Chapter 16
Amara
There are no dreams.
Only falling.
A slow descent into darkness, weightless yet drowning in silence. Cold presses against my skin until something warm and rough drags across my cheek.
My lashes flutter, awareness drifting back to me in pieces. The damp chill in the air. The faint lap of water against stone. And something beside me.
A shadowed form shifts, smoke given flesh.
Ashen.
He hovers just above me in his kitten shape, his body unfurling and curling like mist caught in a breeze. His ivory-bright eyes watch me before he gives another slow swipe of his tongue across my cheek.
I manage a smile. My fingers lift weakly, threading through the drifting strands of his fur, warm despite its insubstantial, smoky form. He leans into the touch, his ever-shifting body curving around my hand, as though relieved to find me whole.
Slowly, the world stitches itself back together. Sound, breath, thought. My mind sharpens, pulling itself from the fog. And then I realize. If Ashen is here… where am I?
My gaze drifts to the bars encasing us, to the dim, flickering gloom of the cave beyond.
I bolt upright, the last remnants of sleep vanishing in an instant. My hands fly to the bars, gripping them, shoving against them. But the moment I do, I feel the snap of my chain, dragging me to the center of the cage with such force I nearly fall.
Ashen growls at my side, the sound low and rumbling. His body expands, shadows rippling over muscle and sinew as he grows. He presses against my legs, anchoring me as the truth crashes in.
We’re in his cage suspended above the lake. The cavern swallows the sound of my breath as confusion claws up my throat.
Then I hear something, see something in the shadows, and my gaze darts beyond the bars, straining to see past the thick shroud of darkness.
“Who’s there!” I demand.
A figure steps forward, emerging from the gloom.
“Calm yourself, Princess.”
I know that voice.
But there’s a rasp to it now, twisted and raw, so unfamiliar it makes me doubt myself.
Then he lifts his head toward the dim light, and the air rushes from my lungs.
For a moment, I’m certain it’s a trick of the dark. A mirage conjured by exhaustion and shadows. But then I see his eyes… one of them. The same eye I’ve stared into day after day, the eye of my warden.
There’s no mistaking him.
“Anethesis,” I breathe, the name scraping from my throat like gravel, half disbelief, half fury.
His once-flawless face is unrecognizable now.
A grotesque canvas of scorched flesh and twisted sinew, like wax left too close to flame.
One eye is fused shut, a warped ridge of scar where it used to be.
The other, untouched, unchanged, glints in the dark like a shard of jade.
His golden hair, once long and regal, is gone.
Only uneven stubble remains, clinging to the wreckage of what he was.
I choke on a gasp, horror rising in my throat. My stomach lurches, a sick twist of revulsion and shock.
“What…” My voice falters. “What happened to you?”
“You did, Princess.” His voice is quiet. “This is your work.”
I shake my head, my breath coming hard and fast. “No. That’s not true. I would never.”
“Oh, but you did, and if not for my misfortune…” he gestures vaguely to the melted ruin of his skin, the drooping curve of his mouth, the eye sealed shut by scar tissue. “I must admit, it was… wondrous.”
I refuse to believe it. Refuse to let his words take root. That I could have done this.
“How?” My voice is sharp. “I’m shackled. You made sure of that.”
He exhales heavily, the sound wet, tinged with a drool he can no longer control. “Ah, well. I am too kindhearted for my own good.” His lips pull into something resembling a smile, but it only makes him look more hideous. “I feared for your safety, princess. So I removed your collar.”
A cold rush of dread slices through me.
His voice dips lower. “That mistake cost a dozen Ithranor Fae their lives. Burnt to a crisp in a blaze of green fire.” His good eye gleams. “Fire you conjured.”
“You’re lying.” The words scrape from my throat, barely more than a whisper. “Another trick.”
He laughs, but the sound is wrong. Strangled. Almost painful. “Then it is a trick I’ve played on both of us. Believe what you will, princess, but know this. I hold you no ill will.” His gaze drifts over the bars. “All you have done is prove exactly what we hoped. You are the power we need.”
I wrap my arms around myself, resisting the icy fingers of his words.
“But such power must be contained,” he continues, tone almost… regretful. “So we’ve had to increase our precautions. I’m sure you understand.”
The question on my tongue is desperate for escape.
“Where is the Golden Son?”
Anethesis studies me curiously. “Do not worry yourself about Ronin. We will not allow him to hurt you again.”
“Hurt me?” I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You and your tests are what slashed me to pieces. What nearly killed me. Not Ro…” I catch myself, my pulse hammering. “The Golden Son.”
He inclines his head as if acknowledging his own guilt. “You are right. The last test was… intense.”
I let out a bitter breath. “And what if I hadn’t survived?”
He smiles, and the sight of it curdles my stomach.
“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he says lightly, “and we wouldn’t be one step closer to returning home.” He clears his throat and slurps. “Just one test left.”
I jerk at another surge of disbelief. “No.” My voice cracks with defiance. “What makes you think I will do anything more to help you after what happened last time?”
Anethesis doesn’t flinch. His expression is as cold and calculated as ever.
“Because I still possess what you desire most.” His words are dripping with cruel confidence.
“Your freedom. Even with your power. Even after you incinerated my dear brothers and sisters of House Ithranor. You are still trapped in Driftspire, locked in a cage with a collar around your neck. And that is where your child will be born if you do not finish what we have started.”
A torrent of rage builds within me, a chorus of curses and venomous hate burning on the tip of my tongue, desperate to be unleashed.
I loathe him. I loathe everything about him.
But more than that, I hate that he’s right.
He has power over me. He wields my child like a weapon, using my very flesh against me.
The truth is merciless, and it digs deep into the wound of my pride.
I don’t doubt his threat. I don’t doubt the lengths he will go to for the one thing he desires most. Who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t do whatever it took for what they love?
One last test. One more, and then we will be free. Ashen. Me. My hand brushes over my stomach, where my child stirs. Our child.
My chin dips in silent submission, and the soft, almost satisfied sigh from Anethesis grates on my nerves. At least, I think bitterly, I’m wearing him thin.
“The trial of portals,” he says, his voice cold as ice.
He crosses his arms, his hands beginning a mystic dance in the air. A surge of magic rips through the air around me, and suddenly the breath is torn from my lungs as the cage that held me vanishes, dismantling into thin air. I’m left suspended over the lake, floating in nothing.
I twist, searching for Ashen, but he’s gone.
I know what this is. Another illusion. Another one of his cruel tricks. Like all the tests before.
The world shifts beneath me without warning. One moment, I am suspended in the air, and the next, the surface of the lake rushes toward me. But when I land, there is no splash, no soft embrace of water. Only the unforgiving impact of solid earth.
I glance around, my heart pounding, then, without warning, several closed doors appear out of the blackness like apparitions.
The stillness of this place is unnerving, and a sense of urgency pulses through me. If this is anything like the previous test, I know that I cannot stand still for long. Not without deadly consequences.
I move toward the first door cautiously, every step a whisper against the hard ground.
My hand hovers above the handle. The moment my fingers close around it, pain lances through my body.
It’s not physical, not exactly, but it feels as though my very soul is being pulled from my body.
I gasp, releasing the handle instantly, but the sensation lingers, scorching through my chest, crawling up my spine.
I bite back the scream rising in my throat.
My hands have never been the instruments in these trials. It has always been my mind, the sharp edge of thought, not the blunt force of touch. The realization strikes, swift and brutal. These doors were never meant to be opened with hands.
My eyes snap back to the door in front of me. I concentrate, forcing my mind to focus, to hone in on the task that stands between me and freedom. The words are unspoken, but my thoughts are clear. Open. I picture the door swinging wide, my will the force that moves it.
The moment I do, the air changes, power surges through me and the door flies open with a deafening crack, the sound of splintering wood echoing in the hollow dark.
The darkness that had been closing in on me halts, frozen for a heartbeat, and then, with a violent burst, the other doors explode into silver dust, swirling away into nothing.
I stand motionless at the threshold, the open doorway yawning like a wound in the world.
Something inside calls to me, whispering dark promises with every breath of stale air.
My chest tightens as I take a cautious step forward, gaze locked on the abyss beyond.
The air ripples with malevolence, pressing against my skin.
Then, without warning, a hand of pure shadow lunges from the darkness, its fingers slick and inky, curling around my throat.
I choke, scratching at the thing as it tightens, twisting until my breath is no longer mine to take.