Chapter 70
Alora
The world felt hollow in its silence.
Spider lilies had taken over the kingdom. Everywhere they grew, through the streets, over the rooftops, within homes like a crimson shroud for the dead.
Alora called on Rune’s power, drawing darkness around her court, wrapping them in veils so time would not mar them.
Her magic wove moss pillows beneath their heads, vines curling around their bodies like tender beds.
Her kingdom would rest as honored dreamers.
She sealed the gates with brambles sharp enough to shred flesh, a wall of thorns rising around her home.
Nothing would touch them here.
Day after day, Alora walked the dark halls, her footsteps echoing like a heartbeat in a tomb. Searching for something she couldn’t find. Even the castle seemed to sleep, its spires sagging into shadow.
The silence gnawed at her, night after night.
With none to speak to, none to laugh with, none to hold her hand, she turned restless.
At last, she gave in to the deeper call of her magic.
Her body broke, reshaped, swelled until she coiled among the spires of the black fortress as a dragon with crimson scales.
Her vast wings carried her around the silent city, her eyes burning crimson in the endless dark. A restless guardian over a land of dreams.
But holding the Rift together took all of her power and it often left her exhausted. Her strength poured into the wound without pause, draining her with every passing heartbeat. The world dimmed at the edges of her vision as the Rift bucked and writhed beneath her hands, never still, never quiet.
To preserve her strength, she often slept. In the forest or below her brother’s window.
Sometimes, she slept in the depths of Karag D?r, but the emptiness there reminded her too much of the hollow in her chest.
And sometimes … she dreamed of Rune.
Of his smile, his warm caress, his voice whispering in her ear as they danced in the forest. Those nights were the hardest. Her sobs would turn to screams that echoed in the stillness until she couldn’t breathe.
He had left her with a smile at dawn.
Now she was left to wander the kingdom alone while the rest of the world was sleeping.
She wandered for a season, perhaps for more. The weight of silence pressing down on her like iron chains.
Always alone.
Always waiting.
This was the true curse, eternity in isolation. Maybe there had never been a way to break it at all.
Alora stared blankly at Theia, where she now lay to rest beside her mother and Rihan beside his.
How often had Rune done the same? Simply watched her still form, believing her dead. Her best friend lay so still, Alora was beginning to think they were all dead, too.
And in that empty quiet, came a faint sound softly echoing in the halls.
Footsteps.
Alora’s breath caught. A part of her believed she imagined it. She had to imagine it. But then she heard them again.
Leaping from her chair, shadows gathered and whisked her away toward the source. She appeared in the forbidden wing of the castle, precisely in her mother’s old workshop. It was empty. Frowning, Alora studied the dusty room, her gaze falling on the spinning wheel in the corner.
Until she spotted what was missing.
Footsteps carried clear in the dark hall, and she ran toward the door, glimpsing a familiar figure disappearing around a corner.
Her eyes widened, her faint whisper echoing. “Caelum…?”
Confusion clawed at her chest, half convinced she had gone mad. Quiet as the shadows themselves, Alora followed.
Caelum slipped through the castle’s outer gates and into the forest beyond. She kept her distance, watching as he came to a halt before an old oak at the edge of the wood.
From his cloak, he drew something that froze her in place.
The crimson spindle.
Her heart hammered in her throat as he set its point to the tree’s bark. But instead of spinning thread, Caelum carved lines into the wood, each stroke sharp and deliberate. Glyphs flared gold, the tree glowing as the lines connected.
And then, with a low hum that rattled through her bones, the tree split, the bark reshaping itself into a circle crowned with branches. A portal bloomed in the center, swirling with gold light.
The same doorway she had once forged from an Elder Tree.
Alora clutched the edge of her gown, staring as the truth sank cold into her bones. “Caelum…”
He stilled. Then turned with a sigh. “Ah, I had hoped to slip away unnoticed.”
His eyes were vivid gold and pointed ears poked out from waves of green hair.
A strange hum filled the air. The shadows recoiled.
“No…” A shaky breath heaved in her chest. “You are not him. Who are you?”
The stranger hesitated.
“I will spare you my name, Shadow Queen. It will hold no meaning to you.” Then to her horror, he peeled Caelum’s face away and beneath it was another, more striking and unmistakably fae. He gave her a cunning smile and bowed at the waist with an elegant flourish. “You may call me the Druid.”
Alora’s heart pounded as she stared at him.
Then at the layer of flesh with her friend’s face. Her stomach turned.
“How…when…What happened to Caelum?” The questions lodged in her throat, her mind spinning until anger sharpened her tongue. “Where is he!”
Her shout echoed with a force and thunder rolled overhead.
The Druid held up his hands in surrender. “Ah, pardon. I suppose this would be upsetting.” He cleared his throat and took a seat on a nearby boulder. “I’m afraid your first love fell during the siege on the beach, unfortunately. A valiant knight indeed. He died with your name on his lips.”
Alora clenched her fists and the air crackled with her magic. “Explain how you came to have his face.”
“It is a valued skill my kin possess,” the Druid said, his eyes gleaming.
“Though useful, my true gift is sight. Where I come from, Seers are prized… and hunted. I fled on a Calveron ship, wearing another man’s face, expecting to pass through this world unseen.
Instead, I walked straight into a war…and a curse I did not foresee.
” His gaze lifted to hers, steady and unrepentant.
“When the siege fell, so did your knight. I took his face to survive. Blending in among humans was the only path left to me.”
Her mind spun with how this could be possible.
And he had chosen a position of authority, giving him access to the castle and to her circle.
Coming to find her in the mountain had not been for honor but to find a way out of Argyle. All he had to do was stay close as he waited for the curse to break, then fled when the demons came for her brother.
Alora stared at him in shock, in disbelief.
She had not sensed it at all. Or perhaps she had been too caught up in her own dilemmas to notice.
It came to her now, his indifference towards Theia, his knowledge of spells, his ability to enter fae territory without the wards reacting.
But he had still managed to speak and walk like Caelum without telling a single lie.
“How did you manage to hold this facade for so long?” Alora asked.
The Druid shrugged. “I am skilled at adapting to whomever I must be, silencing whoever I need with favor or spell.”
Faces with masks.
Then she remembered Delphi’s vague warning, and her struggle to speak when questioned. Zinnia had also sensed he was more.
“Why didn’t you fall to the Sleeping Curse?” Alora demanded next.
The Druid stood and from his pocket he drew out a silver lark pin with an emerald eye, wings poised in flight.
The hairpin that had gone missing from her room.
Alora’s magic snatched it away from him. The cool pin glinted in her palm and emotion tightened chest.
“Your mother’s protective magic was powerful,” the Druid said. “As are you. I have learned much during my time here.” He smiled pointedly at the Elder Tree portal. “Watching you bloom into the Goddess of Shadows really was quite entertaining. But alas, I must get going.”
“Hold.” Her command reverberated through the trees and the Druid stiffened into place.
With a flick of her finger, Alora levitated him around and pulled him to her. He tensed, his golden eyes widening in surprise. She fished into his satchel and drew out the crimson spindle.
“A trickster who is a thief,” Alora mused.
His throat bobbed. “Forgive me. I have a habit of collecting powerful relics. And well, the Primordial blood of a true-born goddess …” His gold eyes gleamed. “Holds infinite possibilities. As you can see, it allowed me to escape the curse’s veil.”
She glanced at the portal and her jaw clenched. He knew yet didn’t bother to share that vital piece of information when it could have spared hundreds from the war.
Shadows wrapped around his neck as she snatched Caelum’s face from his hands. The sight of it made her eyes well.
House Basile has always served Argyle… To the end.
A clever fae answer.
Caelum died fighting for his kingdom, and no one had known. He had no burial. No body for his tomb. No mourners to honor him.
The air crackled with the force of her sorry and rage. At her will, the last piece of her friend crumbled to dust.
“Tell me, Druid,” Alora said softly, eyes glowing white as she looking up at him. “Why shouldn’t I kill you for this?”
The shadows tightened and he winced, gasping for air.
Though she sensed a trace of his unease, the Druid’s expression remained calm, equal parts pity and mischief, as though he knew a secret she could not yet name.
“Because I can provide a clue in how to break the curse.”
Alora studied him closely, listening for lies.
“And how to reunite with the other half of your soul.”
Her magic released him and he dropped to his feet, rubbing his neck. The hope those words gave her made her heart painfully beat.
“Speak.”