words, but she wasn’t finished.
Her gaze bored into mine, and I struggled to hold it. “King Ciaran may enjoy his collection, but never forget that you are not special. You are not important.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in. “I rule the harem. I hold the king’s ear. You… you will be lucky if you ever earn a glance from him.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why tie me up and interrogate me if I’m so insignificant?”
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I don’t trust you.”
The tension in the room thickened, and as she stepped back, I noticed the flicker of the candlelight shift—warping, bending. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch, writhing unnaturally, as if alive. I held my breath, watching as the darkness itself slithered toward me, wrapping around my wrists and ankles, cold as ice.
The magic was hers—dark and terrible.
“I have seen girls like you before,” Lyra continued. “From distant lands like Icespire, where survival requires more than just a pretty face. You’ve endured more than most, I suspect. But there’s more, isn’t there?”
I tried to pull away, but the shadows only tightened around me, cold tendrils snaking up my arms. I gasped, my chest constricting as fear clawed at the edges of my mind.
“Do you know what they call me in my father’s lands?” she asked, her tone almost playful, but her eyes gleamed with menace. “They call me the Bloodshadow. My power is umbrafyre —shadow magic that feeds on fear, on doubt, on the darkness inside your soul.”
The shadows coiled tighter, squeezing until I could barely breathe.
“I like to know my competition,” she said softly. “And I don’t trust someone that arrives with the Dragon King.”
I forced the words out through gritted teeth. “I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The shadows tightened again, and I felt them crawl up my throat, squeezing, suffocating. “Are you working with our enemies? Are you here to weaken us from within? Answer me!”
“I don’t serve anyone,” I choked out, the pressure unbearable. “I don’t?—”
“Liar.” Her words were low and full of venom. “I will find the truth. I will know your secrets, even if I have to tear them from you myself.”
She leaned down, her face inches from mine, her breath hot against my skin. “I don’t need to be merciful. You are nothing here. I could make you disappear before the king even sees you.”
Her words echoed in my mind, the cold reality of my situation sinking in. This was not just a court full of intrigue and power struggles—it was a battlefield. And Lady Lyra was the general. I was the enemy, whether I wanted to be or not.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’m not a threat to you.”
Her eyes softened, but only for a moment, and then she straightened, her expression cold once more. “Perhaps not yet. But you could be. And I don’t take chances.”
The shadows slithered back, releasing their grip. I gasped, my chest heaving as I tried to gather myself.
Lyra watched me for a long moment, her lips curving into a smile that chilled me to my core. “Remember,” she murmured. “You are the seventh wife. The last in the line. You will never be more than a decoration in the king’s court. Do not try to rise above your station, or you will find that the shadows are not so kind the next time.”
With that, she turned, her gown swirling around her as she moved toward the door. Before she left, she glanced back, her dark eyes gleaming with warning. “When you do meet the king,” she said softly, “remember this meeting. Remember who truly rules this court.”
Tears blurred my vision as I sagged against the chair, my body shaking from the crude emotional storm that had consumed me. Lady Lyra’s words still echoed in my mind, cutting deeper than I’d expected. My wrists ached from the bindings, the skin pulsing in time with my frantic heartbeat.
I tried to calm myself, drawing in deep breaths as I closed my eyes. If I could just focus—just pull on the magic that simmered deep inside me. I reached for it, searching for the familiar cold pulse of ice that had become part of me, though I barely understood it.
It had been only two months since the powers awakened within me, unpredictable and wild. The first time I’d used them, I hadn’t even known what I was doing—ice crystals forming in the air around me as though the frigid winds of Icespire had suddenly swept into my body. But now, when I needed it most, I could feel… nothing. Just the faintest flicker of cold deep inside, like a dying flame.
I reached harder, forcing myself to focus, to feel the ice. I needed to freeze the bindings, to break free. Come on, Elara. You can do this. My mind strained, my body tensed—and then a wave of dizziness swept over me. My fingers trembled, and I sagged back in the chair, gasping for breath.
Nothing.
A sob escaped me, the harsh sound filling the small room. I had pushed myself too far. On the ship, I’d drawn too much from the power to fight back, to protect the others. And now, here in this room, I was spent. Completely empty. Without the ice, I was nothing more than a frightened girl, trapped and powerless.
Footsteps. Light, hesitant, and then a soft knock.
I froze, the panic rising again, bracing for Lyra’s return, her dark magic coiling around me like a snake ready to strike. But when the door opened, it wasn’t her.
A woman stepped inside, the soft glow of candlelight framing her in a golden halo. She was smaller than Lyra, with dark, rich skin that contrasted beautifully with her pale blonde hair, which flowed like spun gold in soft waves that caught the light with every movement. Her green eyes were bright, but they held something different than the harsh power that Lyra had wielded. No, this woman had a different kind of strength—gentle, steady, like the calm after a storm.
Her gaze fell on me, and I saw her expression shift—concern, perhaps even a hint of pity. She stepped further into the room, her pale green gown swishing softly against the stone floor. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was like a breeze, yet filled with warmth. “What has she done to you?”
I swallowed, blinking back the tears. I knew who she was from descriptions passed around the court and the photos Bertha showed me. Lady Maris, the fourth wife. The healer.
She crossed the room quickly, her movements graceful but full of purpose. There was no hesitation, no wasted moment. “Let me help,” she said softly, kneeling beside the chair. Her hands, delicate and cool, began to work at the bindings on my wrists, fingers moving with practiced ease. “You shouldn’t have been left like this.”
After what Lyra had put me through, this felt too surreal, too… kind. My mind struggled to make sense of the shift.
Maris gave a small frown as she worked, her pale brows knitting together in quiet concentration. “I’m Maris, by the way. I’m sorry about Lyra,” she said quietly, as if offering an apology for the entire court. “She likes to… test the new wives.”
There was an acuteness in her words, though it was masked by her soft tone. I watched her carefully, noticing the way her lips pressed together, the tension in her jaw as she undid the final knot around my wrists.
The ropes fell away, and my arms slumped to my sides, red marks blooming where the bindings had been. Maris’s green eyes flickered over the wounds, and without another word, she took my hand, turning my wrist gently to inspect the damage.
Her fingers were warm now, a pulse of energy flowing from her touch. “You’re hurt,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “But nothing that can’t be fixed.”
I watched, fascinated and slightly disoriented, as a soft glow emanated from her palms. The warmth spread through my skin, the pain easing. Her magic was different from anything I had felt before—soft, nurturing, almost… compassionate. It wasn’t like the biting cold of my ice or the fierce, oppressive shadows Lyra had wielded.
The cuts and bruises from the shipwreck slowly knitted together, the skin mending under her magic. I stared at her hands, mesmerized. I had heard of healing magic, but this was… beautiful.
“There,” Maris said. She withdrew her hands, and the glow faded. “That’s better.”
I blinked, glancing down at my wrists, the raw marks from the ropes now gone. “Thank you,” I managed, my voice hoarse from crying.
She offered a gentle smile. “No need to thank me,” she replied, standing up with the same quiet grace she’d shown before. “It’s what I do.”
I watched her, still trying to reconcile the shift between Lyra’s cruelty and this woman’s gentle care. “Why are you helping me?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop myself.
Maris paused, studying me for a long moment. Her green eyes were soft. “Because not everyone here is like Lady Lyra,” she said quietly.
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I thought I saw a shadow of weariness cross her face. But just as quickly, her expression shifted, and she reached into a pouch tied at her waist. “You must be starving after everything,” she said, pulling out a small cloth bundle. “Here.”
She unwrapped it, revealing fresh bread, cheese, and dried fruit. The smell hit me, and only then did I realize just how hungry I was. My stomach twisted painfully, but I hesitated, glancing at her uncertainly.
“It’s safe,” she assured me, her smile soft but genuine. “Please, eat.”
I took the food, feeling almost guilty for my suspicion, and started to eat. The first bite of bread was like life itself, and I nearly sagged with relief as I chewed. It felt like ages since I had last eaten anything.
Maris watched me for a few moments, her expression thoughtful. Then she sighed, folding her hands in front of her. “The king is dealing with the aftermath of the shipwreck,” she explained. “He’ll meet with you tonight. You’ll have time to speak with him then.”
I swallowed a bite of cheese, nodding. “And the other wives?”
Her lips curved, but this time, the smile was thin, almost cautious. “They’ll want to meet you, of course. Some out of curiosity. Others…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced toward the door as if expecting someone to overhear. “Well, let’s just say everyone has their reasons.”
A pit formed in my stomach, but I forced myself to keep eating. “Lyra said the same thing,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.
“Lyra is protective of her position,” Maris said carefully. “She’s been the first wife for many years, and she’s not keen on sharing power. Especially not with someone like you.”
I flinched. “Someone like me?”
She sighed, stepping closer. “You’re from Icespire. That alone makes you a target. You’re new, unfamiliar, and from a kingdom that’s not fully trusted here in Emberfall.” She hesitated, then added, “But there’s more to it than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lyra isn’t the only one you’ll need to be cautious around,” Maris continued. “The third wife, Lady Selene—she’s a priestess of the sun god. She follows the old ways, and she believes in omens, in auspicious signs from the gods. She’ll choose the date for your wedding to the king. But be careful with her. She judges people harshly, and if she thinks you bring… ill fortune, she won’t hesitate to act.”
“Does she?—”
“She’ll meet with you soon,” Maris said quickly, cutting off my question.
I stared down at the remains of my meal, my appetite fading despite the gnawing hunger that still gripped my stomach. The politics here were thicker and more dangerous than I could have imagined. Everyone seemed to be playing their own game, with their own rules—and I was a pawn in the middle of it.
Maris reached out, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Just remember, Aeliana,” she said gently, her green eyes softening, “not everyone here is your enemy. But not everyone is your friend, either.”