Chapter 31 #2
Varyth nodded, running a hand through his hair. “The Shadow Drask probably wants to see if he can rattle us into giving something away.” The words dripped with loathing, venom curling in every syllable.
I blinked, my mind catching on the title.
I watched Darian and Fenric, searching for some kind of explanation in their reactions. Darian, for once, wasn’t smiling. His face was blank, but the tension in his posture betrayed him. Fenric gave nothing away, his focus solely on Varyth.
No one said a damn thing.
But it was still there. The weight of words, old and deeply carved into the foundation of whatever history lay between Varyth and Nyxaria’s High Lord. I wasn’t naive. I knew war bred hatred, dug grudges as deep as trenches.
I crossed my arms, glancing between each of them. “Shadow Drask? What is that?”
Darian visibly winced. Fenric stared at the ground like it might offer the answer.
Varyth merely waved me off. “Not a story worth telling.”
Which only confirmed that it absolutely was.
But I let it drop. For now. Because as much as I wanted to know, the way Varyth’s fingers curled into his palm told me I wouldn’t be getting answers today.
Fenric interrupted my thoughts. “Regardless of the reason behind their sudden change in attitude,” he said, “the fact remains. Nyxaria has requested a meeting.”
Varyth dragged a hand down his face, the loathing in his features wiped away.
“You should meet with him.” The words spilled out before I could think better of it.
Varyth took a single step towards me. “What?”
I swallowed, but the damage was already done.
So, like an idiot, I kept talking. “It gives you the opportunity to find out what he knows.” My voice didn’t shake. Only because I didn’t let it. “And to show him you aren’t afraid. That the attacks haven’t affected the court.”
Varyth’s expression darkened, but I could see he was considering it, rolling my words around in his mind.
“What are their terms?” Varyth turned to Darian.
“They want a meeting. On neutral ground. Just you and their High Lord.”
“Absolutely not. It’s clearly a trap.”
Fenric didn’t hesitate. “We thought you might say that.” His fingers tapped on his bicep. “Which is why the counteroffer is already in motion. A meeting with a full delegation from both courts, in a location of our choosing.”
“And what location did you have in mind?”
“There’s a secure tower right on the border, one of the old watchtowers. Only one entrance and exit, close enough to a border camp should we need reinforcements.”
As the conversation moved forward, a different feeling settled over me.
One of displacement. This was a real discussion.
A political manoeuvre with actual consequences, and I had spoken without thinking, inserting myself into matters far more complex than I had any business meddling in. I cursed myself for it.
“You’ll be there, Isara.” Varyth pulled my attention back to him.
Not a request. A statement. A demand.
My mind blanked for a second.
“You—” I blinked. “What?”
“At the meeting. I want you there.”
I stared at him, caught completely off guard, my mind desperately trying to catch up. “Why?”
“Because you’re clever.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “And because they won’t be expecting it.”
I didn’t know what stunned me more—the compliment, or the fact that he genuinely meant it.
“Not a bad idea.” Fenric adjusted the cuff of his shirt. “They’ll be expecting us to hide her away. Letting her appear as part of the court might make them hesitate.”
Darian’s brow furrowed. “It’s risky,” he cautioned. “We don’t know how they’ll react to her presence.”
“Exactly,” Varyth said. “That unpredictability is precisely what we need.”
He turned to me. “You’ll be there.” There was no question in his voice, no room for discussion.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. This was far beyond anything I had anticipated when I’d made my impulsive suggestion.
“I… I don’t know anything about diplomacy,” I stammered. A lie. But I was searching for a way out. “Wouldn’t I be in the way?”
“You won’t need to say anything.” The corners of Fenric’s lips twitched. “Your presence alone will be enough to unsettle them.”
“Besides,” Darian chimed in, his eyes focused. “You’ve already shown an aptitude for strategy. Your suggestion to meet with them was sound.”
A flush crept up my neck at the praise, even as anxiety coiled in my stomach.
It was one thing to toss an idea into the air, another to be drawn into it.
Being in the same room with the High Lord of Nyxaria—the Shadow Lord himself—was not an event I had planned on.
A male who had attacked this court without provocation, who sent soldiers to our borders.
A High Lord known for cruelty and darkness.
I met Varyth’s gaze, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation, but found only that same unwavering certainty.
Finally, I relented.
“Very well.” The words came out smooth. They had no right to. “What do you need me to do?”
Varyth’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.
“For now, listen and learn. Fenric will brief you on court etiquette and the finer points of our history with Nyxaria. Darian will help you choose appropriate attire.”
Darian’s face lit up the way it always did when handed a task he could take a little too seriously. “Right then, we need an outfit that screams don’t mess with me but also I’m full of secrets you’ll never uncover.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed.
“Don’t worry,” Darian added, flashing a grin. “I’ll get Eilrys to help. Gods forbid I dress you in anything that isn’t perfect.”
Fenric rolled his eyes, but the faintest ghost of a smirk crossed his face. “We’ll meet in the evenings, after the children have gone to bed. I’ll have my brother join—he might not be chatty, but he’ll have better insights than anyone else.”
I tilted my head, interest piqued. “Your brother?”
“Cindrissian.” Fenric gave a casual nod
For the second time that night, my mind emptied.
“Cindrissian—” I started, cutting off as I tried to understand. “Cindrissian is—he’s your brother?”
Fenric’s lips twitched in amusement. “Indeed. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
I shook my head, trying and failing to process the revelation. In all my conversations with Cindrissian he’d never once mentioned it. “I guess I never thought about it. You two don’t look alike.”
“Different mothers,” Fenric explained with a shrug. “But the same sharp mind. He’ll be invaluable in preparing you for this meeting.”
“Did you grow up together?”
“For a time,” Fenric said, nodding. “Our father raised us both.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d expected.
“Cindrissian was… sent to Nyxaria at thirteen,” Fenric added quietly.
My heart clenched at the thought. At the memory of Cindrissian explaining exactly why that had been done to him.
“Tomorrow evening.” Fenric cut off any chance of further questioning. “My chambers. We’ll go over everything.”
I nodded, shelving my curiosity for later. “When is the meeting?”
Darian and Fenric exchanged a glance, a silent message passing between them.
“We didn’t discuss that yet,” Fenric admitted, his tone measured. “We needed to confirm with Varyth first.”
“But I suspect no more than a fortnight,” Darian added. “Gives both sides enough time to arrange themselves.”
Two weeks.
I exhaled, the weight of it settling on my shoulders. I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Alright. I’ll be ready.”
Varyth’s eyes raked over me. “You will be.” He nodded. “We’ll make sure of it.”
A thread of unease curled through me, but I ignored it as I inclined my head. “I should leave you to discuss the rest.”
Fenric barely glanced at me, already turning toward Varyth with some logistical concern. Darian, at least, gave me a quick grin, as if to say good luck, though whether he meant it sincerely or in amusement, I wasn’t sure.
Varyth’s gaze caught mine across the room, and something flickered in those eyes—frustration, heat, whatever it was, made my pulse kick against my throat like a caged thing.
“We’ll finish this conversation later,” he said, and the words were casual enough on the surface, but underneath there was steel. A promise. A threat. Something that made my skin prickle even as my mind screamed at me to run. “When we’re not being interrupted.”
The emphasis on that last word was directed at Darian and Fenric, both of whom had the grace to look somewhat apologetic. Somewhat.
I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded and fled.
The corridor outside was blessedly empty, the pre-dawn stillness wrapping around me like a shroud.
My bare feet made no sound against the floor as I moved away from Varyth’s chambers, away from the heat of him and the memory of his hands on my skin, away from the catastrophic mess I’d somehow created in the space of a few hours.
My mind was a riot of competing disasters, each one screaming for attention.
The meeting. Gods, the meeting. I’d opened my mouth and inserted myself directly into the middle of a political nightmare.
What the fuck had I been thinking? I didn’t know anything about court politics or diplomacy or how to sit in a room with a High Lord who’d spent gods knew how long trying to kill everyone I’d come to care about.
The Shadow Drask. Even the title sent ice down my spine. Whatever history lay between Varyth and Nyxaria’s ruler, it was ugly enough that just mentioning him had turned the room into a minefield of tension and unspoken violence.
And I’d volunteered to walk into a room with him. Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
The worst of it was the guilt currently eating through my chest like acid, carving out spaces where air should be and filling them with the memory of Navaire’s face.
The way he’d smiled when he handed me a new blade, still warm from the forge.
The soot perpetually staining his hands.
The rough scrape of his voice when he’d whispered my name in the dark.
I love you, he’d said. Whatever happens, remember that.
And what had I done? Let another man’s hands map my body. Let myself melt into Varyth’s touch like I was made for it. Let myself want it, crave it, with an intensity that made me want to claw my own skin off.
I’d woken in his arms. Had breathed in sync with him. Had felt safe.
The betrayal of it was a gaping wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.
My feet carried me without conscious thought.
Down corridors I was starting to know too well, through courtyards dark with pre-dawn shadow, past sleeping gardens and shuttered windows.
I needed air. Needed space. Needed anything other than the walls of this castle closing in around me while I spiralled into a guilt-fuelled panic that had no good ending.
The main courtyard opened up before me, vast and empty in the grey light. Above, the sky was just starting to lighten at the edges, pale fingers of dawn creeping across the horizon.
I stopped in the centre of it, my chest heaving like I’d run a mile instead of just walked. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.
It felt right, some traitorous part of my brain whispered. In the moment, with his hands on your skin and his mouth against your throat, it felt right.
“Shut up,” I said out loud, to no one, to the dawn, to the ghost of my husband who definitely didn’t deserve this. “Shut the fuck up.”
But it didn’t. Because it had felt right. That was the problem. That was the thing tearing me apart from the inside out. It had felt natural and inevitable and like I’d been moving toward him since the moment I’d stumbled into this realm covered in blood and my children’s terror.
And that made it so much worse.
I was a widow. Navaire had been dead a year and I was already letting someone else touch me? Already finding comfort in arms that weren’t his? What kind of person did that make me?
The kind who’s still alive, that voice said again. The kind who’s been running and fighting and surviving for so long that you forgot what it felt like to be held.
I was standing in the middle of a courtyard in a fae castle at dawn, about to have a breakdown because I’d made the catastrophic mistake of being human for five minutes.
I needed Kaelen.
The thought rose up unbidden, but once it was there I couldn’t shake it. I needed my dragon. Needed the solid weight of him, the dry humour, the way he could make me feel less like I was drowning and more like I was just treading water.
I reached for the bond between us, that thread of connection that tied us together across distance and realm. “Kaelen?”
“Wildfire.” His response was immediate, warm with concern. “You’re awake early. And spiralling, if I’m reading this correctly.”
“I need you.” The words came out more desperate than I’d intended, raw and honest in a way that made my throat tight. “Please. I can’t—I need—”
“I’m on my way.”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed. I sank down onto the stone, my knees giving out, my hands pressed to my face as I tried to breathe through the mess of panic and guilt and want churning through my chest.
Navaire would have known what to do. Navaire would have wrapped his arms around me and let me fall apart, would have stroked my hair and told me it was okay to be afraid, to be uncertain, to be human in a world that demanded nothing but strength.
But Navaire was ash and memory, and I was here, and there was no way back to before.
The guilt twisted deeper.
Above, I heard the rush of wings cutting through dawn air. Large, powerful, familiar. Kaelen descended in a controlled spiral, his emerald scales catching the first rays of sunlight as he landed with surprising delicacy for something his size.
“There you are,” he said, his voice wrapping around me like a blanket. “Now. Tell me which disaster we’re dealing with first, the political one or the personal one?”