Chapter 10
Elara dreamed of light. Far-off glimmers scattered through endless dark, fractured and pale. Lanterns, perhaps. Or stars seen through water. She moved toward them, bare feet sinking into something soft with each step. Then her vision blurred and split, colors shearing apart.
For a moment, she saw two worlds. The one she lay in—and another layered over it.
A broken coastline of black stone and drowned spires rose from a churning sea.
Wind tore at her hair. Salt burned her lungs.
Waves thundered far below. She stood at the edge of the ruins, and a figure emerged from the shadows of a leaning spire.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wrapped in darkness and spray.
Horned. Not a mask, Elara realized. But bone, dark and curved, rising from his skull like living stone.
Slowly, as if he felt her gaze, he began to turn his head toward her. Pain snapped her breath short.
Elara’s eyes flew open.
Her head felt split down the center, as if a wedge had been driven straight through her skull and left there. The air tasted stale, and for a disoriented moment she couldn’t remember where she was—only that something was very, very wrong. Groaning softly, she pressed her palm to her forehead.
Wine, her mind supplied belatedly.
Not wine. Whatever the Sídhe equivalent was.
Honeyed fire and intent and catastrophic decision-making, layered over exhaustion.
No wonder she’d dreamed so strangely. The room swam back into focus in pieces.
Pale stone walls. A narrow window cut high into the rock, its shutters still closed, though a thin seam of gray light bled through the cracks.
Dawn, then. Or close to it. The light was too weak to banish the shadows but strong enough to outline the room—the beds, the chair by the wall, Reynnar.
She turned toward him.
And everything in her stalled.
His face was slack in a way that made her stomach drop, all the familiar tension gone, as though someone had simply…
switched him off. Her heart gave a violent lurch.
“Reynnar?” she whispered, already leaning closer.
No answer. Her breath came faster as she reached out, fingers brushing his chest. Warm beneath her touch, yes—but unmoving.
No rise and fall. Panic surged, and she slid her hand to his throat with shaking fingers.
There. A pulse.
Relief hit her in a dizzying rush, air tearing from her lungs as she sagged forward, forehead hovering just above his shoulder.
She sucked in a shaky breath, her gaze snapping to the rest of the room.
Aoife lay sprawled across the floor, one arm flung over her face, utterly insensible.
Caelion sat slumped in the chair near the window, head tipped forward, silver hair falling into his eyes.
Her heart stuttered as she turned to shake the living daylights out of Reynnar when a pair of eyes—emerald, feral, and luminous—blinked slowly back at her from across the room.
Her breath snared. Her mouth opened to scream—
“Don’t,” a voice murmured, deep and authoritative, dripping with controlled power.
Elara’s heart slammed violently against her ribs, eyes wide as the figure stepped closer, moonlight slowly caressing his features into focus.
He stood with the stillness of a predator, golden hair tumbling loosely around a face carved from arrogant, cruel beauty.
High cheekbones, sharp jaw, and lips that looked made for sin curled into a knowing smirk. Power radiated from every inch of him.
Eamon. This must be Eamon.
Her fingers curled into the bedding.
“What did you do?” she demanded, voice hoarse.
He glanced briefly toward Reynnar, then back to her. “I ensured he would not wake.”
Cold slid down her spine. “Reynnar.” She shook him. “Rey—wake up.” Nothing. She pushed him again, harder this time. His head lolled slightly with the motion. Her stomach dropped, hollow and sick. “Tell me what you did to them!”
“A precaution,” he said mildly.
The simplicity of it robbed her of breath.
He…he must have drugged them.
“Why?” she said, voice shaking now.
Eamon stepped closer, hands folded loosely behind his back. “From what I’ve been told, your presence has been…distracting. That my friends have been acting abnormally—out of character.”
Her jaw clenched.
“And from what I observed last night,” he continued, gaze flicking briefly to the rumpled bed, “that assessment was accurate.”
“That doesn’t justify—”
“It does,” he cut in smoothly, “when I require clarity.”
He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the faint pressure of his power against her skin. He was…it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Immeasurable.
“I wanted to speak with you,” he said. “Without interference.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You could have asked.”
“I did,” he replied coolly. “You were drunk.”
She flushed, anger and embarrassment tangling hot in her chest. Her mouth was still dry, her head aching dully at the temples, but her mind—her mind was already moving, her gaze flicking to the bedside table. Gone. Her dagger was gone.
Eamon’s eyes followed the movement. A flicker of something like satisfaction passed through his expression. He reached into his cloak and withdrew the Wound of Light. Metal glinted, gilded and pristine. The blade seemed almost alive in his hand, the air around it humming faintly.
“It was rather attached to you, I will say,” he murmured, turning it once between his fingers. “But all I had to do was give it a bit of coaxing, and it let me pick it right up.”
Her heart lurched, then hammered harder. “Give it back.”
“I intend to. After you give me what I want.”
“And that is?”
His smile widened slowly, beautifully dangerous.
“Answers,” he purred, “and perhaps to offer a few in return.” He studied her, those piercing eyes skimming over every inch of her, taking her measure in a way that had her heart skittering unevenly against her ribs.
“How exactly did you manage to seduce my friend?”
Elara’s jaw dropped—and then she laughed, loud and graceless, nearly choking on the shock of it.
Of all the absurd accusations she could imagine, this one had not made the list. “There has been no seducing,” she said, voice pitching higher than she meant, especially as his gaze cut deliberately toward the bed she and Reynnar shared.
She huffed. “There was only one bed. And after months trapped in a prison, forgive me if I wished to experience a modicum of comfort for once in my gods-damned miserable life—”
“Prison?”
His entire body froze—so still it seemed impossible, even for a Sídhe. Those moss-green eyes pinned hers, unblinking.
“Yes,” she said, forcing herself not to look away. “That’s where we met. Inside a prison in Latheria—the human realm.”
He remained motionless, silently searching her face, eyes probing every flicker of emotion, every tiny movement, for the barest hint of deception. She forced herself to hold steady beneath his scrutiny. Finally, he said, “Tell me.”
The smell of damp stone rose suddenly in her mind. Iron. Mold. Blood.
“We—” She stopped. Swallowed. Tried again.
And then the words began to come, carrying her back with them.
She poured everything into the darkened room: the cold, damp misery of their captivity, the months she and Reynnar had endured behind bars, the gnaw of hunger.
She spoke of Aine, Osin, and his court, of the daily brutality inflicted on their kind.
Of countless Sídhe enslaved and murdered, their Draoth stripped from them drop by drop.
She told him how she had fought in secret, rescuing as many as she could.
The words rushed out, unstoppable once begun, until at last she faltered—breathless and raw, her heart clenching hard inside her ribs.
“I wasn’t meant to be here,” she admitted. “This—it wasn’t part of the plan.”
His eyes burned into hers. “But you are. And that is a problem.”
Elara straightened her spine and lifted her chin as he moved closer—so close she could smell the forest on him, feel the heat radiating from his skin. She nearly flinched when his fingertip lightly grazed the brutal line carved across her throat.
“You are an anomaly,” he said softly. “Human, yet not. Touched by death and returned. Standing at the center of a catastrophe my people have not yet allowed themselves to believe.” His finger dropped from her throat.
“You are also dangerous,” he continued. “Not because of what you can do—but because of what you inspire.”
“I won’t harm Reynnar,” she said fiercely. “Or Aoife. Or Caelion.”
“I know,” Eamon said. “I can feel the truth of it in your pulse. Of every word you’ve spoken.” He withdrew fully and stepped back, something colder settling into his expression. “Which is why you are still alive.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs at the truth in his words. This was not a male who spoke in threats he wouldn’t carry out. If her answer had fallen short, he would have killed her here, now, while Reynnar, Aoife, and Caelion lay drugged and defenseless.
“But understand this,” he continued. “If your presence endangers my people—if Reynnar’s judgment falters because of you—I will act.
Without hesitation. Without mercy.” The ice in his gaze rivaled Osin’s.
“If my friend has claimed you, as rumor suggests, I will not stand in his way. But if you cross me, or anyone under my protection, there will be nothing left of you for death to claim.”
Elara’s breath left in a rush, her thoughts scattering as Eamon turned and opened the door. A dozen guards stood waiting beyond it.
“You’re to come with me,” he said, without looking back.
A cold dread crept through her so thoroughly she wouldn’t have been surprised if her next breath came out as fog. “You’re taking me to the Concord now? Alone?” Her mind raced. “Reynnar will wake and tear this place apart.”
Eamon’s expression did not change as he glanced back at her. “He won’t wake before the session is well underway. And by the time he does, it will be…inconvenient to interfere.”
Elara felt suddenly, acutely exposed. No Reynnar at her side. No Aoife to needle and strategize. No Caelion with his calm presence. Just her. A tremor worked its way through her limbs. Her palms prickled, fingers twitching for something to hold on to. She straightened her spine.
“If you think dragging me before the Concord without allies will make me compliant,” she said coldly, “you’re underestimating me.”
That earned her a low, thoughtful chuckle. “Oh, Eilíara,” Eamon said. “I’m counting on the opposite.”