59. Chapter 59
T he days bled together, a quiet rhythm forged in routine.
Ren threw herself into every task the palace demanded of her – mornings spent on the training grounds until her muscles trembled, and afternoons spent with Zakhar grinding herbs into fine powders or measuring ingredients for the next batches of Verdant Elixir.
Getting Maelion’s permission to help had been surprisingly easy.
Once, Ren had caught a pair of noble fae in the marble atrium, laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling as they uncorked a fresh vial of Verdant Elixir.
Just to be safe , one of them had drawled, tipping the bottle back like it was nothing more than cheap wine.
The other joined him, their jeweled cuffs glinting as the shimmering green liquid slid down their throats, their laughter and sneers echoing down the marble halls as the liquid dwindled away.
Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “Why cure the sick when you can toast to your own health? I’m sure the corpses outside the walls would raise a glass if they still had hands.”
The laughter cut off. The male fae turned, his pupils narrowing to slits. “Watch yourself, human,” he’d hissed.
The female beside him laid a manicured hand on his arm, eyes flicking to Ren with unreadable calm. “Leave it,” she murmured. “The princess wouldn’t take kindly to her little pet being bruised. ”
The words hit like a slap. Kaelin’s little pet.
As if that was the only reason they’d decided not to teach her a lesson.
Heat rose in Ren’s throat – a concoction of anger, humiliation, pride, all twisted together.
Ren met the fae female’s gaze, jaw tight enough to ache.
She could’ve dropped them both before either of them reached for their magic or a weapon, and the fact that they’d only backed off because of Kaelin made her want to remind them who the hell they were conversing with.
The male fae’s smile sharpened, his pride stung. “Whatever. Watch yourself, human. You forget your place.”
Ren tilted her head, eyes lit with challenge. “Oh, I’m well aware of it. I just don’t think you’ll like where you’re standing when I decide to remind you.”
Ren’s daring tone was all it took. He moved, hand shooting out toward her throat.
Ren was faster.
Her fist drew back, magic coiling at her knuckles, ready to shatter his perfect nose and his ego along with it –
“Enough.”
Every head turned.
Queen Lyra stood at the top of the staircase, her gown a dark cascade of shadow and silk, her crown catching the light like the edge of a blade.
The male fae froze mid-step, his hand falling quickly to his side. The female bowed her head.
Lyra’s gaze cut to Ren last, cool and assessing, before sweeping the rest of the room into silence. “If my court is so bored that it must prey on its own allies, I’ll be happy to find you a more permanent form of entertainment.”
But Lyra’s gaze lingered on the male’s hand. The vial still glinted between his fingers, half-drained, the last drop of the Verdant Elixir trembling at the lip.
“Tell me,” Lyra said at last, her tone deceptively soft, “why are you drinking another?”
The fae male froze.
Lyra descended a step, each click of her heel echoing through the chamber. “I recall watching you drink one just yesterday evening – after dinner, wasn’t it? You’re allotted one a week, not whenever you feel the slightest tickle in your throat. ”
The color drained from his face. “I—Your Majesty, I simply thought—”
“That perhaps your life was worth more than those who actually need it?” Lyra’s eyes flashed. “Or did you pay one of the apothecaries to overlook the tally again?”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
The male’s throat bobbed. His excuses faltered and died on his tongue.
“You’ll get no more for 2 weeks. Perhaps that will teach you restraint, or honesty.”
The female beside him straightened, her composure cracking just enough to show indignation beneath the polish. “With respect, Your Majesty, why ration us at all? They’re shipping loads to the human settlements, wasting it on humans .”
Lyra turned her head slowly, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Wasting?” she repeated softly. “Would you like to go down there and explain that to them? To the mothers watching their children rot from the Witherblight?”
The female fae’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I didn’t think so.” She turned back to the pair, voice dropping low. “Get out of my sight before I decide the punishment for greed should be a little more creative.”
The nobles bowed stiffly and swept out, the faint rustle of silk and shame trailing in their wake.
Ren stood motionless, pulse hammering, fury simmering just beneath her skin.
For once, she didn’t have to say a word; Lyra had done it for her.
But the satisfaction didn’t last. Because the queen’s gaze lingered on her next, and Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath that calm, regal poise, Lyra was calculating exactly how far her temper could be pushed before she’d turn it on her too.
Ren could feel Lyra’s gaze settle on her. The queen didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. That quiet, assessing look was enough to make Ren’s pulse stutter. There was power behind those eyes, the kind that could unmake her with a thought.
“I should – ” Ren began, her voice catching before she cleared it. “Zakhar. He’ll be expecting me. ”
Lyra didn’t stop her. She didn’t even look away. But Ren didn’t wait for permission. She dipped her head in something that might’ve been a bow and turned on her heel before anyone could notice the tremor in her hands.
Ren moved quickly, every step echoing the storm still pounding in her chest—the anger, the humiliation, the bitter reminder that no matter how hard she fought, the court would always see her as less.
Kaelin’s little pet.
By the time she reached Zakhar’s study, the noise in her head had quieted only enough to make room for the ache beneath it. Ren shut the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
And then she got to work.
After observing her numerous times to ensure she didn’t ruin the meticulous mixtures, Zakhar finally trusted her hands. She even managed to convince him to nap here and there while she worked, the court mage muttering half-hearted protests before surrendering to the lure of rest.
Beyond the palace walls, little news came of the Witherblight itself, but each day a new messenger arrived bearing grim tidings of another town fallen, another village attacked by the undead.
The palace had grown quieter, its halls thinner of soldiers, most deployed to aid the outer provinces.
Ren and Talen accompanied a few of those deployments, though Talen now spent most of his time behind closed doors, entangled in meetings and councils that debated how to fight a war against an enemy that could not be reasoned with, nor truly slain, and, most troubling of all, how to target an enemy they still didn’t even know.
Ren hadn’t even thought about how many of the creatures she’d already cut down, or how many remained before she could collect her coin.
Back then, it was about coin.
Now, it was about keeping the dead back from the living.
When she wasn’t working, Ren was with Kaelin.
Ren scarcely slept in her own quarters anymore.
She missed Mirella’s endless gossip and found excuses to stop by her chamber during the day, even if only for a few fleeting minutes.
Maybe it was the thought of Mirella alone in that room with nobody but the walls to talk to, or maybe it was that Ren grew fond of the enchanted dresser .
But nights belonged to Kaelin.
Ren loved the simple intimacy of it; she loved the warmth of Kaelin’s body beside hers, the soft sound of her breathing when sleep finally claimed her.
Ren loved waking to the sight of Kaelin’s face in the early light, her features gentled by dreams, and stealing a kiss before either of them remembered duty or decorum.
Sometimes, those mornings ended in laughter tangled in sheets and whispered protests about schedules and appearances.
For a time, it felt like peace. Like something whole.
But peace was fleeting.
The air was thick with rot and smoke, the moans of the undead echoing through the crumbling streets of Briarstead, a modest village of farmers and herders half a day’s ride from Pyraelia’s gates.
Ren’s chest heaved as she ducked behind a fallen beam, heart hammering in her ears. Talen was somewhere behind her shouting orders, but the chaos had swallowed his voice whole.
The creatures kept coming, a relentless wave of snapping jaws and clawed hands.
Ashrend was a blur in Ren’s hands, her grip shifting, striking, flipping the blade into a dual-edged dance of steel and death.
She carved through them one after another, the edge biting into rotted flesh, splitting bone, and sending blackened fluid spraying across her arms and face.
Blood and gore slicked her fingers, streaked her leathers, but she didn’t falter. Her heart thudded in her ears, each beat a drum urging her forward.
One corpse dropped at her feet.
Then another.
And another—
Until the ground before her was littered with the motionless bodies of the dead she’d cut down, their twisted forms still twitching in the dirt.
But they kept coming.
Her muscles screamed, her breaths ragged as more of them broke through the smoke. Their snarls were deafening now, filling the air with the stench of rot and hunger. The press of them forced her back step by step until her boots struck something solid—a wall, cutting off her retreat.
A clawed hand swiped for her face. Another tore at her side.
Something inside her cracked .
It started as a pulse deep in her chest, like the heart of a forge flaring to life. Her vision tunneled. The world shrank to heat and movement and the blood pounding in her skull.
It tore from her like a scream ripped from the soul. A white-hot blaze burst from her chest, sweeping outward in a roaring tidal wave of flame. Her magic erupted, unbridled and primal, pulsing with something far older than herself.
Flameborne…
The word hissed through her mind, low, guttural, almost serpentine.
Flameborne , the voice growled again. Pathetic , so frail, so small, and yet…
Ren didn’t notice the way the flames licked higher and higher until the sky itself glowed orange.
The voice slithered through her skull, scathing. You wield flame like a mortal. I will show you how the gods burn. Rise, Flameborne. Destroy.
Burn.
Burn.
BURN.
Ren was no longer in her body. Not truly.
She was fire.
She was fury.
She was wrath reborn.
A torrent of magic surged through every inch of her, cracking her open from the inside out. Her feet barely touched the ground, her limbs carried by something else, something ancient. The roar of her flame drowned out everything.
Her heart. Her name.
The world .
And then, nothing.
Ren fell to her knees, smoke curling from her fingertips, flames dying into embers around her. The world came back in shudders and fragments. Her lungs ached. Her vision blurred.
Blackened stone stretched for miles around her. Ash fell like snow. She blinked, dazed.
All she knew was the silence and the terrifying emptiness that came after the fire. The thing inside her had stopped hungering.
For now.