FOURTEEN
BARE
A tome arrived today from the Water Clan bearing grim revelations.
A pattern is emerging within the Shadow Forces’ assaults.
With each strike, they learn. They adapt their tactics, sharpen their cruelty, and return deadlier than before.
We must stay ahead of their evolution, or at least, uncover some means to hinder it before their strength outpaces our own entirely.
What troubles me most is not their ferocity, but the speed of their adaptation. How do they learn so quickly?
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Lyra walks beside me as we enter the Grand Ballroom.
“Gods, Amara,” she breathes, her voice low with awe. “This place is gorgeous.” Her eyes roam the soaring walls, the golden inlay, the sheer vastness of it all. “This is all Thane’s? You two aren’t married, but if you were . . . ”
I shoot her a pointed look sharp enough to draw blood.
She grins, utterly unbothered. “All right, all right—I’ll take that as a no.”
Ornate moldings and gilded mirrors line the walls, reflecting the golden light until the room seems to stretch endlessly outward.
Tapestries depicting heroic figures and legendary battles hang between towering columns, while beneath my feet polished marble gleams with intricate patterns radiating from the center of the ballroom.
To go from Mirelle’s vision this afternoon to a ballroom glowing with music and candlelight feels surreal.
Only hours ago, Rian and I stood frozen in that tiny shop, staring into the face of the Shadeheart through Mirelle’s eyes.
And now I’m here. Dressed in silk. Dancing beneath chandeliers.
The shift between those moments feels almost impossible to reconcile.
Rian promised he would speak with Thane, that we would all address it tomorrow. Tonight, he insisted, we put a pause on the war, at least for a few hours.
Because life cannot become only strategy and battles and survival.
“We need moments like this, too,” Rian had said quietly as we left the shop. “Otherwise, what exactly are we fighting for?”
I shift uncomfortably, suddenly too aware of the fitted dress wrapped around me. Thank the gods Lyra is too enchanted by the spectacle to notice.
The scent of jasmine and roses drifts through the air from the lavish floral arrangements spilling across every surface.
Lyra nudges me with her elbow.
“There he is,” she whispers, a knowing lilt to her voice.
I smile, struggling to calm the sudden rush of nerves in my chest as my gaze finds Thane’s across the room.
Like a lodestar, he pulls me in without effort—a point of certainty in a sea of strangers and glittering masks. The noise, the grandeur, the weight of all the unknowns, all these things press in around me, thick and stifling.
But the moment I find him, the ground steadies beneath my feet.
He sees me.
And for a heartbeat, that’s all I need.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
He strides toward us like he owns the room (well, technically, he does).
His black tunic, threaded with intricate silver embroidery, fits him perfectly, emphasizing the broad strength of his shoulders and the quiet authority he carries so effortlessly.
A silver arm cuff circles his wrist, marking his status, while a dark cloak drapes over his shoulders, clasped at the collar with the Caelum crest—twin flames winding around a sword.
The dark fabric shifts behind him with every stride.
Everything about him feels unfairly perfect.
“Amara,” he says, eyes sweeping over me, lingering on the way my ruby-red dress hugs my curves.
His voice drops, rich and smooth.
“You look . . . incredible.”
I swallow hard, suddenly too aware of my own heartbeat. It takes everything in me not to fidget under his gaze.
Lyra had snatched it from the dressmaker’s collection with a triumphant, “this one!” before I could object.
Elira made sure it was appropriate. Not just for the ball.
For the role.
Someone who will be watched and measured the entire night—not only as the Spiritborn, but as the woman standing at Thane’s side. A symbol. A statement. A threat, to some.
At the time, it felt like too much—too bold, too bare.
But now, under the golden spill of chandelier light, I can’t deny the way it drapes across my skin, the way it makes me stand a little taller.
Like I could belong here.
Like I already do.
The deep crimson silk drapes like liquid fire over my body, clinging to my curves before flaring subtly at the hem.
Gold embroidery traces the bodice and skirts in patterns reminiscent of dancing flames.
The neckline plunges just enough to be dangerous, balanced by the sheer, off-the-shoulder sleeves draping elegantly along my arms, tiny ruby beads catching the light with every movement.
But it’s the back that makes the boldest statement.
The fabric dips low, baring the length of my spine—and the elemental sigils etched into my skin. Four intricate tattoos mark me as a wielder, stacked in a perfect line down my back: Fire, Air, Water, Earth.
The sight of them still pulls me back to the morning they appeared, after I first chose to wield. The beginning of when the power answered me, when the magics between me and the elements sealed.
Waking to find them was a shock.
Feeling them—etched into my skin, thrumming with faint, living energy—made it real in a way nothing else had. Standing before my reflection that morning, everything I had tried to deny crashed into me at once. I could no longer pretend I was just a farm girl.
I was marked.
Chosen.
Spiritborn.
The first sigil rests just below the nape of my neck, fire curling in sharp, fluid lines. Beneath it, air twists in graceful arcs, untamed and weightless. Water flows next, endless and unbroken. And finally—earth. Solid. Grounded. The foundation beneath everything else.
Tonight, under the weight of a thousand eyes, I wear them bare for the world to see.
A reminder of what I am.
Yet somehow, the makeup unsettles me almost as much.
I’ve never worn makeup before. Dark kohl sharpens my brown eyes while gold dusts my lids, glinting like a blade in the sun. A soft flush warms my cheeks. But it’s my lips that unnerve me the most.
Because they are red.
As red as my dress. As red as firelight. As red as the heat in Thane’s gaze whenever he looks at me.
I had nearly wiped it all off after staring at my reflection for so long I almost convinced myself this wasn’t me. Lyra physically grabbed my wrists to stop me. Even though we sparred regularly at the outpost, I hadn’t realized just how strong she had become.
Elira laughed so hard she had to step out of the room for a minute.
Even my hair isn’t mine tonight.
Gone is the loose braid I keep when training or the dark waves that spill freely down my back when relaxing. Instead, intricate braids weave through my dark hair, pinned atop my head before trailing down my back.
It feels both regal and impossibly elaborate. I don’t know how Lyra convinced me to sit through it, but even I have to admit, the effect is striking.
The long gold earrings brushing against my neck are the only jewelry I wear. Lyra had tried to force bracelets, rings, and an elaborate necklace onto me, but I refused. They felt far too fussy for me. Because while I may be dressed like a noble tonight, I’m still a warrior.
Which is why, beneath the cascading fabric of my gown, a dagger is strapped to my thigh.
I feel exposed yet powerful.
I come back to the present and turn, deliberately letting him take in the full effect. Silk shimmers with the movement, the cool air brushing against the skin my dress leaves bare.
When I look at him, I see it immediately—the way his eyes darken, the way his lips part just slightly, like he means to speak but loses the words before they form.
And gods, the longing in his eyes.
His gaze drifts lower, tracing the line of the sigils down my back with quiet, unwavering intensity. He isn’t simply admiring me. He looks like he’s committing every detail to memory.
His throat dips, fingers flexing at his sides before he lifts his eyes back to mine as I complete the turn.
Something in his expression sends heat unfurling low in my stomach.
Before I can spiral into overthinking, Lyra gently shoves me forward with a laugh. I nearly stumble, but before I collide with Thane, his strong callused hands catch my bare arms, steadying me.
“Bye, kids! I’m going to find Garrick.”
She winks at me, and I give her an insincere glare in response before breaking into a grin.
Gods, she knows me too well.
Thane releases me, stepping back, and I instantly miss his touch. He looks at me for a quiet moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes.
Then he reaches out, gently taking one of the braids cascading down my back. Unhurried, he drapes it over my shoulder, letting it fall against my chest. His fingers hover for a heartbeat—just shy of touching my skin—before he finally lets go, his hand dropping back to his side.
“So,” he murmurs, ducking his head, his eyes lifting back to mine. “Lyra and Garrick are pretty serious?”
I laugh softly. “It appears so.”
“I’m not surprised.” A quiet chuckle slips from him. “He had his eye on her the moment you two arrived at the outpost.”
“Really?” I blink, genuinely caught off guard.
“Yeah.” His mouth curves into a knowing smile. “But I told him to go slow. You both were dealing with a lot.”
Something warm unfurls inside me. “It was Lyra who made the first move,” I admit. “That’s probably why.”
Thane laughs then—low, genuine, warm enough to send another wave of heat through me.
Then he extends his arm toward me. Without hesitation, I slide my hand onto his elbow, fitting easily into the curve of his body.
As we walk deeper into the ballroom, guests murmur their greetings around us, but my focus stays fixed on the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips. Somehow, this man has become the center of everything.
And I’ve only known him for a few months.
Of course, there’s also the small matter of being the Spiritborn . . . and the Shadow Forces threatening to consume the realm.