Chapter 17
Amara
If the Golden Son is right, if the Ithranor truly intend to spill my blood, every last drop, to tear open the portal to their home, then this cage, this cavern, will be the last thing I ever see.
I have proven myself, done as they asked, played the obedient fool. And now I wait. A lamb fattened for slaughter. Even my meals have doubled. Perhaps the only mercy they will grant me. A feast for my final days.
I sink into the cushions of my cage, Ashen curled against me, his smoke-thin body rising and falling with each shallow breath.
The tests may have ended, but Anethesis still comes, as he always does, at the same hour each evening. When the trays are cleared, when the silence is thick enough to suffocate. He makes me recite words whose meanings are lost to me, spoken in a tongue far older than the little Fae I know.
Véthari lios an’thera. Véthari lios an’thera. Véthari lios an’thera.
Over and over, I recite the words. Anethesis insists I must know them as intimately as my own name, that they are not merely spoken but felt, carved into the marrow of my bones.
I submit. Committing to memory the last words I will ever speak. It twists my stomach to see how pleased he is by my obedience. Every time he tells me what a good job I’m doing, I imagine tearing apart what’s left of his face.
But I can’t let him see the truth. He must believe I’m just another pawn. An unwitting slave to his ambition. It’s the only way out. The only way to save my family.
When I am not practicing the words, when it’s just me and Ashen, alone in the hush of the cave, I hear him. The Golden Son.
His screams echo from somewhere deep within Driftspire. His torment too constant, too cruel, to be anything but entertainment for whoever holds the reins.
And yet, I cannot bring myself to feel only rage towards him. Not anymore.
I tell myself we are nothing alike, no matter how often he insists otherwise. But it clings to me, that truth hidden in his words. Buried like a splinter I can’t quite dig out.
There’s been a shift.
Not a softening. Not exactly. But the jagged edges of my hate have dulled, worn down by proximity, by shared pain, by something I don’t want to name.
Hatred is clean. Simple. It lives in black and white.
But this, this strange, uneasy tether between us, is a space streaked with gray.
The Fae who set fire to my world burned his too.
I’ve seen the flicker in his eyes, in the way he speaks of what he’s lost. And whether I like it or not, he has shown me slivers of kindness, shards of something like respect.
As much as someone like him can give, and every time his broken cries find me in the dark, I remember I am the reason he screams.
He found me here. Broke the rules of his allies. He gave me truths when no one else would.
So when I finally figure out how to escape this wretched prison of rock and wind and silence, I wonder if I’ll owe him his freedom too.
In our cage, I run my fingers through Ashen’s fading form. His drifting smoke reminds me of another who exists in that gray space. Daedalus.
I should only think of holding him again, but part of me aches with the question: Why hasn’t Daedalus come for me?
I try not to dwell. The world beyond the Sundered Kingdoms is vast, and I am not easily found. My prison lies high in the clouds. Even so, doubt creeps in.
Then, suddenly, a sharp kick lurches me forward. Another follows, stronger.
Even Ashen flinches as my belly twists, the life inside me not just stirring, but commanding. I feel it in my bones, in my soul. A demand, not a plea.
Do not give in to despair.
I press a hand to my stomach, fingers splayed over taut skin, a living reminder of all I’ve fought for.
All I’ve survived.
No, Amara. Guardian of the Grove. Jewel of the Tenders.
You did not endure all of this just to be broken by doubt now.
Not when there is still so much to live for.
Far too much to lose.
A flicker of movement at the cavern’s entrance snaps me from my thoughts. My gaze locks on the approaching figure, the shadows barely stirring as Anethesis glides forward.
It must be time.
Time to recite those damned words, again and again, until my throat burns dry and my spirit splinters beneath the weight of them.
As always, he keeps his distance. Never straying too close to the cage.
Does he still fear my fire? The green flames that marked him seared into his memory as much as his skin?
He does not need to worry. I remember nothing. I don’t know how I did it, don’t know if I could do it again, even if I tried.
And yet, for the first time, he dares to step onto the narrow rock ledge circling the lake beneath me.
“Good evening, princess,” he says, dipping his chin in that way of his, always just a sliver of respect, never more. “How was your dinner?”
“Fine,” I bite out.
“That is good to hear. I have instructed the cooks to…”
“Véthari lios an’thera.” I cut him off.
He steeples his fingers, nodding once. “Véthari lios an’thera.”
And so it begins. The same rehearsed ritual. The same exchange, repeated until the words feel like nothing. Until I feel like nothing.
Then, Ashen hisses, his back arching, smoke flickering like firelight along his spine. Anethesis halts mid-step, watching him with thinly veiled disdain.
“What is wrong with… it?”
“With Ashen?” I reply coolly, running a hand down his twitching back. “I imagine he’s had enough. Of bargains. Of lies. Of this cage.”
Anethesis’s lip curls. “Has he now?”
I nod, letting silence bloom between us before I finally speak. “He yearns to be free. To fly. To feed on flesh, down to the bone.”
Anethesis’ throat bobs with a swallow. “How colorful. Unfortunately for your pet, the collar around his neck makes such appetites… impossible.”
I lift my chin. “Yes. The collars. They are a problem. Only you can remove them, I assume?”
His gaze narrows. “I crafted the enchantment. Naturally, only I can undo it.” A beat. “Your questions concern me, Princess. I hope you’re not planning anything foolish. Not after we’ve come to… trust each other.”
A laugh nearly escapes me, but I swallow it whole.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say with a smile too soft to be sincere. “But what if there were another accident? What if I summoned the green fire again?”
His hand twitches toward his face, fingers hovering near the jagged ridges of his scars.
“You’d have to remove the collar, wouldn’t you?” I press. “Or risk me turning this place to ash. Including myself.”
Anethesis frowns, suspicion clouding his expression. “It’s true. I cannot allow you to come to harm. However, we’ve learned, haven’t we? You have no catalyst. No one to heal. No one to channel your gifts through. Even your beast is more smoke than flesh now.”
“That may be,” I murmur, watching Ashen’s dark form ripple, his body slowly expanding. Tendrils of living shadow coil around my fingers. “There’s not enough left of him to heal, but there is far more to me than you understand.”
Ashen bares his teeth, the air crackling as he grows. His bellowing snarl cuts through the cavern. I trail a finger along his jaw, then press my wrist to his fang.
A slice of agony. A bloom of blood.
Anethesis takes a startled step forward as crimson drips to the floor.
I breathe through the sting, head lifted.
“Pain,” I whisper, feeling it surge inside me, hot, untamed. “Pain is my true gift.”
Green light crackles through me, threading like vines beneath the surface, glowing through my veins. My body shudders, spine bowing, as the cut on my wrist seals with a hiss. My magic has always been tied to healing, to life, but now, it’s different. Wilder. Hungrier.
And the collar feels it.
The metal tightens like a noose, a searing ring of fire at my throat. I gasp, clutching at it as it burns, branding me from the inside out. Magic clashes with restraint, power with prison and I am the battlefield.
But I do not stop.
I will not be broken.
Anethesis stumbles back, eyes wide with horror as the green glow bleeds from my pores.
I hear the fear in his voice now. I see it plain.
“Stop!” he shouts, voice cracking. “You’ll kill yourself. You’ll destroy everything!”
Good.
Let it burn. Let it all turn to ash.
“Please!” he pleads, stepping forward, hands raised. “You don’t understand… if the collar stays on and your power keeps rising…”
“I know exactly what happens,” I snarl, power surging again, but I can’t ignore how different it feels.
I glance down and my skin is no longer just aglow with emerald. It pulses with shadow too. A marriage of verdant light and oily black, not smoke, not vines, but something new. Something more.
The collar lashes back violently, its enchantment tightening with a cruel, serpentine strength. My vision blurs. My knees buckle. Ashen snarls. The pain is blinding now, stars bursting behind my eyes.
Still, I do not yield.
Because I know Anethesis’ fatal flaw. He cannot watch me die. I am the linchpin of his plan. The key to power. His precious trophy. He cannot bear losing me.
So I scream, daring him to look away. Daring him to let me burn.
And just when I think he will, just when I think he’ll let me perish, a husk of power and blood and flame, the door swings open.
The heat blasts outward as Anethesis stumbles through, shielding his face, his long robes catching the shimmer of magic in the air and with a trembling hand, he grabs the collar, fingers curling around it, mouth twisted in disgust, and yanks it free.
The moment it’s gone, the world shatters.
My magic explodes outward. Green and black fire licking the walls, wrapping around my limbs, spilling from my chest like a storm. My scream rips through the cavern, fury and freedom and grief all in one violent crescendo.
And I rise.
No longer just a princess. No longer just a prisoner.
But something else.
Something born of pain and shadow. Of healing and destruction. Of fire and bloom.
Anethesis stumbles back, teeth bared in a grimace.