Chapter 30 #2
“It began when Elin Donovan, our future Queen, realm-walked into Vaeloria. It was not the first time this realm had been visited, but it was the first time a Donovan had fallen in love with one of their kind. Eventually, a union was forged between Leander and Elin. He swore himself to her, to her reign, and to Thrae.”
“The people loved him, as they loved her. Tobias served them faithfully. The realm prospered, years of unbroken peace.”
“But Leander was betrayed. Here I must speculate, for I do not know the full truth. I believe his most trusted guard, Sonelan, turned against him. Why, I cannot say.”
Zillah breathes, “Where is Sonelan now?”
Elaris hesitates, her gaze heavy. “I believe he became our imposter king. To strengthen the Illusion, he somehow mirrored Leander’s very form. Perhaps even hoped to fool Elin herself.” Her eyes flick to me.
The breath leaves my lungs. “You mean… the man who tortured me—he wore my father’s face? He’s been parading around as my father all these years?”
Lowan’s arms tighten around me as I shake apart.
“That face haunts me still,” I choke, my fingers tracing the black feathers etched into my skin.
“Those hands burned me, left scars no healer could erase.” My voice cracks.
“He even threatened to—” The words dissolve into a sob, and I collapse into Lowan’s chest.
Fury coils through him; I feel it in the rigid line of his body even as he holds me close, whispering soft comfort against my hair.
Elaris continues, her tone like stone grinding against stone.
“I do not think Elin was deceived, which would explain her flight. I suspect that Leander confided in his guard about the vision—about Elin’s pregnancy.
Sonelan must have decided the child she carried was its fulfillment.
He sought to twist that Fate for his own ends. ”
Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “But Sonelan could never have replicated Leander’s eyes.
That green is the mark of Vaeloria, as unmistakable as blood itself.
And Elin—” a shadow of sorrow flickers across her face, quickly buried—“Elin adored him. Fiercely. She would have known that was no longer her beloved.”
The truth about my parents still hangs heavy when I find my voice. “Wait. You’ve always known.” My pulse hammers, my throat dry. “That I’m of Vaeloria and Thrae. So why are you just now telling me all this?”
Elaris’s eyes meet mine, ancient and unreadable. “I know many things I do not share. And I do not share many things I do not know for certain. In either case, I follow the Thread of Fate and let it show me the way of truth.”
Her words settle over us like dust, impossible to sweep away, impossible to ignore. “But why? Why did this happen?” I whisper through tears.
Elaris’s gaze softens. “I do not know. This is speculation. To know for certain, you would have to ask Sonelan himself—a perilous choice, given the power you described.”
I shiver, remembering the void, the horrors he showed me. Lowan’s embrace anchors me, keeping me from sinking. Elaris’s face darkens, lines of age and shadow carving deeper. “I fear Sonelan dabbles in forbidden power. He has gone too far.”
“What kind of power?” Selene asks, her voice trembling.
Elaris turns to her, her gaze solemn and stark. “The kind that has not touched this realm in ages. The kind once banished. Dark magic from Draelith.”
Even though I have no clue what Draelith is, the name lands with its intended doom: the orbs gutter, their light thinning until shadows creep along the shelves. Even the Atheneum itself seems to draw back, walls bending as if to flee from the sound.
“What the fuck is happening?” Arden shouts. Zillah’s shield snaps into place, blue light wrapping us in a trembling dome.
“Dark magic cannot touch us here,” Elaris says, and her words steady the air.
The orbs flare again, though their glow still shivers.
“But the Atheneum knows. It remembers what once came crawling from Draelith, many ages ago.” Her eyes glint, unreadable.
“How Sonelan would access it, I can only guess. Surely Calidora—” she spits the name like ash—“even if she is powerful enough for such magic, and I doubt she is, would not be foolish enough to open him portals to that realm. I assume that is why he took her as his Queen—her Donovan blood. Her abilities.”
With the mention of Calidora, the group tenses, every gaze sliding to Arden. “What?” He swivels, searching behind him like we must be staring at something he can’t see. “What are we looking at?”
We shift uneasily, words caught in our throats. Elaris spares us. “I told you that you’d need to be prepared to hear of your lineage as well, Arden Navarre. And so, it is your turn.”
“Oh, fuck me,” he mutters. Remli bites her lip at the insinuation, but Elaris glides past it.
“Again, there is much we cannot be sure of without speaking directly to the source. But we can be fairly certain your mother is Calidora Donovan.”
The Atheneum goes still. Even the orbs seem to hold their breath. Arden laughs. A jagged, manic sound that echoes against the shelves. It builds until it’s too loud, too wild, making us shift uncomfortably as it spills out of him in broken waves.
“There is no way. No way I came from a Queen. I’m a fuck-up. You’ve got it all wrong.” He searches our faces, desperate for denial, but our silence betrays him. His grin fractures. He stumbles back until the wall halts him.
“So not only was I trash, I was royal trash? Is that what you’re saying?” His voice breaks on the last word.
Remli doesn’t hesitate. She closes the distance, catching his face in both hands, forcing his eyes to hers. “Stop. Look at me.” Her voice is steel. “She is a cunt for wanting you killed—”
Arden stiffens. “Killed?”
Her eyes widen, but the slip is out, trembling between them.
She swallows hard and lowers her voice, too soft for the rest of us, but we can still hear the edge of it.
“She wanted you dead, Arden, through no fault of yours. She wants daughters to hoard power, we assume. But you lived because her guard—your father—chose you, and Tobias got you out. Do you understand? Not because of her. Because of Tobias Veynar.”
The air cracks in the silence. Arden reels back as if she’s struck him, hands trembling against hers. His laugh is gone, swallowed by the raw shock of the revelation. He drags his palms over his eyes, shaking his head, his chest heaving like he can’t take in enough air.
“So I wasn’t just… unwanted.” His voice fractures. “I was supposed to be erased.”
No one moves. Even the orbs above us flicker uncertainly, as if the Atheneum itself doesn’t know what to do with his truth.
Remli presses her forehead to his, whispering fierce words we can’t catch, but her grip on him is iron.
She won’t let him fall, even as everything he thought he knew splinters around him.
Elaris watches them for a long beat, weighing the moment.
Finally, she exhales, and with it, the room seems to loosen.
“Enough truths for one day.” We drift back to our chambers in silence, the weight of it pressing against our ribs.
I spend days in bed, my body heavy as stone.
Sleep drags me under again and again, merciless and thick.
Lowan carries me to the steaming water, washes my limp limbs, slips fresh clothes over my shoulders, then lays me back down.
I sleep. He coaxes tea and broth past my lips, and I only swallow because I see the worry in his eyes, and I cannot bear to add to his pain. Hunger never stirs.
My mind circles endlessly—my parents, my father’s gaunt face in that dungeon as he tortured me, the crushing weight of vision. The certainty that I am no savior. I have nothing left to give.
Arden is gone. Apparently, he’s just as undone, which should have made me feel less alone, but it deepens my shame.
He has a reason: he found out his own mother wanted him dead for being born a boy.
If anyone deserves to break, it’s Arden.
And yet here I am, wasting away while he’s missing and Remli races through the woods searching for him, convinced I’m being ridiculous.
Lowan tries endlessly day after day. “You know… if this distance of yours is because you think you’re sparing me, I should remind you I’m perfectly fine being used.
My body is yours any time you like.” The words are teasing, but the look in his eyes says he knows exactly what I was doing earlier—choosing kisses and passion over facing what truly haunted me.
But then his tone shifts, voice low and serious: “But it isn’t your body I’m starving for. As magnificent as it is, that’s not what I ache for.”
He sits next to me, taking my hands, forcing me to look at him: “I need you. Your mind. Your soul. Every stubborn, reckless, infuriating, glorious part of you. You could strip me of every shift, every shred of power, and I would still belong to you. Because I’m unequivocally in love with you, Metra Donovan. ”
By the third day, he kneels by the bed, silver eyes burning with worry, his hands folded against the blanket like prayer. “Metra, talk to me,” he pleads, voice raw. “Yell at me. Tell me I’m overbearing. Anything. Just… don’t shut me out.”
I want to reach for him, to answer, but the words won’t come.
They lodge in my chest like stones. All I can do is stare at the ceiling while his voice cracks beside me.
His fingers brush my hair back from my face, gentle, trembling.
“You carry everything until it crushes you. Let me carry some of it. Please, love.”
The ache in his tone cuts deeper than my despair. I swallow hard; nevertheless, no words rise—only silence.
Selene eases in the next day, quiet as dusk. She settles onto the couch without a word, keeping her vigil while I lie still beneath the covers. For a long time, she says nothing, simply sharing the silence with me.