Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Araya changed quickly, trading the amethyst dress for the soft leggings and tunic she’d found shoved in one of the drawers.
Thick socks and sturdy boots replaced the delicate slippers, and she shoved the knife she’d palmed from dinner into her belt, it’s weight was a surprising comfort against her hip.
She wasn’t a soldier. Not like Jaxon—or Loren.
But at least she wouldn’t be walking into the unknown unarmed. And of course, she had her magic.
Araya closed her eyes, reaching inward to brush the well of power inside her.
It hummed under her skin, far past the level where she would have begged Jaxon to siphon from her.
The Arcanum had always warned that untrained fae were dangerous—that their own magic would consume them if it wasn’t leashed.
But now…Araya shivered. How much more could it rise before she drowned in her own power?
She took a slow breath, steadying herself.
Once she made it back, Jaxon would help her.
He’d siphon off the excess magic, calm the chaos under her skin, and shield her from whatever punishment the Arcanum had waiting.
He always had. She just had to reach him—prove to him that she hadn’t run from him.
Not willingly. That she could still be exactly what he needed.
It didn’t matter that he had drained her dry and left her broken on the floor. Loren and Eloria might dress it up in prettier words, but they wanted to use her too. At least with Jaxon, she understood the rules.
Yes, he’d hurt her—but he’d also protected her. No one else had been willing to take a chance on a desperate halfblood fae. Everything she had, she owed to him. And the sooner she made it back to the New Dominion, the sooner she could make this right.
She slipped into the corridor like a shadow, her footfalls nearly silent as she crept through the dark halls.
Thanks to Thorne’s tour she found her way back to the main hall easily.
The double doors to the dining room stood partially open, the wreckage of Loren’s temper little more than another shadow in the dark.
Araya sidled into the courtyard, freezing as the door fell shut behind her, louder than it had any right to be. She held her breath, half-expecting one of Loren’s living shadows to unfurl from the dark corners of the courtyard. But nothing moved.
Araya laid her hand against the wall, her skin prickling as strange magic washed over her.
But she couldn’t make any sense of whatever spellwork the fae had woven into the stones.
Bracing herself, she stepped through the ruined gate.
But no wards flared to life. No alarms rang out.
The only sound was the wind, moaning through the stones as it swirled the mist into strange shapes.
She was clear.
Araya crept toward the narrow stairs carved into the cliff, her heart racing with every step she took closer to freedom.
She couldn’t see far with the mist that pressing in around her, but she could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs.
Nyra’s boat was down there, waiting for her.
All she had to do was get on board, and by this time tomorrow she’d be home—
Something moved in the mist.
Araya froze, clutching her stolen knife until her knuckles ached. She held her breath, squinting into the darkness—but the only thing that moved was the dense, churning fog.
Araya exhaled sharply, shaking her head. She was being ridiculous. The creatures in the mist were just stories. Whispered tales meant to frighten children. She edged forward, taking another step toward the stairs—
And the mist blinked.
Araya stumbled back, a scream catching in her throat as the thing peeled itself from the mist. It dragged itself forward, too-long limbs folding and stretching at unnatural angles as its head swiveled from side to side, searching for her with milky, sightless eyes.
Move—she had to move. Araya spun, skidding on the wet stone—only for another one to materialize from the mist in front of her.
The stairs. She could still get to the stairs—
She turned again, her breath tearing from her lungs as she sprinted for the edge of the cliff.
But the things moved with her.
Another one rose from the mist—so close she nearly slammed into it. It shrieked, slashing at her with a twisted claw. Araya stumbled back, a sob catching in her throat as every instinct screamed at her to run, even as her mind whispered the truth.
She wasn’t fast enough.
Araya threw up a shaking hand, her power sputtering at her fingertips as she desperately tried to remember anything that could help her—but the runes she’d learned had never been intended for combat. They were crafting, amplifying, sustaining—not fighting.
The nearest creature hissed, letting out a sputtering rasp that sounded too much like a laugh to be anything else, taking a slow, deliberate step forward.
Araya turned and ran.
She sprinted as fast as she could for the trees, her boots sliding in the slick mud.
Movement flickered in the mist, a hollow snarl sending a fresh surge of terror clawing up her spine.
Branches lashed her face, clawing at her clothes.
She stumbled and fell, jagged stones and exposed roots biting into her palms as she scrambled behind one of the twisted trees.
She squeezed her eyes shut, choking back the panicked sobs that threatened to tear free.
Somewhere in the darkness, one of the creatures snarled, its bulk rasping over the uneven ground as it searched for her.
There were too many of them. She’d been a fool to think she could make it to Nyra’s boat.
A desperate, terrified fool. And now she was going to die here.
Something closed around her wrist.
Araya’s eyes flew open, a scream tearing from her throat—but a second hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cry as her captor dragged her deeper into the shadows—shadows that moved and hissed with a voice of their own.
Araya sucked in a deep breath, the cool, familiar scent of granite and rain filling her nose.
Loren had found her.
His arm banded around her waist, crushing her to his chest so tightly that she could feel the frantic drumbeat of his heart against her spine. His shadows coiled around them both, their hissing, muttered whispers vibrating against her skin and sending chills racing down her spine.
“Don’t scream,” he murmured, his arm tightening around her as the creature’s heavy, uneven footsteps drew closer. The darkness around them thickened until Araya thought they would both choke on it—but for some reason, Loren’s shadows didn’t strike.
“Listen to me,” Loren rasped, his mouth close enough to her ear that his breath stirred the loose strands of her hair. “When I let you go, you run. As fast as you can. Nod if you understand.”
Araya gave a jerky nod, her pulse roaring in her ears.
But Loren’s fingers dug into her side, pinning her in place even as the creature crashed closer and closer.
It wasn’t until its wet, rancid breath washed over them that Loren let his hand slip from her jaw, his thumb grazing her lips as his breath shuddered against her ear.
“Run.”
Branches lashed her face, clawing at them both as Loren hauled her through the trees at a brutal pace.
Araya’s lungs burned, her legs screaming—but when her cloak snagged on a thorny branch Loren only yanked her forward hard enough to tear the fabric from her shoulders, his fingers digging into her wrist like a vice.
“If you fall we’re dead,” he growled.
Araya grit her teeth and kept going—but the creatures were faster.
Loren’s shadows lashed out at a shape closing in beside them, sending the beast hunting them careening into the trees. But another snarled behind them—so close that Araya imagined she could feel the its fetid breath on the back of her neck.
Loren threw them both to the side, dragging her through the remains of what had once been a wall. Araya tripped again but managed to keep her feet, barely registering the towering columns that surrounded them as Loren slammed his hand against the wall behind the ivy-choked altar.
Magic flared white-hot under his touch, throwing jagged shadows across the ruin for a single, blinding heartbeat.
Stone groaned and shuddered, grinding apart until the wall yawned open like a dark maw.
Araya balked, but Loren didn’t hesitate, dragging her into the pitch-black darkness just moments before it crashed shut behind them.
Araya collapsed against the wall, every breath sawing out of her lungs in sharp, uneven gasps. Every instinct screamed at her to keep running, but her legs trembled so badly she wasn’t certain she could have taken another step. Loren still clutched her hand, his own breathing ragged and uneven.
“Will it hold?” she asked.
Loren hesitated, his fingers flexing around hers. “It’s enchanted,” he said. “Against intruders who mean the royal family harm. So… probably.”
“That’s really reassuring,” Araya muttered.
“You weren’t supposed to be outside at all,” Loren snapped. “Much less wandering around alone at night.”
Before Araya could respond, something dragged its claws across the door with a terrible snarl, the dark space around them lighting up with a sudden, crackling flare of magic.
“We shouldn’t stay here,” Loren said. “They’ll be able to smell us.”
He finally released her hand, dim aetherlamps flickering to life to reveal a narrow set of stone stairs. He didn’t wait to see if she followed, starting down the steps without so much as a glance back.
Araya forced her tired legs to move. Every step deeper into the earth pressed down on her like a lead weight, the walls closing in around her at every turn.
It reminded her too much of the walk to Loren’s cell—the same stale air clogging her lungs. The same sinking conviction that every step she took carried her closer to something she would never escape. She could still see him hanging limply in his chains. Still taste the iron tang of his blood—
Loren slammed to a stop, turning back to glare at her. “What’s the matter with you?”
Araya flinched, ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “It just…reminds me of your cell,” she muttered. “The walk down there was a lot like this.”
Loren scoffed, turning back to the stairs. “Keep walking.”
Araya was breathing hard by the time the stairwell finally opened into a wide, echoing hall. Cold air bit through her sweat-soaked tunic, chilling her to the bone. But the shudder that wracked her body as the aetherlamps flicked to life had nothing to do with the chill.
“This is a crypt,” she whispered.
“It is.” Loren stopped, staring up at the nearest statue. “Welcome to the resting place of a hundred generations of fae monarchs.”
Araya swallowed hard, the memory of a hundred smashed open graves flashing through her mind. What would the Arcanum give to get their hands on the bones of fae royalty?
“How long do we have to stay here?”
“Until dawn, if you want to make it back to the castle alive. Why?” Loren raised his eyebrows, glancing back at her. “Did you have somewhere to be?”
Araya flushed, heat rushing across her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. “I just—”
“Don’t try to talk your way around it.” Loren dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “You almost got us both killed tonight. At least admit you were running straight back to the man who drained you and left you for dead.”
“And you drugged and kidnapped me!” Araya snapped, something in her chest twisting at the bitter accusation in his voice.
“I don’t even understand why. You’ve spent every second since we got here avoiding me.
Why bother dragging me here against my will when you obviously can’t stand the sight of me? ”
Loren stared at her, the shadows around his feet shivering like agitated serpents. For a moment, she thought he might snap back at her, but instead, he just closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
“You didn’t even make it to the docks, ael,sura,” he said.
“You ran straight into the zal’vorr. If I hadn’t found you, they would be breaking your bones open and feasting on the marrow right now.
And you were going to fight them off with—what is that, a dinner knife? You do remember you have magic, right?”
Heat flooded Araya’s face, shame and anger warring in her chest. “I have to go back, Loren.”
“You really don’t.” Loren scowled. “What kind of hold does he have on you that you would risk your life to get back to him when you could be free?”
“You don’t understand.” Araya took a deep breath, steeling herself. This was her chance—maybe her only chance—to make him understand. “I know was you saw was…brutal. But trust me, what he did…it’s a fraction of what most females go through.”
Loren’s eyes flashed, the shadows thickening at his feet. But Araya pressed on, the words tumbling from her lips in a flood she couldn’t stop.
“I’m not stupid. I know what he is—what he’s capable of. But if I don’t go back…” her voice broke, her chest tightening painfully. “He’ll think I ran. That I betrayed him.” A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “And you know what they do to traitors.”
Loren said nothing.
“If I go back, I have a chance. I can prove I’m still valuable, that I’m still worth protecting.
I can survive.” Araya sucked in a ragged breath, praying to whatever gods might listen that he was hearing her right now.
“I swear, I won’t tell Jaxon about the rebels.
I would never betray Serafina—she’s my best friend.
Please, Loren. I don’t belong here. I don’t even speak the language. ”
For a long moment Loren didn’t move. The shadows hissed softly, seething around his feet like they wanted to answer for him—but Loren’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his side.
“You should get some rest,” he said finally, his voice as flat and hollow as his eyes. “It’s going to be a long night.”
He turned away, the shadows trailing in his wake as he walked deeper into the crypt. Leaving her behind.