Chapter 31
Amara
Istep onto the deck. The boards slick beneath my feet, the rain a steady curtain that soaks through my cloak within moments.
I pull the hood tighter around my neck, bracing against the wind that slices in from the sea, but it’s no use.
The cold clings to me like a second skin.
Still, I lift my gaze to the cliffs above, to the fortress that waits beyond them, and wonder for the hundredth time how I’m supposed to scale that impossible wall of stone.
I don’t have long to consider.
A shadow moves across the deck.
My heart lurches. I stumble back a step, hand flying up on instinct as green fire sparks to life across my skin.
Then I see him.
Tall. Strong. Beautiful in the way only he could be. My breath catches in my throat.
“Daed?” I whisper.
He takes one slow step toward me. “Yes, Amara. It’s me.”
My chest tightens. I blink hard, the rain stinging my eyes. “You’re back. Does that mean it’s safe?”
He nods. His hand lifts to brush my face, his fingertips skimming my jaw.
“Yes, it’s safe. Come back with me. To the fortress.”
Relief floods my chest, chasing out the icy cold. I don’t think I could have borne one more shock, one more fight. It feels like I haven’t had a single breath since I first set foot in Baev’kalath a lifetime ago. Souls, how everything has changed since then.
Just one stretch of time where we aren’t fighting to survive is a blessing.
Now I only need to explain why my husband’s sworn enemy is the one watching over our daughter.
But that can wait.
I sag into him, burying myself in his warmth. My arms wrap around his waist, fingers curling into him.
It takes him longer than it should to respond.
Slowly, his arms fold around me. His hand slips into my hair.
“There’s nothing to fear anymore,” Daed murmurs against my temple. “I’m here now, my love.”
I press closer and let my eyes fall shut, breathing him in.
Then, a thought slices through the quiet.
My head snaps up, gaze sweeping the deck.
“Where is Ashen?”
A pause.
“Ashen,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the name, like it’s foreign on his tongue.
I pull back just enough to search his face. “Did he come back with you?”
Another pause, and this time the flicker of something wrong behind his eyes. Something... empty.
I step away, inch by inch. His gaze follows, unblinking. Unnervingly calm.
“Where’s Zyphoro? Solena?” I ask, heart thudding now, faster and faster.
“In the castle,” he says. “They’re waiting for us.”
He extends a hand. Rain slides down his fingers like blood. “Come.”
But I don’t move.
I shake my head slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper. I reach inward, past the storm and the fear, past the noise in my head, and search for what should be there.
The threads. The bonds. The shimmer of fate that ties me to him.
I find nothing.
“I don’t see them,” I murmur.
His brow creases. “See what?”
“The threads,” I say, louder now. “The Binds of Fate. I don’t see them between us.”
His jaw tightens.
“Amara,” he says, with a roughness in his voice. “Come to me. Now.”
I stare at him, every inch of him perfect. His eyes, his mouth. The face I have traced with my hands, kissed beneath moonlight. The face I have loved.
But it isn’t him.
There is no glamor. No Fae shimmer. No glittering edge of deception. Just a perfect replica of the male who owns my heart. But my soul does not answer his.
“Who are you?” I breathe. “Where is Daedalus?”
“You are confused,” he says, tone taut with irritation. “But my patience grows thin.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to flinch. “You’re not him. So tell me, who are you? And how do you wear his face?”
Then… thud. Heavy paws slamming onto wet wood draws both our attention toward the helm.
Ashen.
His form prowls from the shadows, smoke made flesh, his white eyes glowing with unholy light.
He snarls, teeth bared, every muscle coiled with threat as he pads closer, the rain slicking his fur, steam rising off him in ghostly curls.
He stops inches from the impostor and sniffs the air. His jaw quivers.
“If I were you,” I growl, “I would answer. I am not the only one who knows you lie.”
Silence fractures the space between us. The male’s silver eyes hold mine until they don’t.
They shift.
A flicker of violet flashes in the depths, and I suck in a breath, stumbling a step back.
Then he lunges.
His hand snatches my wrist with bruising force, the other slamming around my throat. I cry out, thrashing, but he’s strong. Stronger than me. The cabin door slams into my back with a crack. I don’t know if it’s the wood or me that splinters.
Stars burst behind my eyes. My vision dims. His breath is hot against my face, and in my panic, my power awakens. A swell of heat surges from my chest, and a bright burst of green fire explodes between us.
He screams as the flames lash his face, searing flesh and hair. He stumbles back with a howl, dropping to one knee, hands clawing at his scorched skin.
And then, right before my eyes, he changes.
Dark hair recedes into a shorn, rune-marked scalp. Silver eyes ignite violet. Leathers ripple, becoming furs. My husband is gone. In his place stands a Fae female, and I recognize her. One of the Lady Twins of Jor’Thalas, but I do not know whether it is Vashar or Vasheeth.
She lets out a shriek, high and furious, her face half-melted, skin peeled back in angry welts.
“Look what you’ve done!” she screeches.
No shimmer is visible. No glamor needed.
The Fae of Jor’Thalas are shapeshifters.
“Where is Daed?” I hiss, flames dancing in my palm.
The twin staggers upright, blood slicking her jaw. Her hand peels away from her cheek. Skin comes with it.
“You will return with me to the castle,” she rasps. “Modok commands it.”
I raise my hand, fire flaring brighter. “Take another step,” I warn, “and I will reduce you to ash scattered to the winds.”
She stills.
The rain falls in sheets now, drumming against the deck, washing her blood into the wood.
Then, from the cabin, comes an infant’s wail.
The twin’s eyes narrow, lips parting in curiosity.
“Is that…” she breathes, “a baby?”
I say nothing. But my throat bobs. A single tremble.
She sees it, and she smiles. A cold, wicked thing that exposes a mouth full of sharp, animal teeth.
“My, my,” she croons. “You have been very busy, haven’t you? Oh, Modok will be thrilled.”
Her tongue darts across her teeth.
“He loves human babies.”
Fury surges, blinding and absolute, a fire that ignites in the pit of my stomach and spreads like poison through my veins.
My jaw clenches so tight my teeth grind together, my body trembling, not from sorrow, not from fear, but from the unrelenting, soul-scorching hatred that comes only when someone threatens what you love most.
I lift my hand, fingers trembling with the sheer effort of holding back the inferno I long to unleash. But the twin doesn’t wait. She lunges.
Teeth bared. A snarl tearing from her throat. One arm lifted high as her fingers twist into talons, long, curved. Blades made of bone and malice.
I reach for the fire, my green flames coiling in answer, but I don’t need them.
Ashen moves first.
He hurtles from the helm in a blur of smoke and muscle, slamming into her side with a bone-rattling crash. The impact sends them sprawling across the deck in a whirl of limbs and mist. Her form is swallowed by his shadow, their bodies locked in a brutal tangle.
I step forward, fire dancing at my fingertips, ready to end it. Burn her to cinders. But then…
Smoke surges.
Shapes shift.
And suddenly there are two Ashens.
Identical.
“Ashen!” I cry out.
Both heads whip toward me. Two pairs of white eyes.
But then they crash together again, savage and relentless, rolling across the rain-slick deck. Massive paws striking, claws scraping wood, teeth snapping like bone-cracking thunder. One pins the other, only to be hurled off with a snarl. Then teeth sink deep into flesh.
A roar splits the air.
No blood. Only thick, black tar oozing from the wound, slow and vile, dragging itself along the planks.
My breath catches.
Fae don’t bleed black.
But… does their magic mimic even blood when they shift?
The other Ashen lunges and bites, ripping open a line along the first one’s flank. The same foul tar spills, slick and inky.
No. No, no, this cannot be happening.
My thoughts race, but with every snap of their jaws, every brutal blow, more of Ashen is torn apart and every heartbeat I hesitate, I risk losing him.
I have to choose.
Then the cabin door creaks open.
I spin around, flames ready to devour anything in their path, but it’s Ronin.
He stands in the doorway, my daughter cradled to his chest.
My eyes flash green, the color surging with barely leashed power. “Get back inside,” I growl, and it’s not my voice that answers. It’s something older. Wilder. Unfamiliar even to me.
Ronin startles. His arms tighten around my daughter. “Right,” he chokes, his eyes too wide. He obeys without hesitation, vanishing behind the door as it slams shut with finality.
I turn back to the chaos.
Two Ashens.
Beasts of shadow and smoke, locked in a savage clash. Tufts of that ghost-lit, vaporous fur tear loose and whirl through the air as they maul and rip each other to shreds. Each rake of claw, each brutal bite sends black ichor spattering across the deck. Still, they don’t relent.
They will not stop. Not until one of them falls. Not until one of them is dead.
I have to end this. Now.
But which is he? Which is my Ashen?
I rake my gaze over them, desperate for some mark, some flaw, anything to tell him from the impostor. But it’s like staring at twin reflections, each movement mirrored in perfect, terrible symmetry.
And then I remember.
The tether between us.
The way he hears me even when no sound leaves my mouth, a frequency tuned only to us.
So I reach, not with breath, but with will. With every piece of me that knows him.
Ashen.
Look at me.
And one of them goes still.
His head snaps toward me, those white-hot eyes locking on mine, wild, feral at the edges, but inside… inside they are soft. Gentle. The same trusting glow that has been my anchor through every storm.
It is my Ashen. Fool that I am for not seeing him sooner.
My hand lifts, green fire spilling across my palm, but before I can release it, the impostor lunges. Jaws gape, and then clamp down on Ashen’s throat.
A strangled sound tears from him. Shock. Pain. But what breaks me is the way his eyes flare wide first, that kindness still there, shining through agony. His light pulses once, twice, like a star trying to fight the dark, and then dims.
“No…”
The impostor shakes him, vicious and merciless. Thick black blood spills. I can only stare as his smoke, his soul, unravels in soft curls, thinning, drifting, disappearing like breath into the cold. Until he’s gone.
My chest caves. I clutch at my heart when it hammers so violently I can’t breathe.
“Ashen,” I choke, the name cracking out of me as tears spill hot down my cheeks.
The impostor. The twin, Vashar or Vasheeth, I don’t give a fuck! It turns to me wearing his face. Wearing my Ashen’s face!
I curl my fist. Emerald flame roars, devouring rain, turning it to steam in violent bursts. Magic crashes through me, furious and vengeful, and I loose it with a scream inside my bones.
A whip of green flame lashes out, striking the impostor square in the chest.
The twin screams, high and keening, as the fire engulfs her. The illusion peels away, fur dissolving, smoke vanishing until only her true form remains, writhing in a storm of green flame. She reaches to me through the blaze, begging for mercy, pleading for me to stop!
I make the fire hotter.
The noise she makes loses its horror after a while, so numb to it do I become. Her screams gutter out like dying coals, and then there’s only rain-soaked silence and her blackened husk curled grotesquely on the deck. The stench of charred flesh crawls up my nose.
Then my knees hit the wood.
I fold, shaking, rain and tears blurring everything, thunder swallowing the ugly, broken sound that tears out of me.
I can’t hold him. I can’t touch him one last time.
Can’t drag him into my arms, bury my face in his fur, whisper how sorry I am.
He’s gone and I don’t even get the chance to mourn him properly.
The way he deserves, because the twin came wearing Daed’s face, to take me to the fortress.
Which means Daed walked straight into a trap.
So, I force myself up. My legs buckle. My chest feels like it’s split open, but I move. I have to. If I fall apart now, I lose more than Ashen.
I reach the cabin door, throw it open and then gasp as pain blooms in my abdomen.
I stagger back, blinking down at the hilt of a dinner knife lodged just beneath my ribs. I lift my eyes to Ronin’s face.
“What are you doing?” I stammer, wincing through the ache.
His jaw clenches. “Stabbing you. Obviously.”
With infuriating calm, he withdraws the blade and tosses it onto the table with a dull clink.
“I didn’t know who you were. Had to be ready.” His gaze flicks to the wound. “You can heal that, right?”
I grit my teeth. It’s nothing, barely a flesh wound.
It was only a dull knife after all, but I am in no mood.
I press my hand to my stomach, emerald light flooding under my fingers, sealing flesh in a heartbeat.
I need pain to heal, and there’s enough sorrow burning through me right now to heal an army.
He mumbles something, but I don’t care. I push him aside as my gaze darts to the crib. My daughter reaches up with tiny hands, blinking at me with her father’s eyes.
She’s safe. That knowledge alone is enough to steady me.
“Daed is in danger,” I tell him, breath catching as I swallow my sobs. “I need to go to him. You have to stay here with her.”
Ronin bristles. “When did I become the damned wet nurse? I am a warrior. I command the Legion of Saints.”
“Perhaps in the Sundered Kingdom,” I snap. “But here, in this cabin, you’re just the idiot who stabbed me with cutlery, and right now, I need you to protect my child.”
He doesn’t budge. That scowl stays iron-flat.
I roll my eyes. “You’re the only one who can,” I bite out.
That does it. His face changes immediately, smugness blooming like a weed.
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
Souls. Male pride. So easily stroked, so pathetically delicate. For all their boasts of strength, I’ve never known creatures more desperate to be needed.
“You will take Ashen then?” he asks. “Did my eyes deceive me? There were two of them out there?”
My lips tremble as I struggle to find the words I need, but before I can speak, Ronin yells.
“Behind you!”
It’s too late. I see the reflection first, the blur of motion in his wide, panicked eyes. A shadow moves behind me, and something heavy cracks across the back of my skull.
The world fractures. My legs give out, and the last thing I see is the wooden floor as I fall.