Chapter 29
Amara
Though lightning still flickers in the clouds, and thunder murmurs faintly across the horizon, the worst of the storm has passed. The sea lies eerily still, black and gleaming. It feels as though the ship is gliding silently across the surface of a mirror, slipping toward Baev’kalath.
The gentle lapping of water against the hull stirs me. My eyes flutter open just as Daedalus shifts behind me. His arm tightens instinctively around my waist, pulling me against the warmth of his chest.
His lips find the back of my neck, and he exhales a slow, sleepy groan.
“Go back to sleep, wife,” he mutters at my ear, his voice gravelled with drowsy satisfaction. “There is no force in all the Sundered Kingdoms that will drag you from this bed.”
“Not even your crown?” I murmur, smiling faintly. “We must be close now.”
He groans again, louder this time, and buries his face in my hair. “Has time moved so quickly?”
“I hear that happens when you're happy,” I whisper, stroking the forearm draped over me. He responds by curling tighter around me, his legs tangling with mine.
A soft chuckle stirs against my skin. He presses another kiss to my shoulder, reverent and lingering.
“Let me enjoy this peace just a little longer,” he murmurs, “before I’m dragged back to blood and steel.”
“Does it have to be that way?” I ask, voice barely above a breath.
He goes quiet for a beat, and I know the answer before he gives it.
“You know it does, my love. Some things are worth the fight. A kingdom for my wife and child is worth everything.”
“We don’t need a kingdom,” I say gently. “We have each other. We could return to the Grove. Let the world tear itself apart if it wants to.”
His silence is heavier this time. It stretches between us like a chasm, and I feel the truth settle like a stone in my chest. I am a creature of peace and earth. He is made for battle and fire.
I feel him shift behind me. The warmth of his arm slips away, and the bed creaks as he swings his legs over the edge and sits up. His back is to me. The silence says more than any words could.
He stretches, his joints cracking, a groan slipping from him that’s just loud enough to disturb the bundle resting nearby.
He winces. “I’m sorry, my sweetheart,” he says as he leans over the cradle. “Your father is a clumsy oaf unworthy of something so perfect.”
I turn onto my back and watch him gently stroke our daughter’s cheek, the look on his face softening into something fragile.
“She’s probably hungry,” I say, voice quiet in the stillness.
He glances at me. “Want me to change her first?”
I shake my head. “No. You should get dressed. Go above deck. The others will be waiting.”
He turns his head, gaze heavy with quiet certainty. “I’ll keep you safe here, wife. Lady Ilyra has guarded Baev’kalath well. There is nothing to fear.”
“I know,” I reply, and though I nod, the smile that touches my lips feels paper-thin and unconvincing, even to myself. A lie dressed in softness, spoken only to reassure the man I love.
Daedalus rises, stretching to his full, towering height, the muscles in his back flexing before he reaches for the dark folds of his clothing.
I trace his runes with my gaze and notice the red scars just above his shoulder blades where his wings once were, but he pulls on his shirt before I can linger.
Before stepping out, he casts one final look over his shoulder.
The smile he gives me nearly breaks me. Then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
I cradle our daughter to my chest, her small body warm and familiar against my skin as she latches, her soft suckling the only sound in the dim cabin. Her tiny fingers curl instinctively around mine, holding me as if she senses the storm I try so hard to hide.
Time has moved too quickly. Her silver eyes, once cloudy and uncertain, are now bright and aware, watching everything. Her hair has grown longer, curling at the ends. Even the points at the tips of her ears seem sharper.
My poor daughter. She has already survived more than most children will ever have to, and she doesn’t even understand what she has endured. She doesn't yet feel the looming dread and I fear... I fear the worst is still to come.
Daed believes Baev’kalath is safe. That within those impenetrable walls, with their ancient towers and old magic, no harm can touch us. But Baev’kalath has never been safe. Not for me. Not for his mother or sister. So how can it be for the child in my arms?
I long for the Grove. For the hush of wind through the branches, for the songs that echo through the trees like lullabies. I yearn to hide her there, deep within the embrace of the forest, beneath the protection of the Souls. She would be safe there. We all would.
But Daedalus will never agree. He cannot sever his crown from his soul, and though I once thought I could live beside that duty, now I wonder if I am strong enough to stay.
As my daughter feeds, my hand drifts to my throat, fingers brushing the two crescent wounds still raw on my skin. His bite lingers, bruised and burning. A mark of more than passion. More than marriage. The bond we sealed was deeper than blood, deeper than any vow whispered beneath stars.
I am his. He is mine. That is the truth of it.
But never did I think loving him would mean having to choose.
Between him... and everything else I hold dear.
Because never did I believe that the journey which began in chains would lead me here.
That I would board that ship as a prisoner and find myself falling for the Fae male I was forced to marry.
That the one I once resented, feared, would become the one I crave with every breath.
That I would bear his child. That he would become my mate, my other half, written into my soul with blood.
Once, I would have fled him without hesitation.
But now… now the thought of running feels like the unraveling of everything I’ve built. Of everything we are. Of my family.
And it would destroy me.
My daughter dozes off, her lips still parted in sleep as I gently ease her back into the crib. I move quietly while Ashen stirs at the foot of the bed but does not rise. I dress in silence, brushing out my hair and weaving it into a loose braid that drapes over my shoulder.
Only when I’m fully clothed do I pause, drawing in a long, steadying breath.
Then I step out, leaving behind the warmth, the quiet, the safety, and climb above deck.
The air bites colder here. Through the misted light and slivers of cloud veiling the morning sun, I see it.
Baev’kalath.
Spires clawing toward the slate sky. A fortress of black stone and nightmares.
We have arrived.
I join Daedalus at the helm, flanked by his brethren. The silence between them is thick enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms as they stare out at the black rock ahead.
“It’s quiet,” Orios mutters, narrowing his eyes at the courtyard that should be crawling with Blades of the Ebon Flight. “Why is there no one to meet us?”
Reon plants one boot on the railing, his brow furrowed. “Something’s wrong.”
I step up behind Daed, slipping my fingers into his. He curls his hand around mine, firm but distracted, gaze locked on Baev’kalath.
“Lady Ilyra sent no warning,” he says.
Zyphoro glances over her shoulder. “What if she didn’t have time to?”
Daed draws in a heavy breath, then exhales just as heavily. When he finally turns to me, there’s tension in his jaw.
“Wife. I need you to go back to the cabin.”
I roll my eyes and yank my hand free. “I’m so tired of being told to go back to the cabin. Must I remind you I’m more than capable of protecting myself? Or shall I demonstrate with green fire? Or perhaps another stormwyrm?”
Zyphoro laughs quietly into her hand. Daed hears it. His frown deepens.
“Fine,” he concedes. “Stay on deck if you must. But we’re going ahead to make sure it’s safe before you and our daughter set foot on that island.”
I part my lips to argue, but he cuts me off with a look.
“I’m not debating this. I know exactly what you are and what you’re capable of. Which is why I’m asking you to use that strength to protect her.”
That lands. That makes sense. Protecting our daughter is the only thing that matters.
“Very well,” I say, quieter now.
Around us, the others release a breath as surprised as relieved.
Daed’s shoulders drop slightly as he takes my hand again, this time with reverence. He lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“As soon as I know it’s safe, I’ll come back for you.”
“With what?” Zyphoro asks, that cruel smile curving across her lips. “Have you forgotten your wing situation? I’m not sure the prince being carried into Baev’kalath is the grandest of entrances.”
Daed doesn’t flinch. He’s already considered it clearly because within a heartbeat, he stretches out his hand.
A coil of smoke unfurls beside him, and Ashen appears, small and soft in his kitten form. He lets out a low mewl and curls around Daed’s leg, his wispy tail flicking through the air like mist.
Daed kneels, fingers gliding through smoke-fur, and whispers something only Ashen can hear.
Ashen’s form ripples.
What was once delicate begins to grow, tiny paws stretch into massive, padded feet.
His sweet, pointed face shifts into that of a great lion, framed by a thick mane of swirling shadow.
His small body expands into something enormous, muscled, powerful.
He arches his back and with a low rumble, wings tear from his shoulders, curling out in an elegant, smoke-woven spread.
When the transformation settles, Daed places a steadying hand on Ashen’s neck. The creature huffs, adjusting to his size.