Chapter 50
Fifty
Fluorite
The next week was a blur of camping beneath the stars and staying in small inns as we left Lyland and passed through Kilspire. Now, we’re so close to the castle I can catch glimpses of it along the tree line.
Graylen has stayed quiet since Lyland, but he looks…lighter. Less empty.
Every day, he’s walked with a stronger step, his chin held higher and eyes clearer. I kept him close to me, finding ways to touch him when he got that distant, glazed-over look.
Our goal may be to find Nightfall—to reunite the missing piece with the dagger and use it to take down Moros—but that doesn’t minimize what Graylen went through. Ever since our night in Lyland, he stopped shutting me out—stopped hiding his emotions.
Every soft smile he gives me is like the sun deciding to peek through the clouds after a month of storms. He may still be healing, but he’s here. He’s holding himself together and pushing through his pain, proving how strong he truly is.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Graylen rumbles into my ear, his chest pressed against me as our horse trots toward Wisebech.
I glance over at him and say, “Just enjoying the view.”
He grunts and squeezes my right thigh, his hand resting lightly on top of it.
“Really?” Adrian questions, his voice lifting an octave as he glances around, trying to see what I’m seeing. “Doesn’t look very enjoyable to me.”
Graylen huffs a quiet laugh, and I roll my eyes.
I’m seeing the same thing Adrian is. It isn’t enjoyable; clearly he hasn’t learned what sarcasm is yet.
The view is muddy soil, too damp for grass to grow, and scattered trees that have seen better days.
It’s a trodden sludge instead of a clearly marked path, the wet ground trampled by travelers and unable to hold any real shape besides shoe and hoof prints.
There’s a faint, wet, musty scent that clings to the air—not quite unpleasant but certainly not a fresh stalk of rosemary, either.
This terrain…it’s familiar. It’s all I’ve known, and that brings a flood of old memories rushing in—reminding me of where I am.
There’s a twinge in my chest.
We’re getting close to the royal training camp.
It doesn’t feel warm, like coming home. Doesn’t give me a sense of peace or excitement as we near the town just outside of the castle. If we stop in Wisebech to rest tonight, then it’ll only take us a short ride to get to the castle tomorrow.
We’re so close I can taste it, can feel the weight of dread mixing with the burning heat of anger.
But the dread isn’t from seeing Moros or finally being near Nightfall. It’s that with every step our horse takes, we’re brought closer to the camp I grew up in. The place my “father” raised me—fed me poison to suppress my magic and lied to me about who I was.
Even if we aren’t passing through the camp, just knowing it’s nearby sends a shiver down my spine.
No, warmth is not what I feel as the sounds of the small town of Wisebech begin to trickle into the air. What swirls in the pit of my stomach is heavy. Nauseating.
My fingers tighten around the reins, and Graylen shifts behind me a few seconds later.
“Breathe, Lunaria,” he murmurs softly, too low for Adrian to hear. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I clench my jaw, not trusting my voice. “There was a brief time when I thought I would never have to come back here,” I admit into his mind. “Everything has been happening so fast that I haven’t had time to think about what it would be like to really be back.”
His hands circle around my waist, and he sets his chin down on my shoulder. I relax into him, not realizing how stiffly I had been sitting.
“Reichardt can’t hurt you anymore.” The words float gently into my thoughts. “And you’re not alone this time. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
I nod my head, my throat closing at the reminder.
We pass several run-down cottages on the outskirts of Wisebech, dodder vines snaking through half-dead crops and crawling onto roofs.
A heaviness falls between the three of us with each passing home, the dodder infestation somehow doubled since I was last here. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, a plague that has swept through Crea like a wave.
“Their farms…” Adrian’s voice dies off, and he pulls his horse to a stop. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
I spin toward Adrian, a flare of heat bursting in my chest. “You didn’t realize?
” I finally snap. I’ve tried to keep the peace between us—as best I could—since our conversation in Lyland.
We need his help to convince Moros we aren’t a threat, to corroborate our story of being just Amira and the Prince’s Snake…
Not fae that can harness magic and want to steal Nightfall back from Moros.
But he’s had chance after chance to learn more about his kingdom, to hear the needs of his realm and do something to fix it.
Instead, he ran after me—a woman who didn’t need saving.
“Your people have been suffering for years, Adrian. Years.” The words tumble from my lips, short and filled with quiet rage. “If you would’ve paid more attention to them instead of flouncing around the castle, then you might’ve seen that sooner.”
Adrian’s brows creep up, and I want to smack that stupid look of shock off of his face. He blinks, looking at me as if I have three heads.
“Maybe now you’ve pulled your head out of your ass enough to see that your people need a king, not a boy playing dress-up with a crown.” With that, I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and lightly kick my heels into Misty’s sides so she trots forward.
I can feel Graylen’s shoulders shaking before I hear the soft laughter rumbling from his chest. My anger evaporates as his quiet chuckle turns into a full-bellied bout of laughter, and it doesn’t take long before I join in.
We both howl with laughter, tears streaming down our faces as Adrian trails a healthy distance behind us.
“‘Pull his head out of his ass’ is one way to put it,” Graylen wheezes once he can finally talk. “I don’t think anyone has talked to him the way you just did.”
We’re still trying to catch our breath as we trot into Wisebech, the dilapidated town center looking more like the ruins of an abandoned place than one where people currently reside.
“Let’s find lodging and prep for tomorrow,” I say to Graylen as my eyes search the area around us. “Might be a barn we can stay in.”
Graylen nods in agreement, but Adrian makes a strangled noise. For once, he’s smart enough to not comment on my latter comment.
We find a farmer who agrees to let us camp in his stables for the night. He’s kind enough to provide us with brushes for our horses, along with water, hay, and a pasture for them to graze in.
When we offered to pay him, he turned us down. But the moment I suggested sharing some of the food we bought in Kilspire, he nearly wept. Adrian has been silent ever since the interaction.
The night comes quickly, the sun setting on a gray sky as rain clouds billow in.
Adrian settles against a bale of hay, while Graylen and I sit on the opposite end of the barn, our backs resting against the wooden boards of the back wall, a stall with the horses separating us from the brooding king.
“Are you ready to be at the castle tomorrow?” Graylen asks as he gazes up at the uneven roof. Several of the slats have fallen in, leaving large sections open for us to see the night sky beyond.
I sigh and say, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You’re strong, Lunaria,” he says softly. “One of the strongest fae I know. Trust yourself and your Essence.”
I swallow. “My Essence…it’s quiet.”
There. I said it.
His gaze bores into mine as he watches me.
“I know,” he whispers. My brows raise, and he adds, “I can feel it—the silence. But we have our connection through our thoughts still and that has to mean something. You’ve used a lot of it to get us here; it’s only natural for it to need to rest before waking back up.
Every fae hits a point of needing to let their magic refill.
” Graylen smirks. “Even someone as badass as you.”
I nod, but something nags at the back of my mind. I’ve never felt this before—never experienced my magic being so far from my grasp.
We fall into comfortable silence, his hand on my thigh as we sit side by side. The moment I close my eyes, I feel the exhaustion of the day creep in. Graylen’s arm slips around my shoulder, and I curl into him, settling against his warm chest. His hand begins to draw soothing circles on my back
Even with anticipation thrumming through me, it’s impossible to ignore the call of sleep now.
“Lunaria.” A deliciously deep voice fills my mind, rousing me from my dreamless slumber. “Do not move. Pretend to be asleep.”
Graylen. His arms are locked around me, muscles tight and flexed.
There’s a chill in the air, one filled with the weight of someone watching me. Watching us.
I freeze. Something’s wrong.
“On three, I want you to grab your dagger and stand with me,” Graylen adds slowly. “Okay?”
Ice spreads through my chest.
“Okay,” I repeat.
Graylen counts down, and all at once, my eyes spring open and I reach for my dagger. I jump to my feet, feeling Graylen doing the same beside me.
At the exact moment we stand and my vision adjusts to the dim lighting in the barn, the doors across from us burst open. Castle guards pour in—fifteen, maybe twenty men—all in armor and brandishing gold-hilted swords.
Their chest pieces all bear the same mark: the royal crest.
Well, there goes our element of surprise.