Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rydian
We camped in the belly of the mountain, beneath a ceiling so high even our torchlight couldn’t find it.
The air still smelled of smoke and ichor.
The creature’s carcass was burning somewhere behind us, its poison turned to smoke that clung to the passages.
The stench clung to everything—metal, skin, memory.
The Withered made their camp in a shallow alcove off the main tunnel. The fire they built was small, the flames flickering unsteadily in the stuffy air. Too many of them were whispering. I could hear the words even when they tried to be quiet—Makarios. Demon-blessed. Hel’s flame.
They’d seen her power. The way the rune on her throat had glowed like something divine—and dark. The way the poison had fled her veins when she drank the serpent’s lifeforce into her own.
I’d felt it in my bones—the depth of her power.
The breadth of it, how many other gifts were still dormant and had yet to emerge.
I’d underestimated her back at the mountain cabin.
When she’d asked to open the gates to the Midnight Court, and I’d ruled it out as far too dangerous.
Decided she was too weak to handle it. Maybe I’d been wrong.
Then again, a maybe was still not enough to change my mind.
But today had proven she would be ready—and soon.
Even my shadows had winced at the dark magic inside that serpent beast. But Aurelia had drunk it in like it was nothing more than a refreshing sip of water. She’d alchemized its darkness into healing.
She truly was the gods’ Chosen. The hope of the realm.
While we made camp, Aurelia had gone with Keres to wash off the blood in a side cavern where an underground stream pooled. I could still sense her flame faintly through the stone—warmth that anchored me even from a distance.
Slade sat across from me near the fire, whittling at a piece of wood he’d fashioned into a glimfang.
I wondered if Keres had seen it. If he’d made it for her.
He’d never once spoken of feelings for the female warrior, but sometimes his flirting bordered on something more.
I wondered if she’d gut him if she knew he cared that way.
While he worked, his eyes flicked toward the group of Withered soldiers clustered on the other side of the space.
“They’ve been muttering since we arrived,” he murmured. “Some of them don’t know what to make of her.”
“I hear them,” I said, following his gaze.
Eirnan was among them, standing with his usual calm authority, but two of his soldiers—Taron and Brist—were the ones doing most of the talking.
Brist’s voice scraped like gravel, thanks to the magic Autumn had drained from him.
But I’d heard enough of his words to know there was anger in him.
Fueled by fear. And that made him dangerous.
“You saw what she did,” Brist was saying. “Duron at least needed machines and priestess-witches to take our magic. She could drink our magic with a snap of her fingers.”
Eirnan kept his voice steady. “And instead, she saved your life. She saved all of ours.”
Taron spat into the dirt. “For now. But what happens when she decides we’ve outlived our use? She’ll drain us next, same as that monster.”
The murmurs grew louder. A few of the Withered nodded, uncertainty rippling through the camp like an infection.
I rose before I could talk myself out of it. “Enough.”
Every head turned. Shadows stretched long and thin around my boots as I crossed to them. The air tightened, thick with their unease.
“She didn’t drain it because she wanted to,” I said, voice calm, deliberate. “She did it because it was that or succumb to its poison. Because she chose to live and to lead you, despite every reason not to trust anyone with the knowledge of what she’s been gifted.”
Brist met my gaze, jaw tight. “You’d defend her even if she were one of Hel’s own creatures, wouldn’t you?”
“She isn’t,” I said flatly. “Aurelia of Sevanwinds carries the light of the gods themselves. All of them,” I added emphatically. “It’s why Heliconia couldn’t kill her seven years ago. She’s the only reason this realm still has hope.”
Taron laughed, the sound humorless. “Hope’s what our last king promised before he demanded we relinquish every last drop of our own life force. I don’t fight for liars and tyrants anymore.”
Eirnan stepped forward, cutting him a sharp look. “You’ll hold your tongue. She might not be our queen, but she’s the only ruler who gave us the opportunity to fight back.”
“And when she decides we’re no longer useful?” Brist countered. “When she needs an antidote to poison again and we’re the ones standing closest to her? Will you still defend her then?”
“You forget your place, soldier,” I warned him.
He shoved to his feet, Taron alongside him, both facing off with me.
“You forget yours,” Brist snarled.
A snarled curse ripped from me then.
A few hands drifted toward weapons.
I felt the shadows stir in answer to my heartbeat. Reaching for their throats, more than happy to make my point for me. I leashed them but barely.
“If any of you so much as raise a blade toward her,” I said quietly, “you will feel that same blade buried in your own chest before you can utter a word.”
My shadows lashed out, clouding the fire until it was nearly smothered.
They froze.
Eirnan bowed his head slightly to me. “We remain your allies, Your Highness.”
But the others said nothing.
After a long moment, Brist looked away. “We’re only saying what everyone’s thinking. The Furiosities are a darkness none wish to provoke.”
“Heliconia has already done that. And now, the Furiosities are the only gods left to protect us. They chose her.”
“They don’t choose for me,” he sneered, and I considered letting my shadows loose after all.
Eirnan snapped an order for him to walk away, and Brist reluctantly obeyed, muttering something under his breath about demons and fools. The rest of the men dispersed in his wake, the tension bleeding into the shadows.
Slade rose as I stalked back to my own fire.
“Well,” he said quietly, “that went better than I thought. No bloodshed. Barely even yelling. Proud of you.”
“Keep an eye on them,” I said. “If they start whispering again, I want to know.”
“On it,” Slade said. “You want Daegel with me?”
I nodded. “His shadows will keep you out of sight while you listen.”
Slade grinned. “And he’s less likely to kill one of these fools for insulting our queen.”
Our queen.
I jolted at that.
Slade winked knowingly. Then he clapped my shoulder and wandered off.
I turned to Thorne, who’d been keeping his distance, sharpening a blade but not missing a word, where he leaned against the stone wall. He was stronger here, closer to the land and its powerful ley lines. That strength was what we needed now.
“Stay close to Aurelia the next few days,” I said. “Don’t tell her about this—not yet.”
He nodded once. “If they try anything?”
“They won’t.” I met his eyes. “But if they do, better you stop them before I do.”
He inclined his head and disappeared down the passage.
I stayed where I was, watching the shadows shift and breathe around the firelight. My pulse still hadn’t slowed.
I’d nearly lost her once today—saw the blood on her arm, the way her knees buckled when the poison hit. For a heartbeat, I’d believed she was dying, and it had hollowed me out.
Then I’d felt her take in the life force of the dying serpent, healing her wounds in the process. And all I could feel was relief. Relief that she was alive, that her gods-given power had saved her when mine hadn’t been quick enough.
The Withered saw darkness in her. I saw the only light left in this realm.
The flames guttered, shrinking low. I stared into them and whispered to the fire, to the gods, to whoever might still be listening.
“Let them doubt her,” I murmured. “But if they touch her, I’ll kill them all.”
The shadows around me shifted, almost like an answer.
And somewhere in the distance, I felt her flame pulse—warm and steady as a heartbeat.