Chapter 2
The air pressed close, dank and cloying, thick with a scent I couldn’t name. I gasped for breath, the remnants of the Veil vibrated beneath my skin, twisting inside my bones. An echo that hadn’t quite faded.
Mireth’s arms cinched around my waist. Her fingers dug in like she thought the earth might open and take me again.
“Mama!” Her voice trembled with relief as she clung to me, Eryx tucked between us, his tiny fingers fisting my tunic. I buried my face in their hair and inhaled their warmth, their scent.
But a man stood over us.
Instinct roared to life. I moved fast, grabbed my blade from my belt and pushed to my feet. I stood between him and my children.
He towered over us with a stillness that made my skin crawl.
Not loud. Not showy. But the space bent around him.
There was youth in his face, an illusion of his early thirties. But it was not the kind that belonged to mortals. It was timeless. Untouched.
Long ashen hair framed eyes with irises of liquid silver and a face that was almost too perfect, except for the scar, a single brutal line across his cheekbone. As if someone had tried to carve the beauty from him.
And then I saw his wings. Folded neatly behind him, the dim light skimmed the feathers where hints of gold shimmered faintly. Silent and immense, they radiated strength.
His face gave nothing away. His silence gave even less.
I gripped my blade. Everything in me screamed to attack, but he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t struck. Just watched.
His wrist smoked faintly at his side.
I forced my hands steady and levelled my dagger between us. “Stay back.”
“I would worry less about me,” he said, low and smooth, “and more about what lurks in these woods, human.”
The smirk that followed made my dagger feel like a twig in a hurricane. “I have no interest in killing you.”
I let out a bitter laugh, my pulse pounding. “You expect me to believe that?”
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you in the Veil.”
Mireth slipped past me, her steps cautious but unafraid.
“Are you… a hero?” Her eyes shone as she stared up at him. “Like Fenric the Fierce?” She named the hero from tales I’d read them a hundred times, a mythical warrior with wings and strength beyond mortal limits.
The fae’s glare cut toward Mireth, his gaze sharpening as he saw the bloody scrapes on her legs, the dirt smudging her cheeks. His expression darkened, and he looked at me with an accusatory glint, as though her wounds were proof of some cruelty by my hand.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Mireth was faster.
“My mama saved us,” she said, pointing back to the Veil. “She’s a hero too. We ran from monsters. She got us here safe.” Then, leaning towards him, her voice dropped to a hopeful whisper, “Are you Fenric the Fierce?”
A soft snort escaped Eryx, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes. He grinned and pointed at the imposing fae. “Den… ric,” he babbled, beaming, face filled with admiration.
The fae blinked. His wings twitched faintly as he shifted his weight and muttered under his breath. A hint of exasperation crossed his features.
He turned his attention back to me.
“You crossed into my lands.” His head tilted. “You will not last alone.” A pause, deliberate. “Come with me. Or take your chances in the wilds.”
I didn’t answer.
Mireth nestled back against my side as she clutched my tunic. Eryx whimpered. A hollowness opened under my ribs. We wouldn’t survive the night alone.
I lowered the dagger slightly. Not surrender. Just acknowledgement.
“Fine,” I forced out. “And if you try anything—”
A dry chuckle rumbled from him. “I’m already trembling.”
And without another word, he turned.
I adjusted Eryx on my hip, ready to trudge after him, but I hadn’t taken a step when Mireth’s small arms reached up. I parted my lips to tell her she needed to walk.
The fae looked down at Mireth.
He stepped closer and leaned down, scooping her up effortlessly.
My heart stalled. My mind screamed, move, grab her, don’t let go. But my legs locked, paralysed by her laughter. And then she was settled on his shoulders.
He didn’t flinch, though his jaw clenched as she tugged on his hair. He muttered again, a prayer or a curse, I couldn’t tell.
He didn’t try to set her down. That terrified me more than anything.
I should have ripped her from his arms. Screamed. Fought.
But I didn’t. Because in that moment, with Eryx heavy in my arms and my body hollowed by fear and fatigue, I let it happen.
Not because I trusted him. But because I couldn’t carry them both anymore. Because I needed five damn seconds to breathe.
Eryx giggled, delighted, and clapped his hands at the sight of Mireth atop the fae’s shoulders.
For a moment, it wasn’t a fae warrior carrying Mireth.
It was my husband. Navaire. The pair of them laughing as Mireth rode high on his shoulders, her fingers tangled in his hair.
Sunlight spilling through trees, gilding them both in gold.
“Careful now, little bird,” he’d say, his laughter filling the air.
“You’ll steer me straight into the river. ”
When I looked up, the fae’s eyes were on me, almost wary, as if he’d stepped too close to something delicate and didn’t know how to hold it. But as quickly as it had come, his features steeled. He turned and headed deeper into the forest, his wings partially unfurled as he moved.
I adjusted my hold on Eryx and pressed a kiss to his hair. Then I followed the dark figure ahead, deeper into the wild heart of Aethermire.
He led without looking back, his stride cutting clean through the underbrush. Mireth, perched on his shoulder, peppered him with questions, her delicate voice bright in the forest’s quiet.
“Did you really save a village from a giant?” she asked.
His answers were clipped. A grunt. A nod. A word.
Mireth, undeterred, only pushed harder. Her tone turned solemn. “There was this one time when Fenric helped his best friend stop wetting the bed,” she said.
I stifled a laugh as I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, expecting annoyance. His expression didn’t change, not outright. But his wings betrayed him with a twitch, and a faint exhale—dangerously close to a sigh—escaped him.
The absurdity of it all made my chest ache with the irrational urge to laugh.
As we walked, I studied him. The make of his clothing was both elegant and practical, a dark jacket adorned with intricate gold accents, functional yet finely crafted.
One insignia caught the light: a golden shield marked by an eye, flanked by a griffin and a stag crowned in starlight.
Above it, a single opal shimmered, holding light itself.
No one who wore that kind of craftsmanship had ever knelt in mud or prayed for another mouthful of bread.
In the distance, something sang.
A melody woven into the air itself. It lingered on the cusp of hearing, threading through the trees, a whisper that never quite faded.
I turned, searching for its source, but it came from everywhere.
A pulse of unease ran through me, but I swallowed it down, turning my attention to the more immediate strangeness.
It wore the shape of a forest, but that was a lie.
Towering trees stretched into an impossibly high canopy, their bark a deep, cool grey, yet every few seconds, they shimmered beneath the surface, molten silver weaving in their veins before disappearing.
The wind should have rustled their leaves, but instead, they moved in unison, their branches shifting with a slow, deliberate motion.
The ground was uneven beneath me, thick with moss that carried an emerald glow. Tiny flecks of light embedded in the undergrowth flared beneath my steps before dimming again.
It smelled of earth after rain, crisp and rich. Another scent flowed beneath it. Sweet. Floral. Metallic. A smell that belonged nowhere I had ever known.
Eryx’s head had dropped against my shoulder. His breathing was slow and even, the fragile weight of him pressing warm against my chest. I adjusted my grip slightly, careful not to wake him, and brushed a curl from his temple.
“He sleeps deeply,” the fae said without looking back.
I glanced up, startled that he’d noticed. “He’s exhausted.”
“Still,” he replied, “the forest doesn’t usually allow such rest.”
Mireth nodded solemnly from his shoulder, matter of fact in that way only children had, so young they didn’t yet understand the weight of what they said.
“He always does that. The monsters came to our uncle’s house.
Mama made us hide under the bed. I thought Eryx was pretending at first. But nope. He just snored through it.”
The fae’s stride didn’t falter, but I felt the change in the air.
“I didn’t even cry,” Mireth added, head held high. “Not until after.”
I swallowed hard and adjusted Eryx’s weight, searching for steadiness in the familiar motion. The silence that followed stretched a little too long, a little too thin.
I looked to the fae’s back. He didn’t respond to her, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed.
Mireth leaned down toward him, voice hushed. “Do you think he’s dreaming?”
“If he is,” the fae said quietly, “let it be of something kinder than where he’s been.”
My mouth opened, then closed. No words came.
I just kept walking.
Eventually, the forest thinned. The trees broke. The world opened.
A city loomed, carved from bone and mist. Towering structures gleamed pale against slow-curling fog, their surfaces smooth and untouched. Figures drifted through the haze, their conversations hushed to murmurs I couldn’t quite catch. As though they knew the city listened.
Statues lined the path, their arms outstretched, faces blank where features should’ve been.
Beneath my exhaustion, beneath the fear I refused to let show, part of me bristled at the structure of it. At the way the city wrapped around itself so neatly, so completely, a web woven too perfectly to be natural.
I exhaled slowly, willing my body to move like I belonged here. Every step was lying to the ground beneath me.
My eyes drifted back to the man, the way the other fae watched him.
No greetings.
Yet as we passed, they moved. They cleared his path without a glance.
Even as we walked through a marketplace, where trade should have kept them busy, they paused. A young fae woman near a forge turned as he passed. She did not bow, but her head dipped. A motion worn into her existence, done a thousand times before.
I swallowed hard.
He was someone.
My heart thudded as the looming structure at the heart of the city came into view. The castle, if it could be called that, emerged from the mist. A monolith, its spires reaching toward the sky in impossible, seamless lines.
This place didn’t welcome. It ruled.
The gate creaked open and a figure in polished armour stepped forward. His face was taut, movements deliberate.
He inclined his head. “Lord Varyth, you’ve returned.”
I stopped breathing.
Lord.
My fingers clenched around my blade as dread rose through me.
I had walked my children straight into the hands of a fae lord. A ruler.
Gods help me.
What had I led us into?
And how the hell was I supposed to get us out?