Chapter 17
Piper
The corridor swallows us whole—quiet, dim, lined with flickering lanterns—and the second the banquet doors close behind us, my legs go watery.
I yank my arm free of Slade’s grip and press my back to the wall, dragging in breath after uneven breath.
“I didn’t mean to say anything—” My voice breaks. “I don’t even know what I said.”
Slade steps in close, one hand braced beside my head, the other steady at my waist—keeping me upright, keeping me from spiraling. “You didn’t choose it,” he murmurs. “The curse chose for you.”
“That is NOT comforting!”
Footsteps echo sharply behind us. They sound like a warning. Draven appears, half storm, half smirk, his formal jacket slightly singed from whatever diversion he caused. He looks between me and Slade, eyes bright with disbelief.
“Well,” he exhales, “that was catastrophic.”
I groan. “Great. Love that word. Really calming.”
Draven points at me. “Do you have any idea what you just invoked?”
“I already said NO!”
He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Slade, you want to explain, or should I?”
Slade’s jaw tightens. “You’ll embellish.”
“I always embellish.” Draven folds his arms. “I’m delightful that way.”
“Tell her,” Slade growls.
Draven’s grin fades. He steps closer, his expression turning unexpectedly serious. “Piper… what you spoke wasn’t an invocation. It wasn’t even Bellamy spellwork.” He pauses. “It was a summons.”
My stomach plummets. “A… a summons for WHAT?”
Draven lifts a brow. “You mean… Who.”
Slade murmurs, “Veda Bellamy.”
I shake my head violently. “No—no no no. That was—she was—she’s a MEMORY. A ghost. An echo.”
Draven snorts. “Well, she’s certainly not echoing anymore.”
Slade’s hand tightens on my waist when I sway.
Draven leans against the opposite wall with a sigh. “Piper, you didn’t just awaken her echo. You reopened whatever she sealed. Whatever she bound. And that—” he flicks a finger toward the banquet hall—“is why the court lost its collective mind.”
My skin prickles. “But why would they care?”
“Because,” Draven says, “Veda Bellamy was the witch who nearly brought the Ninth Realm to its knees. And then disappeared before anyone could kill her or recruit her. Which, in demon politics, is very rude.”
I stare at him. “She—she WHAT?”
Slade answers quietly. “She threatened every house here. Every bloodline. Including mine.”
Draven nods. “And when a Bellamy speaks her name in the Ninth Realm… five hundred years later…”
He whistles low. “That’s chaos incarnate.”
I slide down the wall until I’m half crouching, half clinging to my own hair like that will stop the panic buzzing under my skin. “So what do I do now?” I whisper.
Slade kneels in front of me, taking my hands—slow, grounding, careful. “We find the truth. We go to the archives. Tonight.”
Draven pushes off the wall, adjusting his sleeves. “Before another house decides they want to ‘escort’ you themselves. And trust me, their idea of escort is either kidnapping or marriage. Sometimes both.”
“Oh my GOD.”
Slade stands and extends a hand to me. “You’re safe with me.”
I want to say I don’t believe him. But the bond thrums like a heartbeat. I place my hand in his, and the faint buzzing under my skin settles.
Draven claps once. “Excellent! Emotional crisis complete. Now let’s move before someone realizes Slade’s missing and assumes you two ran off to consummate the bond.”
I choke. “DRAVEN.”
He winks. “Hey, I’m rooting for you buddy.”
Slade gives him a look that promises violence.
Draven lifts his hands innocently. “What? I’m being supportive.”
“We’re going,” Slade says through his teeth. He pulls me close, guiding me down the corridor. Draven strides ahead, checking corners like this is a heist and he’s having way too much fun. My pulse is still frantic, my head spinning.
But one truth rings louder than everything else… If Veda Bellamy called out to me… If she wants me to find something…
The archives might be the only place left in any realm to tell me why.
And I’m suddenly terrified of what I’ll learn.
***
The deeper we move into the palace, the thinner the air feels—like the entire Realm is holding its breath, waiting for me to slip, or speak, or accidentally resurrect another long-dead witch.
Slade keeps me tucked against his side with infuriating ease, while Draven prowls ahead like a very smug, very dangerous tour guide.
We reach a pair of enormous obsidian doors etched with sigils that shimmer like frost.
Draven glances back at me. “Welcome to the Restricted Archives. No mortals allowed.”
Then to Slade, “And technically no demons either unless they’re authorized, but when has that ever stopped you?”
Slade gives him a sharp look. “Open it.”
Draven smirks, taps the sigil at the center, and the doors sigh open—slow and ominous, like they’re deciding whether or not I deserve entry.
Inside, the temperature drops. A cathedral of dark stone and spiraling glass shelves stretches into shadow. Books float in slow circles. Candles burn without flame. Magic hums in the air like distant music.
Slade guides me in first. “Stay close,” he says softly.
I don’t argue. Not when the air tastes like old magic and older secrets.
Draven snaps his fingers, sending a ripple of light racing across the shelves. “We’re looking for Bellamy artifacts. Veda’s things should be catalogued under ancient coven disputes, broken alliances, and general calamities.”
I blink. “Filed under… calamity?”
“Oh yes,” Draven says. “Alphabetically.”
Slade searches the far shelves while Draven probes the enchanted lockboxes, muttering something about “archaic organization systems” and “who the hell files bloodline curses next to horticulture texts.”
A soft glow catches my attention from a high, narrow alcove. “Slade,” I call quietly.
He’s at my side in a breath. “It’s reacting to you,” he murmurs.
The glow pulses again—faint, golden, a heartbeat waiting for mine to sync. I reach up. The artifact responds instantly. A small velvet box drifts from the shelf as if carried by invisible hands. Slade tenses, and Draven jogs over, suddenly cautious.
“Careful,” Draven warns. “Objects tied to Veda were known to be… unpredictable.”
Slade covers my hand with his. “Let me.”
But the box doesn’t respond to him. It shies away. Then nudges harder toward me. My stomach twists. “It wants me to open it.”
Slade’s jaw works as he takes half a step back—far enough not to interfere, close enough to catch me if the thing decides to bite. I lift the lid. Inside rests a ring. It’s simple, ancient, gold brushed with faint runes that look like they’re sleeping. A Bellamy crest is etched on the inside.
Draven inhales sharply. “That… is Veda’s binding ring.”
My breath turns to glass. “Binding… to who?”
Slade meets my gaze, something dark and heavy settling behind his eyes. “My ancestor,” he says quietly. “Lord Aresh Athalar.”
“Oh.” The word falls out of me like a stone.
Draven gestures for the box to flip its inner compartment open. “There should be—aha.”
A scroll unfurls across the air, shimmering with aged magic. I brace myself as Slade reads aloud. “Union of Athalar and Bellamy to neutralize the realms’ volatility…Bellamy heir chosen by prophecy… balance of power bound through sacred bond…”
Slade goes rigid.
Draven swears. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The scroll continues… “But Veda refused the binding. She severed the accord and sought another path to power—one unnamed, one forbidden. She vanished before judgment could fall.”
I grip the ring harder. “So she ran?”
“Yes and no,” Slade says, voice low. “She chose something. Something dangerous enough to threaten both our lines.”
Draven nods grimly. “And whatever that choice was… it’s what you woke up at dinner.”
I shake my head. “But why me? Why now?”
Slade glances at me, eyes burning a deeper green than I’ve ever seen. “Because you’re the first Bellamy born with the right magic. Strength. The right resonance even.” His fingers brush the ring. “You’re the one Veda’s unfinished work recognizes.”
Cold trickles down my spine. “So Veda really did create the curse,” I whisper.
Slade doesn’t deny it.
Draven whistles. “Well. This is a nightmare.”
But Slade’s gaze never leaves mine. “It doesn’t change anything,” he murmurs. “You’re not her. And I won’t let anyone—past or present—claim you.”
My pulse stutters, as the ring pulses. Somewhere deep in the archives, a book slams shut on its own.
Draven clears his throat. “We should leave before the archives start answering her presence. They have a tendency to… animate.”
Slade takes the ring from my trembling hand, tucks it into his jacket, and gently pulls me toward the exit. The corridors feel tighter on the way out. The ring calls to me from Slade’s pocket. And I can’t shake the truth crawling under my skin…
Veda didn’t disappear. She left a trail.
And it’s leading straight to me.