52. The Betrayal
THE BETRAYAL
TALIA
There is no ‘fae’ race. These were people who could absorb flux power, which extended their lifespans and amplified their abilities.
The thuolev had no power to speak of. The elein had an excess of it—enough to shift form—but that only made them a target.
The distinction the fae drew between themselves and everyone else was never biological.
Fitting, then, that ‘fae’ ultimately became synonymous with fantasy.
Talia didn’t know where to look first as she stepped into the cavernous space. Every surface seemed to be etched with Starscript.
The room was oriented around ten pillars, arranged in a circle. There were shallow channels cut into the floor, branching from the base of each pillar to meet in a basin of liquid light at the center. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to touch everything and figure out how it worked.
But an uneasy sense of déjà vu tightened in her chest. Something about the layout, the geometry of it, caught on a memory.
Glass globes between each of the pillars swirled with flux, and tubes and coils connected these to the basin at the center.
The design wasn’t ceremonial, it was functional.
The sigils, the conduits, the reservoir of light—it wasn’t just like the lab equipment at Haven, it was nearly identical.
Talia tore her eyes away from the flux system to look up at the thrones. Elanwei was unmistakable from the portrait in the hall. Four hundred years hadn’t softened or faded her. Talia felt goose bumps prickle up her arms. This was the lost fae princess, in the flesh.
Another figure sat on the second throne. A woman, pale, luminous, with white-blond hair spilling over her shoulders. Light escaped from her skin, pooling into a network of thin streams under the thrones. Her hand pressed to her temple as if she was fighting a headache.
Shock rippled through the bond like a drop in air pressure, sudden enough to make Talia’s ears ring. She saw Dawn stumble forward and fall to her knees.
“Ehrue,” Dawn whispered. “You’re alive.”
The woman didn’t answer. Her head tilted, gray eyes curious, like she was studying a stranger. Talia saw nothing behind those eyes. No recognition. No emotion. Tears streaked down Dawn’s face. Talia had never seen her cry before.
Elanwei’s eyes flicked over to Dawn before they settled on Riven. She rose from her throne and descended, step by deliberate step.
“Althen.” The name cracked across the chamber. “My shield. My sword. My coward. It has been some years.”
Riven said nothing. His face could have been made of stone.
Elanwei’s eyes cut to Talia. “And what is this?”
Lore stepped around the group and knelt before the princess with effortless grace, his head bowed low. She had never seen Lore bow either.
“May I present Talent Salaren, Your Majesty,” he said smoothly. “She has an exceptionally strong affinity for mindweaving.”
Elanwei’s lips curved faintly. “That is interesting. We will need to build back the bloodlines once we eliminate the mortals.”
“Eliminate?” Talia heard herself say.
The princess cast a sharp look at her. “Vermin. Burning our relics, building nests among our ruins.”
“You enslaved them,” Talia hissed. “You called people units and transferred them like property.”
“I did nothing like that,” Elanwei said. “Did you know they called me Voice of the Voiceless? I advocated for kindness toward the mortals and beasts, even quarreled with my father. But he was right, in the end. They repaid me with his ashes.”
“They were desperate,” Talia pressed on. “That’s what rebellion is. The last act of the powerless.”
She thought back to the notes in the library scrawled in the city’s final hours. She looked at Lore for support. She knew he must agree, but he had a strange expression on his face. It didn’t look like he was going to step in.
“Enough.” Elanwei flicked a hand.
The whole world suddenly locked in place.
Talia’s breath froze in her chest. She couldn’t turn her head.
She felt Dawn’s fury through the bond. Heard Holloway’s muttered curse cut short.
Elanwei and Ehrue seemed unaffected—as did Lore, who stood with his hands loose at his sides.
Why had she spared him? Talia tried to blink, to send him some signal, but her eyes just watered.
Elanwei approached with unhurried grace.
She gestured at Riven, and he moved back against a pillar, his arms reaching above and behind his head like a puppet, before shackles clicked into place around his wrists.
Her fingers brushed his cheek, and he flinched.
Then she turned to Dawn. Fire guttered and died in Dawn’s palms as Elanwei snuffed her power out.
“My little dragon,” the princess murmured. “You refused to bond with me, but I found a decent alternative, don’t you think?”
Dawn was trying to fight it, veins standing out on her neck, but she was pressed into a pillar near the door, facing Ehrue, forced to watch her lover drain herself away.
Holloway went next. He was trembling, eyes wide with disbelief. When Elanwei turned away, he appealed to Lore. “How could you—”
“Quiet,” Elanwei commanded. His voice died in his throat.
Then she came for Talia. The paralysis eased just enough for her to stumble to the pillar. The stone was cold against her spine. The cuffs clicked shut, then kept tightening until the metal bit her skin. Four prisoners lashed to four pillars.
Elanwei stepped back to admire her work. Then she turned to Lore. “Well done. You brought me everything I asked for.”
“I came as you called,” Lore said simply.
The truth hit her all at once. The true gods. All those nights he’d whispered philosophy, all those sermons about power and pain. She thought he’d made it all up, but it was real enough, if you fashioned Elanwei a goddess. She wondered if Lore truly did, or if this was another one of his games.
“Are you sure you want to keep this one?” Elanwei gestured lazily at Talia as she spoke to Lore.
Lore looked over at Talia. Let his eyes rake down her body and back up again in a way that made her shiver.
“She’s worth hearing out.” He approached her slowly, and she could smell the amber and smoke on his clothes, sickly sweet as he leaned in. “You’re meant for more than this, Talent.”
The look on his face was intent and unreadable.
“You lied to us,” she hissed.
“No. You just didn’t listen.” His smile stayed fixed. “I told you exactly what I wanted. I’m done living at anyone else’s mercy.” He tilted his head. “I know you want that too.”
He stepped even closer, his fingers ghosting over her ribs, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You know, you could stand beside me. Imagine it. No doors closed to you ever again.”
She could imagine it. Her grandmother couldn’t control her. Her colleagues wouldn’t consign her to busywork. She would be the one granting access to knowledge or withholding it. It felt so close, the possibility ached in her chest.
“You’re terrified to lose them,” he murmured. “I can feel it, what they mean to you. The bond will show you everything, you know. Every second of Dawn’s pain. Up to the end.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “I can spare you that.”
Talia’s heart hammered against her ribs.
The bond surged with Dawn’s feral defiance.
Whatever she chose, Dawn would stand behind her.
She could take Lore’s offer. Knowledge. Power.
Safety for herself. Or she could stand with Dawn and Riven and Holloway.
Knowing it meant pain. Knowing she’d probably watch them die.
But Lore had overplayed his hand. He’d tried to manipulate her, intoxicate her, trick her with pleasure and promises. He didn’t know how to love without controlling her, and she still had that spark of anger burning in her chest.
“I already told you no.” It felt right. “You need to respect that.”
His expression flickered—something like disappointment, then nothing at all. “Pity. You would have been extraordinary.”
He turned away. “She made her choice. Now make yours.”
Holloway’s gaze met Talia’s, grief and resolve warring behind his eyes. “I have nowhere else to go,” he said, barely getting the words out. “I can’t go back. Not after what they—” He choked. “They killed my brother.”
Horror washed over Talia as she realized what he was saying. “Holloway, don’t. This isn’t who you are.”
“I wanted to stay with you, Tally, but this is the only way.” He drew in a slow, shaking breath. “I’ll go.” His eyes never left Talia’s. “I’m sorry, Tally.”
Elanwei flicked her hand, and Holloway collapsed forward off the pillar. Lore caught his hands, light coiling around their joined fingers.
“Then we ascend,” Lore said, tugging Holloway toward the apex of the flux pool.
Ascend to what? Talia thought, but the pillars ignited before she could ask.
Pain slammed through her. Flux burned in her veins.
She tried to scream, but only light came out.
The world narrowed to heat and crackling static and the bond.
Riven convulsed, silver flashing beneath his skin.
Dawn cursed in languages Talia didn’t recognize.
Dawn’s pain crashed through her, braided with her own, until that was all there was.
The smell of iron and burning flesh filled her nose, and she choked on it. Her heart hurt, each beat weaker than the last. The last thing she saw was Lore’s gold-tinted stare, his fingers laced tight with Holloway’s. The two men stood together, bathed in energy, and she was kindling.
Her vision collapsed to a pinprick of light.
Just before it went black, a pulse flickered through the bond—hot pink, fierce, unbroken. Dawn was still fighting.