Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
The healing chamber smelled of blood and storm.
Moonlight bled through stained glass, cutting pale ribbons across the floor.
The air itself trembled, humming with suppressed energy, like a thunderhead seconds before it split.
Queen Elyria stood beside the warded bed, her silver robes shadowed by exhaustion, her face a mask carved from calm and fear.
Kranon’s voice rasped low beside her. “The corruption grows roots. Another day and the boy’s flame will go out.”
Elyria didn’t answer. Her eyes followed the twitch in Darian’s fingers, faint, involuntary, the only sign he was still fighting.
Then the doors opened. Thaelyn stepped inside, shoulders squared, though her pulse was a drumbeat in her throat. She’d expected soldiers, or reprimand, not this room filled with silence and ruin. Her gaze landed on Darian first, his skin grey, breath shallow, then on the other cot. Thorne.
His shadows clung to him like smoke that refused to die, curling and writhing whenever she moved closer.
“Thaelyn,” said the Queen. Her voice was soft, but it carried command. “Come.”
Thaelyn approached slowly, the echo of her boots too loud in the stillness. “What happened?”
“Dark magic,” Kranon said without preamble. “Necromantic residue bound into the flame within him. Ordinary healing can’t touch it.”
Her stomach turned. “And Thorne?”
Elyria’s eyes flicked to the second cot. “The darkness grazed him. If we delay, it will take root as well.”
Thaelyn’s breath hitched. “Then tell me what to do.”
“You must help by reaching for the Aether,” the Queen said. “Aether can heal, even bring people from the brink of death. We’ve tried everything, but our magic is not working.”
Thaelyn froze. “I can’t. I barely controlled it during the trials. I don’t know how to.”
“You learn,” Kranon snapped. “Or he dies.”
His words hit like a slap. The Queen’s gaze softened, but she didn’t intervene.
Thaelyn swallowed hard. “Then show me.”
They guided her to the circles etched into the floor, three intertwined rings faintly glowing with power. Darian lay in the center of a bed. The walls whispered with the pressure of contained magic.
“Do not command it,” said Elyria. “Let it find its path through you, reach for the thread first.”
Thaelyn knelt, pressing her palms to the cold marble. The runes beneath her skin warmed like a pulse. Her heart hammered. She could feel the Aether waiting. It was vast, ancient, and alive.
“Find him,” Elyria murmured. “Reach for the part that still burns.”
Thaelyn closed her eyes.
At first, there was nothing. Then, a flicker. A dying ember in a sea of ash. She pushed toward it, teeth gritted, the way she had reached for Nyxariel that first night.
The ember flared, then screamed.
Black fire surged back through the link, a shock so violent she cried out. The circle shuddered, light flashing. Kranon swore and slammed his staff down to stabilize the wards.
“You’re taking too much!” Elyria shouted. “Breathe, you need control, don’t force it!”
Thaelyn gasped, trying to hold the energy steady, but it slipped like sand through her fingers. The Aether turned volatile, wild, burning her veins from the inside. The marble beneath her hands cracked.
Darian’s body arched off the bed, his mouth opening in a soundless scream. His heart spasmed once, then stopped.
“No!” Thaelyn reached again, desperate, but the magic rebelled. The circle fractured, runes splintering as blue light flared up the walls.
“Enough!” Kranon barked. He struck the floor, shattering the spell. The power snapped like a broken string. Thaelyn was thrown backward, crashing against the pillar.
She hit the ground hard, air leaving her lungs. The world tilted, spinning. She coughed once and saw the Queen kneeling over Darian, hands glowing white, fighting to hold what little life remained.
Kranon turned on her, eyes like iron. “You almost tore his soul apart.”
Thaelyn’s throat ached. “Can I fix it? Tell me how to fix it, please, I can—”
“You’ll kill him.”
She forced herself up, knees shaking. “Let me try again!”
Elyria didn’t look up, voice quiet but firm. “Kranon. Let her.”
Kranon’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back. “Then she carries the burden.”
Thaelyn returned to the circle. Her palms hovered over Darian’s chest, trembling. Calm. Focus.
Nyxariel’s voice whispered in her mind, low, ancient, steady. You are not power, child. You are a vessel. Let it flow, or it will consume you.
Thaelyn drew a ragged breath and reached again, slower this time. She pictured the river Nyxariel had once shown her in a dream: moonlight on dark water. She opened the gate, not to control, but to feel.
The Aether responded. She felt Nyxariel’s guidance and power stream through her.
Light spilled from her hands, softer, purer. The floor trembled again, but this time it held. Through the link, she saw Darian’s flame flicker. Then, slowly, stubbornly, she grabbed it.
The black tendrils recoiled from the light, curling into smoke that burned away in streaks of silver. Darian’s chest heaved. Once. Twice. Then he breathed again.
Thaelyn collapsed forward, hands shaking uncontrollably. Elyria caught her before she fell. “Good. That’s enough.”
But Thaelyn’s gaze had already shifted, past the Queen, to Thorne’s still form on the second cot. His shadow was restless, coiling like something alive, sensing what she’d done.
“I’m not finished,” she whispered.
“Thaelyn, no!” Kranon warned.
She crossed the chamber anyway. Her fingers brushed the edge of Thorne’s cot. The air crackled. His darkness bit her, a reflex, defensive, almost sentient. She flinched but didn’t retreat.
“Thorne,” she murmured, voice breaking. “Please.”
The Queen’s chant began again, this time quieter, steadier. The runes reignited.
Thaelyn reached through their bond. It was like plunging her hand into fire. Flashes burned through her: Thorne’s rage, his pride, the night he kissed her, the pain he’d never spoken.
“Let me in,” she said.
Nothing. Only the roar of his power pressed back against hers.
She gritted her teeth. “You, stubborn, impossible— Prince! Let me in!”
Her voice cracked the spell. The bond snapped open, and the storm hit.
Flame and Aether collided, raw and violent. Thaelyn screamed, thrown forward by the force of it. The light turned violet-white, devouring the shadows until the room was dark. Elyria cried out, struggling to anchor them both. Kranon’s wards flared red-hot.
Thaelyn reached deep, searching for the thread. She couldn’t find it. She pushed harder. There you are, she said in a voice not of her own; it was deeper. She felt someone else take over her spirit. Something old, but familiar.
The room burst with a blast of raw Aether power. The sound of breaking glass filled the chamber. Then, silence.
When the light faded, Thorne’s chest was rising again, slow but steady. The black taint had vanished from his skin. Thaelyn, trembling, sank to her knees, blood trickling from her nose; her body was limp.
Elyria was beside her in an instant. “She nearly destroyed and burnt down the entire wing,” she said, breath shaking. “But she saved them.”