THIRTEEN
MIND THE SHADOWS
Thanks to my studies of all the elements, I have been able to guide Amara through the earliest stages of wielding them.
As her mastery deepens, I will call upon advanced bonded riders to instruct her in the more intricate and elevated magics.
I confess, I am eager to witness what she will create.
I suspect she could even shatter what we know about magics.
She is destined to become a legend remembered for generations beyond counting.
She is becoming something entirely new. A force unto herself.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Lyra and I walk arm in arm down the cobblestone path.
The herbs have done their job—she looks far better than she did this morning.
I steal another glance at my best friend. Instead of looking wrecked from drinking half the night, she looks refreshed, bright-eyed, fully herself again.
More than that, any sign that she died only days ago is gone. It feels impossible now, like one of my darkest fears visited me in the night only to vanish with the morning mist.
We’ve spent the last hour wandering through Volcaris—drifting from shop to shop down narrow, winding streets, pausing at crowded market stands along the way, laughing at entertainers performing for coin.
We only have another hour before we need to return to the castle for the ball. Elira insisted she would need at least three hours to prepare me for the evening.
Thankfully, Lyra will be getting ready with me.
“Let’s go this way,” Lyra insists, already pulling me into the crowd. “I heard about this shop that sells the softest scarves. I want to send one back to Mother for the Winter Solstice.”
“Amara—” Rian’s voice cuts through the noise somewhere behind us. “I know I said I’d give you space, but I still need to keep my eyes on you or Thane will have my ass.”
Right.
My escort.
I sigh internally and look back at the six men trailing us about fifteen feet behind. Rian leads them, his ocean-blue eyes sweeping the street for threats while the others move through the crowd with quiet, practiced precision.
“Well then hurry up, Rian!” Lyra calls over her shoulder.
An arm loops through my free one, slowing us down.
A blonde mop of windswept hair appears beside me.
“You know, Ms. Thalor,” Kieran says gravely, “you’re ruining my chances of moving up in rank by running off like this.”
Only the glint in his blue-silver eyes tells me he’s teasing.
“Oh, am I?” I counter.
“The Warlord assigned me to protect a gorgeous woman with raven-black hair,” he says gravely. “A tragedy, really. I seem to have lost her.”
“Oh really? A gorgeous woman with black hair?”
“I think she went that way,” Lyra cuts in, pointing dramatically down an alley.
I shoot her a look and elbow her in the ribs. She grunts but keeps her arm hooked through mine.
Kieran doesn’t let go either.
“Why are you even here, Kieran?” I ask. “You could be doing a hundred other things besides babysitting me.”
“Oh, but babysitting you is fun.” He flashes a wide grin. “I get to tell the other soldiers I spent the afternoon with the savior of the realm.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll never have to buy my own drinks again.”
“Sounds like a solid arrangement,” Lyra quips. “And since I’m the best friend of the savior, I expect a share of those drinks.”
“Um, excuse me,” I cut in. “The savior is standing right here.”
Kieran glances briefly over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Seriously though, how are you doing? I know this is a lot. Sorry we have to follow you everywhere.”
“It is what it is.” I sigh. “It was the only way Thane would feel comfortable with me walking around the city.”
I don’t fault him.
As Spiritborn I understand the risk.
Still, guilt nags at me. Rian, Kieran, and the others are spending their day escorting Lyra and me while we wander through shops and market stalls.
The street opens into a large square lined with shops on every side.
At its center stands a towering statue of Vaerion, the God of Fire.
He is cloaked in armor shaped like curling flame, one hand resting at the hilt of a massive blade. Even cast in stone, his eyes seem to burn beneath the shadow of the surrounding buildings.
His posture is rigid.
Watchful.
Like a commander still waiting for the next war.
I bow my head in respect as we pass the statue, remembering the way the gods spoke to me when I felt adrift back at the outpost.
Twice.
“There it is!”
Lyra’s shout pulls me from my thoughts.
I look up to find a small shop tucked between the others, sheer curtains the same shade as Rian’s eyes billowing through the tall, open windows. Seashells frame the entrance, strung together in delicate patterns that chime softly in the breeze.
Kieran releases my arm. “I’ll wait out here,” he says, nodding toward Rian.
Then he steps to one side of the doorway while another soldier takes the other, positioning themselves like the guards outside Lord Eryndor’s chambers.
I grimace at Kieran, silently apologizing for all of this. He answers with an easy, reassuring smile.
The other soldiers spread out around the square, their eyes constantly moving over the crowd. Rian follows us into the shop. Taller even than Thane, his broad frame barely fits through the doorway. He ducks his head beneath a string of hanging shell charms, then smiles once inside.
And immediately, I understand why.
The entire shop feels like a piece of the Water Clan carried into the heart of Volcaris.
Soft shades of blue wash across the walls and fabrics draped from the ceiling, colors that remind me of shifting tides and sea-glass. Gauzy scarves sway gently in the breeze drifting through the open windows, while strings of polished shells and tiny glass beads chime softly near the entrance.
Shelves overflow with handcrafted trinkets from the coastal regions—silver jewelry set with pale green stones, bracelets braided from dyed water reeds, carved driftwood combs, tiny glass bottles filled with shimmering sand, and polished pieces of sea glass wrapped delicately in silver wire.
The air smells faintly of saltwater and lavender.
Calryx and I should have a beach day.
I reach for her through the bond. “Calryx, what do you think about a beach day? Just you and me.”
A beat passes before her voice slides into my mind, warm and clear. “Just say when. You’re the one with the busy schedule.”
“You know I don’t want to go to this ball,” I mutter internally, weaving between shelves lined with glass bottles and dried herbs. “It’s not my fault everyone keeps scheduling my life for me.”
“Being a dragon offers glorious freedom,” Calryx replies smugly. “Enjoy being summoned.”
I snort softly beneath my breath. And then the connection fades.
Lyra is already digging through a stack of colorful scarves folded along the wall, completely absorbed. I stay near Rian.
“Reminds you of home, eh?” I remark.
His smile softens. “That it does.”
“When’s the last time you were back?”
“My mother’s birthday,” he says. “Right before you were brought to the outpost.” His gaze drifts over the shelves for a moment before returning to me. “I don’t get home much these days. With everything happening, my place is by Thane’s side.”
A twinge of sadness settles in me.
So much sacrifice. So much stolen time because of this looming war.
Something steadier takes root inside me. A sharp, unwavering need to end this—to destroy the Shadeheart and whatever darkness is spreading through the realm.
It catches me off guard, this sudden certainty.
I look up at Rian, having to tilt my head back slightly now that we’re standing shoulder to shoulder. Our eyes meet, and he smiles. The belief in his expression is unmistakable. It settles over me quietly, heavier than I expect.
For Rian. For Lyra. For every family losing pieces of their lives to this war—I will end it.
“What a blessed day! To have the Spiritborn in my shop! The gods are smiling on me today!” A voice rings out.
Rian and I turn toward the sound, but I don’t see anyone at first. Then a tiny woman pops out from behind a shelf. At most, she barely reaches my shoulder.
Bright blue eyes peer at me through oversized spectacles. She scans me from head to toe before turning toward Rian—and immediately lighting up.
“Oh my! A fellow Water Clanner!” she exclaims. Her gaze travels down Rian’s broad frame. “And such a handsome man!”
She hurries toward us in quick little steps, reminding me of the tiny terriers that used to dart around the stables back home.
Long gray coils are clipped loosely at the back of her head, the rest tumbling down her back. Her hands flutter like hummingbirds as she talks. Her warm cocoa skin is lined softly with age, the creases around her eyes deepening when she smiles.
She wears dark blue trousers and a loose white blouse, as practical but soft seems to be the way of Water Clan fashion. A thin silver chain hangs against her chest, a small metallic seashell resting at its center.
“Forgive me! I’m so thrilled to have you here, I plum forgot to introduce myself.” Her tiny hands nearly disappear inside Rian’s when she grabs them. “I am Mirelle Vell.”
“It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Ms. Vell,” Rian replies warmly.
The old woman giggles. Actually giggles.
“Oh, please call me Mirelle!”
Rian smiles brightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh you flirt!”
I stifle a laugh, pressing my lips together.
Then her attention shifts to me.
“And the Spiritborn,” she breathes. “My word. In all my days, I never believed I would have this honor.”
“It’s quite alright,” I say quickly. “Please call me Amara.”
Mirelle releases Rian’s hands and reaches for mine instead. Her hands feel impossibly small against my own.
Then our eyes meet.
Her pupils widen suddenly, the bright blue swallowed by darkness.
A sharp current rushes through her touch. Her hands lock against mine. I try to pull away—but can’t.
Panic spikes through me.
My magics stir instantly in response, rising hot and defensive beneath my skin, but the bond settles it almost immediately—a low, soothing purr curling through my chest.