48 #2
When his fingers curl into a fist, the very earth yields to his power.
Cracks shudder open beneath the carcass, splitting wide to swallow it whole.
Caryan’s shadows surge upward, hungry and alive, devouring what little remains until nothing is left but ash—fine and pale and faintly glittering—sifting through the air like stardust.
The crowd erupts again—cheering, crying, collapsing to their knees. Some bow low, pressing their foreheads to the ground before him.
Riven lands us behind the great tree. The instant my feet touch the ground, I wrench myself from his arms and stumble back a step, although another part in me is desperate for comfort, desperate to be held by him the way he held me up at that hill.
Across the meadow, Caryan turns fully toward me, his pale gray eyes finding mine.
His gaze strikes like a blade, burying right between my ribs.
Heat rushes through me at the intensity of his gaze—and with it comes the sudden, alarming realization that the walls between us are still very much open.
His presence pours through my veins as if he has slipped beneath my skin, moving with deliberate slowness, tracing the places still humming from Riven’s grip, lingering there. Tasting my fear. My fury. My want . I feel hunted—and chosen—and made of glass. All at once.
We hold each other’s stare for several suspended heartbeats. I sense him there, pressing just enough to remind me he could go further.
I can’t read his face, but fear spikes through me, raw and wild.
He stills.
Out of sheer reflex, I hurl the walls up between us. The truth is simple and damning: I fear him too much.
He knows it.
Senses it.
And he lets me—chooses not to stop me.
The severing snaps tight, leaving me breathless. And cold. Behind me, Riven shifts—close enough that I can feel the heat of him at my back, solid and grounding and suddenly unavoidable.
Caryan’s face hardens. I see his disapproval—cold and unmistakable—as his eyesdarken to a pale onyx sheen.
Suddenly, I feel both of them more acutely than ever.
One presence that would consume me.
Another that would hold me—but burn me slow.
I don’t know which is more dangerous.
I don’t know which I want.
Ruin and shadows—or embers and shelter.
Or both.
And that realization terrifies me more than anything else.
I turn on my heel and head inside, not looking back at either of them.
***
In my room, I set down the bag with the fae hair dye. The filigree flacons have miraculously survived, but my hands shake so badly it’s a wonder I don’t drop them.
I stare at the single flacon filled with a gaudy red, and all I can see are the people the worm devoured—the red mist that lingered in the air like a memory that refuses to fade.
Restless, I turn away and walk to the window, looking out over the grounds.
Below, the crowd is still roaring, chanting Caryan’s name long after he’s disappeared from the field. The sound rolls and swells, still hungry and reverent all the same.
Then the balcony doors to my left open, and I lean farther out, just in time to see Caryan step into view.
The chant shifts—tightening, intensifying—as if the crowd senses him before it sees him.
Riven follows a heartbeat later, close enough to Caryan to seem like his shadow—watchful, controlled, his presence a quiet counterweight.
No sign of Queen Daphina.
Caryan begins to speak, and the crowd instantly falls silent.
“Today was only the beginning,” he says. “The wards are wavering—too weak to protect Avandal’s borders. If they cannot hold back demons, they will not hold against our enemies. I will personally oversee their repair.”
With that, he turns and disappears back inside.
That’s all.
Riven steps forward. His wings are gone now, his presence no less commanding for it. Magic carries his voice across the grounds, elegant and precise.
“The Queen is unavailable today,” he announces. “She is unwell and regrets the recent events and their tragic circumstances. Remain vigilant, Avandal. At all times. From now on, walk only in groups. Additional soldiers will patrol the campus.”
Then he turns away as well, offering nothing more.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then the murmurs begin—low and uncertain—rippling through the crowd like a disturbed tide. Relief tangles with fear. Some look skyward, as if expecting Caryan to return. Others glance toward the balcony doors he vanished through, uneasy.
Then the chanting begins anew, an instinctive attempt to call him back.
But he never returns.
***
After everything, afternoon combat class with Blair and Kyrith is almost a relief. They train the living shit out of us—both, for once, united in one goal: make us too tired to think.
While I run my rounds, I overhear whispers:
“The queen should have intervened.”
“Where was she?”
“She’s gotten weak. That’s why the wards are failing.”
“Thank the Abyss the Dark Lord saved us.”
“He’d be a better ruler than her.”
Shay catches up to me, panting. “That was pretty impressive, what you did with your light magic.”
“Not impressive enough to save the ones who died,” I say quietly.
“No, true. But a lot more would’ve died if you hadn’t intervened.”
I say nothing, just keep my gaze forward. Always forward.
“So it’s true—you’re the last silver elf from the prophecy?” Shay asks after a while.
“Who says that?”
“Let’s just say everyone’s talking. When lightning flickered along Professor Caedmon’s flames, even the dullest of us figured it out. Though some still think you’re the Dark Lord’s secret lover.”
I turn my head, surprised by the smirk twitching at her lips. “And you don’t believe that?”
“Uhm, no.”
“Why not?” Gods, I hate that a tiny, irrational part of me feels offended by it. Or—well—maybe not so tiny.
“Hells, you’re way too confrontational with him. If you were his lover, he’d have wiped the floor with you—or, knowing you, maybe the other way around.”
I snort a laugh. “You’re the first person who believes I’d stand up to Caryan.”
She shrugs. “You’re not afraid. Everyone else is.”
“They admire him.”
“Aren’t fear and admiration two halves of the same coin?”
“Astute.”
She winks at me. “I have my moments. Though, truth be told, I suspected something was off with you much earlier.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow. “And since when, my dear, clever friend? Pray enlighten me—what gave me away?”
“Honestly? Since the first time you looked down your nose at Professor Caedmon instead of swooning like the rest of us—and he didn’t even reprimand you. Something had to be off. High lords aren’t known for mercy.”
I snort again. Yeah, that tracks. “You’re not angry I didn’t tell you?”
“I guess you had your reasons. So no.”
I could’ve hugged her. I’d feared they’d all turn their backs on me.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
We step into the forest, wolves padding through the shadows.
“Guards,” Shay explains. “New rule. The Dark Lord ordered shifters to watch and protect us at all times.”
I try not to scowl. Not their fault they’ve been ordered to herd us like cattle. Must feel strange for them, too, running this close without hunting.
“So is it true? The Dark Lord brought you here to hide you among students?”
I exhale slowly, upping my pace to gain distance from them. Shay easily keeps up. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Fancy.”
“Not as fancy as you think,” I mutter, remembering all the scrubbing, polishing, and cleaning I’d done at Caryan’s fortress. So much for luxury.
Our talk ends when we return—and Blair and Kyrith put us through a workout that leaves no strength for thought.