26. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
T he first night was terrible.
In Pariseth, I’d slept so peacefully in Daed’s arms, waking only when the sun warmed my face. But here, in Baev’kalath, the weight of the place presses down on me, reminding me why it drains me so completely. When I wake the next morning, I’ve barely slept at all. My head pounds, exhaustion sinking into my bones. A glance in the mirror reveals the truth—the healthy color Pariseth had restored is already fading, my skin paling in this cursed fortress. I hate this place. All it does is take.
Breakfast with Lanneth is no better. Her questions are always sharp, prying. She insists I eat the meat, pushing the platter toward me as though her will alone might make me give in. I refuse again, and her smile tightens with disappointment. I excuse myself as politely as I can and spend the rest of the day avoiding her, wandering aimlessly through the cold halls, staring out at the sky as it shifts from dull gray to black.
It is unnervingly quiet here without Daed, the king, or the Reapers, and the absence of Arax’s shadow following me feels disorienting. How strange it is that what was once an annoyance now leaves a hollow ache; I can’t help but wish to glance over my shoulder and see that familiar frown I’ve grown so accustomed to.
I find my way to the throne room, leaning against the heavy wooden door. It groans open, revealing the vast, empty space beyond, where each step I take echoes like distant thunder.
I ascend the dais, my fingers grazing the cold stone of Daed’s throne, wishing it were his warm skin beneath my touch. I wander to the stained glass window, where the waning moon rises like an ominous herald, casting slants of ivory light through the intricate designs. Prisms of colored light dance across the floor, illuminating the shadows with fleeting beauty.
In that moment, I imagine Daed as the warrior immortalized in stained glass, his powerful wings unfurled, his imposing form towering over me. Pressing down on me. Touching me. My skin goose-pimples and a welcome heat throbs between my legs. I close my eyes, letting my mind drift deeper into the desire that coils within me.
“It’s the Reflective Eye,” Solena says, startling me as she appears at my side. I jump, and she laughs, the sound light and warm. In my solitude, it’s comforting to know I have her at least.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she adds, her eyes twinkling.
“No. I’m glad you’re here,” I say, releasing a long breath. “I could use the distraction. So, the Reflective Eye. Tell me more.”
Solena shifts, drawing closer. “It’s a time for storytelling,” she explains. “A time to share knowledge, to speak of the past. After the indulgence of the Lover’s Eye, the Reflective Eye is a reminder of our history, of lessons learned.”
Heat creeps up my neck as memories of Daed’s hands on my bare skin flash through my mind, and I pray Solena doesn’t notice my blush.
“Share some knowledge with me, then,” I say, clearing my throat in an effort to change the subject.
Solena dips her chin in acknowledgment. “As you wish.” Her gaze sweeps the throne room before landing on the large tapestry draped over the doorway—the same one I remember from that night of the banquet. She motions for me to follow her, and when we stop before the dark fabric, she points to the image embroidered on it. “This is the Pale Eye,” she begins, indicating the pure white eye that stands out against a dark, starry sky. “She is the Mother Above—protector, seducer. As the moon shifts, so does her influence. The Mordorin believe she watches over us, guiding us through life’s cycles, testing us with temptation and indulgence.”
“A test I’ve seen you fail more than once,” I say.
Solena grins, playful and unashamed. “Perhaps. But aren’t we Fae supposed to be creatures of indulgence?”
Her words are light, but something in me stirs, and suddenly I’m reminded of my nightmares. That vision of smoke and ash, eyes burning into me, the words echoing in my mind like a curse. I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Solena’s expression changes.
“Father Below.”
Her eyes widen, and her voice tightens. “What did you say?”
I blink, snapping back to the present, shrugging it off with more casualness than I feel. “Nothing. Just something I think I heard once.”
Solena steps closer, her playful demeanor gone, replaced by something colder, more serious. “Where did you hear about the Father Below?”
I’m still certain it was just a dream. A nightmare spun from the shadows of Baev’kalath, but I tell Solena everything. Every detail. The room, the altar, the monster of smoke and darkness forcing me to choke on its essence. And how I fought back—how I never dreamt of it again.
“That’s how your hand healed?” she asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
I nod, flexing my fingers at the memory. “I still don’t understand it. I don’t know how I managed to absorb the pain or where it went. It was just a dream.”
Solena exhales sharply, her expression tight with unease. “You don’t just dream about the Father Below, Amara. If you’ve seen him… it’s because he sought you out. And if he seeks you… it’s for a reason.” A chill runs down my spine as she continues. “A terrifying reason.”
“You believe me?” I ask, the words catching in my throat.
She nods, her gaze firm, unwavering. “Yes.”
“And you’re saying it was… real?”
Solena scans the throne room, checking for any prying eyes even though we are utterly alone, as if she worries the shadows are watching us. Her hand shoots out, gripping my arm as she pulls me closer. “Baev’kalath is cursed—there’s blood in these stones, stains from tragedies that even the rain cannot wash away. While the Pale Eye is worshipped openly, there are those who wear the inverted crescent. In secret, they praise the demon of the void. His name is Gygarth.”
The image of the beast surges behind my eyes, sharp and searing like broken glass. I wince, clutching my head, desperate to block it out.
“Princess!” Solena gasps, holding me steady. “Are you alright?”
I shake my head, feeling the throbbing intensity growing. “I think I need to lie down.”
“Of course,” she says, quickly guiding me from the room. She’s urgent now, almost frantic, as she hurries me back to my chambers.
Once there, she helps me out of my dress and into a nightgown, her fingers trembling as she dims every candle to ease the strain on my eyes.
“Do not tell Lanneth,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I don’t need her hovering over me.”
Solena nods gravely. “I’ll check on you during the night.”
As the doors close behind her, I am left alone. But the solitude is fleeting. As I lie in bed, cradling my aching head, smoke begins to form at the foot of my bed. That familiar wraith— the ghost of Baev’kalath —has returned to torment me.
“Not you. Not now,” I moan, turning over and pulling the covers over my head.
“Where is the prince?” the ghost asks, its voice hollow and distant. “I… I cannot feel him.”
“He’s gone,” I groan. “And if I wish hard enough, maybe you’ll be gone too.”
“You were both gone for a time ,” the ghost continues, its smoky tendrils creeping across the room toward Ashen, who sleeps soundly by the fire. “What did you do?”
“You ask more questions than Lanneth,” I mutter, each word another stab of pain behind my eyes.
“Lanneth?” The smoke shifts, hovering over Ashen, a tendril brushing over him almost like a caress.
“The queen,” I mumble, barely coherent.
“Lanneth is not the queen, ” the ghost says, its voice firm and unnerving in its certainty. “Veloria is queen.”
I drift between sleep and consciousness, the ghost's words echoing faintly in my ears, hollow and distant. “No… Veloria passed after Daed was born,” I murmur, slipping closer to sleep's edge. “Lanneth is queen now.”
“What…”
The room shifts, the temperature plummeting so fast my breath turns to mist, hanging in the freezing air. I shiver violently, clutching the covers tighter against me, my skin prickling from the sudden cold. My eyelids flutter, teeth chattering, as I watch the ghost by the fire stretch and expand—a wall of dark smoke that looms ever larger. Ashen hisses, leaping from the chair, scurrying across the room as the ghost’s presence swells, its smoke extinguishing the fire in a smothering wave of darkness.
“She is not dead. She cannot be dead. You lie.”
I bolt upright, fully awake now, my body trembling beneath the suffocating cold. The ghost grows, its smoky tendrils snaking across the bed, sweeping over the covers until I feel its weight pressing me back against the headboard. I gasp as its icy touch sears into my skin, the cold burning like fire.
“Who told you this lie?” the ghost demands, its voice a growl of rage.
“Daedalus,” I rasp, my voice barely a whisper as I struggle against the pain throbbing in my head.
For a moment, the ghost is silent, its presence vibrating in the air, the only sound a low, hollow hum that fills the room.
“Yes,” it finally gasps. “I remember now. I remember the day she died. I remember the day Daedalus killed her.”
I shake my head, remembering our time in the forest and the tragedy he shared with me, one that has haunted him his entire life. “He didn’t. That is not what happened.”
“You speak as if you were there, that you saw it, that you watched her die.”
“A mother dying in childbirth is not the fault of the child,” I say sternly, defending Daed’s suffering.
“Is that what he told you?” There is a cruel mocking tone to the ghost’s hollow voice that knots my stomach. “He is lying.”
“You are lying,” I snap. “That can’t be true.”
“I linger. I forget. But I do not lie. I was there.”
The smoke travels over my body, sliding like cold silk across my shoulders, down my chest, until it pins me flat against the bed, its weight crushing down on me. My lungs scream for air as it presses into me harder, colder, until I can barely breathe. Then it reaches my belly, and without warning, it releases me. The smoke whips away, spiraling into a furious, howling wind, retreating to the far corner of the room.
“What have you done?” the ghost wails, its voice a desperate cry that reverberates through the room. “You have doomed us all.”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy gasping for air, my chest heaving, my skin branded with cold, red marks that sear with the memory of its touch.
“I told you to run,” the ghost laments, its voice cracking like distant thunder. “Why did you not run? Now it’s too late. You will die, just as she did.” The smoke dissipates, unraveling into wispy strands as it fades from view. Its last words hang in the air, chilling me deeper than the cold ever could.
“Daedalus will kill you, too.”
I’m not sure when I fell asleep again, but the next thing I know, morning light is filtering through the windows. My head throbs worse than ever, a dull, insistent ache that makes me wince as I sit up. Solena waits by the door, concern etched across her face.
“You slept through the night,” she says softly, coming to my side. “I checked on you like I promised. Not even the storm that hit before dawn woke you.”
I blink in confusion, trying to recall anything from the night—any memory of the thunderstorm. But it’s like a thick fog has settled over my mind, and I can’t remember a thing. Still, despite my exhaustion and the ghost’s lingering presence, one small comfort lifts my spirits.
Daed returns tomorrow.
I just have to make it through today. I won’t let the ghost’s words take root in my mind. It’s a creature of mischief, sent to torment me, nothing more. Daedalus might not be innocent, but killing his own mother? No. He couldn’t. I refuse to believe that. I couldn’t possibly care for a monster like that.
But as much as I try to push the ghost’s warning away, it lingers in the back of my mind, gnawing at my thoughts. I can’t avoid Lanneth either when I’m summoned to breakfast, and no matter how much bread I eat, nothing satisfies the gnawing hunger inside me, the constant drain of energy.
“The meat would make you feel better,” Lanneth sighs, feasting on her portion, delicate yet unbothered.
The shimmer that surrounds her is unnaturally bright today, so much so that I can’t meet her gaze without the light stinging my eyes.
“No, thank you,” I reply again, reaching for more bread. Anything to keep her at a distance.
Lanneth exhales, the sound heavy with frustration, just as I knock over a glass vase. It crashes to the floor, shattering into jagged pieces.
“Damn it,” I mutter, instinctively reaching down to collect the shards.
Lanneth snaps her fingers toward the servant standing nearby. “Leave it, Amara. They can clean it up.”
But I ignore her, whether out of stubbornness or a need to focus on something other than this gnawing hunger. I continue picking up the shards, my movements clumsy and unfocused. It’s only a matter of time before a sharp piece slices into my palm. Blood wells up immediately, hot and painful, dripping onto the table as the broken glass slips from my fingers and shatters further.
“You silly girl,” Lanneth scolds, her voice cold with irritation. “Look at what you’ve done.”
I glare at her, prepared to snap back, but my anger dissolves into pure horror. Her shimmer is gone. In its place, her face… it’s not hers. Not anymore.
The skin hanging from her skeletal frame is sagging and grotesque, stretched like thin leather over sharp bones. Her mouth is a gaping hole of crooked, broken teeth, her eyes are nothing but empty, black voids. And there, in the center of her forehead, is the mark—an inverted crescent, dark and jagged, just like the one I saw on the Archdruid at our wedding when he cut my palm. I stumble back, my heart racing as I knock over the chair behind me. A silent scream catches in my throat as I backpedal, desperate to put distance between myself and the monster she’s become.
Lanneth rises from her chair, reaching out toward me with skeletal hands. “Amara,” she growls, her voice low and dangerous, “what is wrong with you? Look at me.”
I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut, trembling, my back pressed against the cold stone wall. I can still feel her presence, looming, suffocating.
“Do as I say, girl!” she snaps, her voice sharper now, filled with impatient command.
Slowly, fearfully, I force my eyes open, just a sliver. But the monster is gone. Lanneth stands before me, appearing as she always has, poised and immaculate, her face elegant and refined, the shimmer back in place.
Everything I just saw… vanished as though it never existed.
“Forgive me,” I stammer, stumbling toward the doors of the dining room. “I have to go.”
Lanneth’s voice follows me, but I don’t look back. I clutch the hem of my dress and run—away from her, away from the horrors my eyes can no longer seem to avoid. My heart pounds in time with my footsteps, the weight of her gaze clinging to my back. Only when I reach the sanctuary of my chambers do I let my body give in, collapsing onto the bed, my breath ragged, my mind a mess of tangled thoughts.
I press my face into the pillow, desperate to hold back the tears threatening to spill. My fingernails dig into the fabric, clutching at it like it might somehow anchor me, keep me from spiraling further into the darkness. What is wrong with me? Why do I keep seeing these horrors? Ghosts, demons, monsters—it's as though they’ve been waiting, creeping at the edges of my vision, only to pounce now that we’ve returned from Pariseth.
A sob hitches in my throat, but before it can escape, I feel the soft, comforting brush of fur against my legs. Ashen. He rubs his smoky back against me, his soft, rhythmic purring like a balm against my fraying nerves. It’s a small comfort, but in this moment, it’s everything.
I tap the bed beside me, inviting him up. He bounds onto the covers with graceful ease, curling into a small ball at my side, his belly exposed in a rare show of vulnerability. I can’t help but smile, my fingers running through the smoky tendrils that drift from his body, scratching him where he likes it most. His purring grows louder, filling the quiet with a sound that soothes the storm inside me. How did Daed know Ashen would wrap himself around my heart in a way that makes everything feel a little less unbearable?
I’m so absorbed in the comforting rhythm of Ashen’s purrs that I barely register Solena’s entrance until she bursts through the door.
“Amara,” she gasps, her eyes wide with worry. “I heard you were hurt?”
Her gaze drops to my hand, and I follow her eyes to the blood trailing down my arm, staining the bed covers. I had completely forgotten.
She hurries to my side, her hands deft as they clamp around my wrist to inspect the wound. I wince as she applies pressure, the sharp sting dragging me back to the present.
“Again?” she mutters, incredulous. “How does this keep happening?”
I don’t answer. My focus drifts to Ashen’s purrs, still steady beneath my touch, as if nothing in the world could disturb him. Solena works quickly, wrapping my hand in fresh bandages, though each movement sends a jolt of pain up my arm, awakening me from the haze of last night.
“Pain,” I murmur, the word slipping from my lips, unbidden. “ Awaken .”
Solena pauses, her brow furrowing. “What was that?”
“Only pain can awaken me,” I repeat, stroking Ashen with a calmness that feels at odds with the frenzy inside me.
Solena mutters something under her breath, likely cursing my rambling nonsense, but I’m not paying attention. Instead, I sit up, watching as Ashen leaps from the bed, his smoky form disappearing into the room’s shadows. My thoughts shift, focusing on something she mentioned at the banquet.
“You spoke of those Fae at the banquet,” I say, my voice distant as I recall the details. “You said they use magic to change their appearance.”
Solena hesitates, still working on my hand, but now more attentive. “Yes. Some High Fae have the power to glamor.”
“And what would something glamored look like to someone on the outside?”
She exhales, clearly exasperated. “It would look completely normal, Amara. That’s the point of a glamor. It’s meant to disguise. What good would it do if you could tell it was glamored?”
“But,” I press, my voice low, “what if someone could see through it?”
Her hands still, her expression shifting from mild irritation to something more serious, more guarded. “If you could see through a glamor,” she says slowly, almost as if testing the thought, “that would mean you are awakened.” There’s a long pause before she adds, her voice just above a whisper, “But awakened beings are very…rare.”
We lock eyes, the weight of my words hanging between us like a fragile thread. I gulp, feeling the tension coil tighter. “There’s a shimmer,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “It surrounds them, like a veil. I’ve seen it almost every day since coming to Baev’kalath—on people, and on things.”
“Things?” Solena echoes, her voice hesitant, almost fearful of where this conversation is headed.
I nod, leaning closer to her, my heart pounding in my chest as though the very walls could be listening. “Stairs that don’t belong. That lead to rooms that shouldn’t exist.”
“And people?” Solena’s voice drops lower, barely audible now, a whisper carried on the air.
“Lanneth,” I murmur, my breath catching in my throat. “The Archdruid... and when I saw the Father Below—” I correct myself quickly, my voice faltering, “Gygarth… it was after the wedding, when my hand was cut.” My eyes drop to my hand, now bandaged and bound. “When it healed, the shimmer was gone. But I think... I think the wounds open my eyes to it. Is that even possible?”
Solena’s expression softens, a deep sadness crossing her features. She reaches out, her fingers gently curling over mine, offering comfort I wasn’t expecting. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice heavy with empathy. “But what a terrible burden for you to bear.”
“There’s something happening to me,” I say, my voice trembling as the fear tightens in my chest. The words feel too big, too real now that they’re out. “I’m afraid... everything I’ve tried to convince myself was just in my mind might actually be real. I need to speak with Daed.”
Solena’s expression softens, her understanding immediate and wordless. “Do you know when he’ll return?” she asks gently.
“He said two days,” I whisper, my mind spinning. “He should be back tonight.”
Solena offers a small, reassuring smile. “In the meantime, you need rest. Let me make you some tea.”
I nod, but only because I don’t know what else to do. My thoughts are such a tangled mess that I can’t separate one fear from another, each one screaming for attention in the chaos of my mind. Maybe if I lie down, I’ll find some clarity, or at least a moment of peace.
When Solena returns with the tea, I take a tentative sip. Its warmth seeps through me, but it barely scratches the surface of the conflict raging inside. My body, worn down by exhaustion and the weight of everything, gives in, sinking into the bed. Solena’s gentle hand strokes my hair, each pass soft and soothing, like a distant lullaby. My eyes close, though sleep doesn’t claim me. My mind is too frantic, tangled in fears and unanswered questions. But for a brief moment, the tension eases, the relentless ache softening as her touch grounds me, and the shadows seem a little less sharp.
That is, until night falls and the unmistakable sound of wings slicing through the air jolts me from my rest. My heart quickens, every nerve alive, pulling me toward the window before I even realize I’m moving.