33. Shadows
Chapter thirty-three
Shadows
“Looks like it’s just you and me again, sunshine.” Ash grins, clapping me on the back. “Whatever shall we do to fill the time?” His smirk turns devious.
I arch a brow, grateful for the distraction but wary of the look he is giving me. “What exactly do you have planned?” I ask, suspicion lacing my tone.
His grin only deepens before a portal splits open before me, swirling with energy. “It’s a surprise,” is all he offers.
I hesitate for only a moment before stepping through, trusting in the friendship we built on this journey, perhaps more than I should.
I emerge from the vortex to find myself standing right in front of the place I left months ago, the place I never wanted to return to, the cabin. “What the hell, Ash?” I snap, spinning toward him. “What are we doing here?”
Unbothered by my outburst, Ash simply shrugs, ever the playful one. “Oh, come on, Lyra. Thought we could take a little stroll down memory lane with all this free time on our hands.”
“This isn’t funny,” I bite out, my stomach twisting.
“Lighten up, would ya?” Ash grins before continuing, “You unlocked your magic, which is great, but you still need to train it. And let’s be real, you haven’t used it in a long time.”
“But here?” my voice sharper than intended.
“Well . . .” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze.
“We can’t exactly have you accidentally blowing things up, or gods forbid, hurting someone with whatever it is you can do.
Here seems like the safest option. It’s far enough away from .
. . everything.” He gives another casual shrug, but there is an edge of sincerity beneath his usual teasing.
I exhale slowly, hating that he has a point. As much as I despise this place, it is isolated. If something goes wrong, no one else can get caught in the aftermath. Still, the sight of the cabin stirs an unease I can’t shake.
My time here wasn’t entirely awful, but it was a cage nonetheless, a reminder of how this all started, of how Oberon brought me here as an enemy, not the lover we have grown into. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I don’t answer right away, only glaring at Ash, hoping my silence alone will make him reconsider.
He only grins wider in response, completely unbothered. “If you’d rather, we can go back and gossip over a cup of tea while you spill your heart out about whatever’s going on between you and Oberon.” He flutters his eyelashes mockingly, his voice dripping with false sweetness.
“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Would be a real shame if you got hurt all the way out here . . . so far from help.” I flash him a wicked smile before turning toward the clearing just in front of the cabin.
Ash lets out a loud laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough,” he concedes. “Guess that means I win.”
I huff but don’t argue.
“So,” he says, falling into step beside me. “How does this ability of yours actually work, anyway?”
I hesitate, knowing I don’t have a real answer. “I don’t really know,” I admit. “I can feel the vibrations of what’s around me, tune into them . . . manipulate them, I guess.” It sounds vague even to my own ears.
Ash makes a sweeping motion with his hand, as if telling me to go on and prove it.
I sigh, shaking out my hands before closing my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I let the world around me settle into something else, something quieter, something deeper. The familiar hum of life surrounds me, but I don’t know how to harness it.
Focus.
I push harder, trying to isolate a single sound from the symphony of vibrations. Each pulse carries a different frequency, a different energy. I just have to learn how to reach for one . . . and control it.
I struggle to remember how this ever came naturally to me. It is all a mind game, feeling the vibrations, visualizing the outcome, and adjusting the frequency to match my intent. Simple in theory. In practice? A nightmare.
I zero in on a small bush nearby, willing it to grow, to bloom. I picture it full and lush, its branches heavy with deep red roses. Every ounce of my concentration pours into that single image, my mind reaching for the unseen threads of energy that make up the world around me.
“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm,” Ash snickers.
His voice breaks my focus at the worst possible moment. A spark of uncontrolled energy lashes out, and before I can stop it, the entire bush bursts into flames.
Ash yelps, stumbling back. “Jeez, I was kidding!” He shoots me a wary glance before mumbling under his breath, “Kind of.” Then, louder, “No need for such violence.”
With a flick of his wrist, he smothers the fire effortlessly, the flames vanishing as if they never existed.
I let out a frustrated sigh. The rest of the day follows the same disastrous pattern.
I attempt to control a vibration, only for it to spiral out of control in some spectacularly wrong way.
Ash, to his credit, cleans up every mess with minimal complaint, though his smirks and occasional chuckles make it clear he is enjoying my struggle far too much.
I know I’ll be rusty, but I don’t expect to be this bad. Each failure eats away at my confidence, and by the time the sun dips below the mountains, I am mentally drained.
Ash stretches, rolling out his shoulders as he watches me with an easy grin. “Wanna stay the night here and pick up where we left off tomorrow?” he muses.
I shoot him a sharp glare, making it clear that stepping foot inside that cabin again isn’t an option. “I will burn it down before I willingly sleep in there again,” I bite out, my tone harsher than I intend.
Ash chuckles but doesn’t argue. He simply lifts a hand and opens the passage back to the stronghold, the swirling portal casting a faint glow against the twilight.
Spending the day in the mountains, focused on my magic, bantering with Ash, has been a welcome distraction compared to the thought of stepping back into the stronghold, knowing I am heading to Oberon’s chambers only to find them empty . . .
Something about it feels wrong. Like I am returning to something that no longer fits.
The room feels strange without him. Not just the space itself, but his space, his presence woven into every inch of it.
Without Oberon here, the walls seem colder, the air heavier, as if the very essence of this place has shifted.
Leaving me an outsider in a place I once grew used to. Like, I don’t quite belong.
I consider finding another room to stay in until he returns, somewhere that doesn’t feel so empty without him.
But his scent still lingers, cedarwood and rain, clinging to the sheets, the pillows, the clothes he left behind.
It wraps around me like an invisible tether, grounding me in a way I’m not ready to let go of. So, I stay.
As the days bleed together, my training with Ash becomes more productive. The magic that once felt so foreign slowly grows more familiar, easier to wield, a little more each day.
Even though my control over my power improves, sleep has become increasingly difficult. The room grows colder. The loneliness settles deeper into my bones. His scent is both a comfort and a cruel reminder of what I am missing, a presence I didn’t realize I needed until it was gone.
I try to ignore the ache, to push past it, but the truth is impossible to avoid. I miss him. And worse, I don’t know what to do with that feeling.
Does the distance weigh on him the way it does on me?
Morning comes too soon, dragging me from the restless sleep I barely managed to scrape together. I dress quickly, making my way to the dining hall as I do every morning, expecting to meet Ash for breakfast.
As I walk through the halls, I notice sidelong glances and hushed whispers that follow in my wake.
Something feels off . . .
The Fae I pass avoid my gaze, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and unease.
I don’t know what is going on, but I know it can’t be good. A pit forms in my stomach as I hurry my steps, hoping Ash will have some answers.
I find him waiting outside the dining hall, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He catches sight of me and tosses me an apple. “We’re skipping breakfast,” he says flatly, jerking his chin for me to follow.
I catch the apple instinctively, tucking it away for later. “What’s going on?”
Ash gives me a small, forced smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In that moment, I know whatever he is about to tell me, I’m not going to like.
“Come on,” he says, already turning to walk away. “I’ll explain after we leave.”
I narrow my eyes. “That doesn’t sound good.” I try to keep my tone light, the unease already curling around my ribs, tightening with every step he takes away from the stronghold.
Ash doesn’t answer. He only casts me another half-hearted smile that does nothing to reassure me. I follow him, silently, until we are back in the clearing in front of the cabin.
The moment we arrive, I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him, crossing my arms. “Okay, now will you tell me—what the fuck is going on?”
Ash lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he starts carefully. “We don’t know anything for sure yet, but . . . Oberon is in a delicate situation.”
A delicate situation? My stomach twists. I know what that means. Know how carefully Oberon has positioned himself, how he has to shift between two versions of himself depending on who is watching.
I really don’t like where this conversation is heading. “Ash,” I press, my patience wearing thin. “The suspense is killing me. Just spit it out already.”
Ash lets out another long sigh, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever he is about to say.
“There are rumors going around,” he finally admits, his voice lacking its usual playfulness.
“Towns are being terrorized, threatened by the king. Fae are being killed or worse.”
I frown, suspicion creeping into my expression. “That’s nothing new. The king’s been doing that for a century.”
Ash hesitates, his jaw tightening. He isn’t meeting my eyes now, which only makes the knot in my stomach tighten. “The rumors,” he continues carefully, “are saying that the Prince is the one leading the charge on these missions.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. I feel my pulse hammer against my ribs, the words sinking in like ice spreading through my veins.
The Prince . . .? Oberon.
I swallow hard, shaking my head slightly, as if that will dislodge the accusation from my mind. “That doesn’t make any sense.” My voice is firm, but doubt curls around the edges of my words.
Ash watches me closely, gauging my reaction. “I’m just telling you what’s being said.”
“No,” I say, more forcefully this time. “He wouldn’t do that. Oberon’s spent years trying to undo the damage his father has caused. He hates the king’s rule, he wouldn’t just . . . start leading raids in his name.”
Ash lets out a slow breath. “I want to believe that too, Lyra. But people are scared. And when people are scared, they don’t care what’s true or not.
They care about what they see.” He pauses, his next words careful.
“And what they see is Oberon riding at the front of these attacks. With his shadows.”
My stomach drops.
His shadows. The very things that bind him, that obey his will, also betray the parts of himself he tries to suppress.
If his shadows are there, then he is involved, at least in some capacity.
Whether he is being forced, whether there is another reason, I don’t know.
But to the outside world, it doesn’t matter.
“Trust in me, Lyra, no matter what you hear.” Oberon’s words to me before he left the mountain clans race through my mind.
I feel like the ground beneath me is shifting, like I am standing on the edge of something dangerous and uncertain. “I need more than just rumors, Ash,” I say, voice low. “Have you seen proof?”
He hesitates again, and that hesitation is enough to make my blood run cold. “Not exactly,” he admits.
Ash’s words lingered in the air between us. My mind races, trying to piece together something, anything, that can explain this. I want to believe it is just a rumor, that people have twisted the truth into something more sinister than reality. But Oberon’s shadows? That is harder to ignore.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “So what do we do? Just sit here and wait?”
Ash shrugs, leaning back against a nearby tree. “Not much else to do. Oberon’s supposed to be back in a couple of days, and I don’t think chasing ghosts will get us anywhere. Either he explains himself, or we find another way to get answers.”
I hate that. Hate the waiting. Hate the uncertainty. But more than anything, I hate the gnawing feeling in my gut that tells me I might not like what I hear when he does return.