Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Aurelia
We approached the palace with hoods pulled low against the swirling snow falling in thin, icy flakes.
All around us were Autumn citizens headed for the castle, hoping to get a closer look at the royal wedding.
I winced at the sight of a young Autumn fae girl clinging to her mother, both with wreath-crowns in their hair and bright smiles on their faces.
If I lost control today, these fae would pay the cost.
I could not—would not—let that happen.
A layer of ice crept along the fountains and gutters we passed. The wind dug in through the holes of my cloak, wringing any warmth from my skin. But the crowd did not seem deterred by it. The mood was festive. Hopeful.
If only they knew their king did not share that hope.
I clung to mine like a precious thing.
“Final chance to back out,” Slade murmured at my elbow as we walked. “No shame in fleeing. I hear Vorinthia has lovely beaches.”
But beneath the humor, he was coiled, ready. Shadows clung to him like oil. Thorne walked on my other side, quiet strength radiating from him like a heartbeat.
I took a breath that did nothing to steady me.
Tomorrow wasn’t promised. Tonight wasn’t promised. I was about to come face-to-face with the woman who had cursed my kingdom, ripped wings from the backs of my friends, tortured a hundred others, and nearly killed me multiple times.
If I died today, it had to mean something.
“Slade,” I said softly.
He turned, eyebrows lifting at the shift in my voice.
“If I don’t make it out of this—”
“Stop.” He lifted a hand.
“I need you to tell Rydian—”
“Nope. Absolutely not.” His tone sharpened. “If you die, I’m dying too. Because Rydian will murder me for letting it happen. So really, it’s in everyone’s best interest that you stay alive.”
“Slade—”
Thorne stepped closer, voice firm. “None of us is dying today.”
I looked between them—the soldier who joked too much, the warrior who spoke too little. My friends, whether I’d meant to make them that or not.
“All right,” I whispered, breath hitching. “Then let’s crash a wedding.”
Slade grinned. “Now that’s the spirit.”
We broke off from the crowd one at a time, converging at a servants’ entrance Callan had described. Hidden beneath an archway of carved oak leaves, it looked innocuous—locked, unused. But when I pressed my palm against the etched wood, the latch clicked open.
He’d kept his promise.
Inside, the corridor was dim and narrow, the air heavy with wax and wine and a hush of anticipation from the grand halls above. The muffled sounds of a crowd drifted in from the back gardens.
Slade peeked around the corner. “So far, so good.”
We moved fast.
Up a spiral staircase. Across a gallery lined with portraits of former kings.
Through a narrow linen closet with a hidden second door that Callan had sworn would be unattended—and thankfully, it was.
There was no time for nostalgia or memories, not even when I found myself noting familiar sights inside the secret passages or the main halls.
Twice, we were stopped by guards who demanded our business here. But when we pulled our hoods back to reveal our faces, they waved us on without delay.
The closer we got, the colder it grew.
My breath puffed out in white clouds as we reached the final corridor.
Slade lifted a hand, shadows coiling.
“No going back after this,” Thorne said quietly.
But I’d long since passed the point of no return. For me, that day had come and gone seven years ago, when I’d stood on a Summer rooftop and watched everyone I loved be taken away from me.
I pressed my hand to the door. My heart hammered, my magic stirred restlessly, and the mark at my throat pulsed like it recognized its enemy beyond the threshold.
“Ready?” I whispered.
Two nods.
I pushed the door open.
The throne room blazed with light.
Goldleaf banners hung from the vaulted ceiling, though frost crawled along their edges. Dozens of fae lined the aisles in formal finery, whispering amongst themselves. At the far end, beneath a massive autumn-gold arch, with the Harvest Throne gleaming behind them, Heliconia stood with Callan.
She was dressed in winter-white, a gown that shimmered, not with silk but with frost. Her hair spilled in sleek dark waves, glittering with ice shards. A crown of frozen thorns rested atop her head.
Callan stood beside her in green and gold, coat immaculate, expression carved from stone. When his eyes met mine across the room, the tension in his shoulders loosened—not relief, not fear.
Acceptance.
He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Now.
I threw my hood back and stepped into the aisle.
Gasps rippled across the room.
Heliconia’s gaze snapped toward us.
The temperature plummeted.
“Ah,” she said, glancing at Callan, her voice smooth as a blade through fresh snow. “You brought me a wedding present. Two potent vessels to drain.”
The room gasped and murmured.
My heart thundered at the weight of this moment. Facing her again after all this time. My fingers itched to toss Hel’s flame at her smug face.
“It’s over, Heliconia.”
Her attention whipped to me. “You look tired, child. Expending more power than you know how to wield must take quite a toll.”
“I’m standing,” I said. “That’s more than your army can say.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face—gone in an instant. “Lucky for me, I have many more legions of soldiers just like that one tucked away in my Winter court.”
I blinked, unable to stop the weight of her words from settling around my shoulders. Many more legions. Of course she did. What we’d done would be a drop in the bucket. A mild inconvenience.
The only way to truly stop her was to end her now, today.
I called on my Makarios, letting that familiar hunger rise inside me until I felt it tugging at the life force energy of everyone in this room. But there was only one whose life I wanted to drain away. I found the thread that led to Heliconia and sipped from it.
Power slammed into me, so potent that my head swam and my knees threatened to buckle.
I let go of the power, sucking in a gulp of air.
Her laugh was soft. Beautiful. Deadly. “Little Summer ember. Still pretending you understand the first thing about a god’s power.”
Furyfire stirred in my veins.
Slade shifted to my left, Thorne to my right, both ready.
Callan exhaled slowly. “Heliconia,” he said, voice low, persuasive magic lacing the words, “perhaps we should—”
Heliconia lifted her hand.
A cold wind slithered across the floor, coiling around my ankles like a serpent.
“Behold,” she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the room, “the girl who thinks herself chosen. The girl who thinks draining an army makes her a god.”
“I don’t think I’m a god,” I said. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t become one either.”
Her eyes flashed with a depthless, ancient rage. “You are nothing more than a vessel, child. And a fragile one at that. Your body is cracking under the weight of the magic you possess. The gods made a mistake choosing you. You were always meant to break.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’ll break you first.”
With a snarl, Heliconia stepped forward. The frost on the floor thickened, spreading in spiderweb cracks beneath her feet. Ice crawled up the pillars. Torches flickered, dimmed.
The room hummed with power.
Screamed with it.
Callan swallowed, stepping subtly aside—not openly aiding me, not openly defying her. The gathered courtiers shrank back, some ducking behind columns, others clutching loved ones, trembling.
Heliconia’s voice went soft. Lethal. “And now, little Summer ember, your power is mine.”
The thread sprang to life, only this time, my Makarios magic screamed in pain as that hunger was fed on. And the life force I’d so easily sipped from—now gave of my own to the monster on the other end.
My fire roared as I struggled to sever the connection. Furyfire dripped from my fingers, landing on the rug, sparking into embers that ate at the material. Sparks flew, landing on gowns, igniting cloaks.
Slade cursed and leaped into action, grabbing the closest fae and winking away on a trail of shadows.
Thorne’s hand shot to his blade.
The life-thread Heliconia had gripped between us—thin as a spider’s web seconds ago—snapped tight like a garrote. My magic bucked violently, clawing at the inside of my ribs.
No. No—stop—
Heliconia smiled, her teeth small and perfect and carved for cruelty.
“Too late, little ember.”
I gasped, collapsing onto one knee as the connection inverted again—her siphoning me, not the other way around. The Makarios part of me screamed in agony, yanked open like a wound as she pulled at the core of who I was.
My life force tore from me in hot, ripping surges.
My fire guttered.
My vision swam.
I heard Slade shouting something. All I could feel was the hollowing ache inside me as Heliconia fed.
Frost bloomed across the floor, reaching for my hands, my legs, my throat.
She’s killing you.
The realization rang clear in that same whispered voice I’d heard back in the valley. Dully, I registered it as someone other than my own, even as the room spiraled wildly.
Heliconia’s cruel smile swam in my vision.
I flung fire, anything, everything—
It met a wall of ice and vanished.
Snuffed out, absorbed into that impossible, stolen power she’d taken from Concordia’s throne. She didn’t even flinch. It was as if I’d thrown sparks at the sea.
Heliconia’s fingers curled. The siphon tightened like a noose.
“You thought draining a camp of soulless pawns made you powerful?” she purred. “You drained bones. Dead things stitched together by my hand. What I took was a god’s essence.”
I couldn’t breathe.
She stepped closer, frost cracking beneath her feet like brittle bones.
My heart hammered once—twice—
Stuttered.
I reached for my power again, clawing for it desperately. Furyfire flared… flickered… died. My Makarios screamed but couldn’t break free.
“Aurelia!” Thorne’s voice cut through the chaos as he surged forward, ley-line magic flaring bright across his palms like veins. A shimmering barrier went up between Heliconia and us.
For two heartbeats, it held.
Heliconia’s expression barely changed before she lifted one hand. Ice slammed into Thorne’s shield with a thunderous crack. It shattered—exploding into a spray of glittering shards.
Thorne was thrown backward. He hit the marble wall so hard it spiderwebbed behind him.
“Thorne!” I choked out, trying to crawl toward him, but Heliconia yanked the thread again, and pain ripped through my lungs.
Slade flickered into existence a dozen yards away, dragging five terrified courtiers with him out of the path of her spreading frost.
“Aurelia!” he shouted, but I couldn’t answer. His shadows reached for me—
Heliconia swatted them aside like smoke.
She was toying with us.
“Good,” she said softly. “Bleed a little for me. Break a little. It makes the harvest that much sweeter.”
My blood chilled.
Callan moved—not much, not fast—but enough that Heliconia’s eyes flicked toward him.
“Stay,” she commanded, and ice laced his boots to the dais.
She turned back to me, eyes alight. Hungry.
“You come into my court,” she whispered, “my wedding, my throne room—and offer yourself up on your knees. What a beautiful sacrifice you’ve made. Unfortunately, a useless one.”
“Go to Hel,” I rasped.
She smiled. “Haven’t you heard? Hel came to me. And I learned what it takes to become a god.”
The thread pulsed.
My vision blurred.
The world dimmed at the edges.
My fire guttered out completely.
“Aurelia!” Slade roared—but it was distant.
Heliconia lifted her hand, fingers glowing with stolen power. “Goodnight, Summer ember.”
This is it.
My consciousness slipped. The floor groaned beneath me as frost crept up my arms.
“Rydian,” I breathed. Not a call, not a spell—just a thought. A prayer.
The pressure shifted.
The room filled with smoke.
No, not smoke at all. Shadow.
A cyclone of shadows ripped through the aisle, tearing apart Heliconia’s frost as if it were made of vapor. Chandeliers overhead rattled violently. Courtiers screamed, hurling themselves against the walls.
Heliconia’s siphon against me finally broke—violently—sending a backlash of power crashing through me like lightning. I choked, collapsing sideways.
Night pressed in from all angles, swallowing torchlight, swallowing sound.
A nightmare come to life.
And at its center, cloaked in shadows like a god of horrors—
Rydian.
Shadows burst from him in a violent shockwave, spiraling up columns, along the ceiling, ripping through frost and ice.
He moved before anyone could breathe.
In a single motion, he lunged, grabbed me by the waist, and yanked me backward into his shadows just as Heliconia’s killing strike slammed into the marble where I’d been kneeling.
The floor exploded.
Heliconia screamed her frustration. More ice flew at us, but Rydian didn’t stop. He wrapped me in his coat, pulling me against his chest. His heartbeat thundered against my cheek—alive, alive, ALIVE—and the room vanished behind swirling darkness.
We reformed ten yards away, halfway behind a pillar.
Air rushed back into my lungs in a violent gasp.
His shadows flared, roaring around us in a vortex that made silk banners tear free of their mounts.
He cupped the back of my head, forcing my face up. “Breathe.”
“I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” His voice was hard steel and rough edges. “Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were molten shadow—glowing with raw power, far more than he’d ever shown me. His hair was mussed like he’d run here through a storm. When he looked at me, it was like he could see every fracture, every scar, every place I’d given too much and didn’t have enough left.
“Hello, Furious,” he murmured. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “Did you miss me?”
“You’re late,” I whispered.
He grinned and kissed me.