Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
They settled into a rhythm after that. Every morning, Loren was already waiting for her when she arrived, some book or scroll laid out before him and a cup of steaming tea at his elbow.
She’d been horrified at first—until he’d shown her how the pages had been enchanted to repel moisture, protecting them from the ever-present damp and spilled tea cups.
Hours stretched into days, quickly becoming weeks at that oak table, his shadows draped lazily over the surrounding tables and chairs. He might spend a whole morning patiently helping her translate the texts she wanted, offering quiet instruction on Valenya as they went.
“You’re picking it up quickly,” Loren said, watching her from across the table.
“I’ve had worse teachers.” Araya buried her nose in the journal he’d given her to read to hide the way her cheeks flushed at his praise.
It felt too easy, too natural to sit across from him like this.
And while her logical mind knew it was the bond—pulling her toward him and blurring lines she couldn’t afford to lose sight of—her heart struggled to remember that he was her captor, not her friend.
“Here,” he said, turning the scroll he’d been perusing toward her. “This word—it’s one of the roots we talked about yesterday.”
Araya leaned forward, shoving the loose waves of her hair over her shoulders for what felt like the hundredth time. She didn’t know what had possessed her to leave it loose this morning. It was so impractical—always getting in her face and catching between her back and the chair.
“Dara,” she murmured, feeling the shape of the word with her lips. “That means fear, right?”
“Dread,” Loren corrected. “That’s why we call the shadows dara’el—the dread.”
“Because they’re not actually shadows, right?” Araya frowned down at the scroll. “That would be noct’el.”
“Correct.” Loren nodded, his gaze drifting over the delicate, faded script. “Dara’el might appear as shadows, but it’s not just simple darkness. It’s pure power. A gift from the Goddess herself.”
Araya traced the word again, stealing another glance at him. He stared down at the parchment, the ever-present dark circles under his eyes worse than they’d been even a week ago. Did he have nightmares too? Or was it something else that kept him awake at night?
“I thought they were going to kill you,” she said softly. “On the boat.”
“They were.” Loren tugged at his sleeve, rubbing at the dark mark it hid without seeming to realize what he was doing. “Until you talked them out of it. Which was foolish, by the way.” He frowned at her, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. “You had no idea they wouldn’t just kill you too.”
“We all would have died if they’d sunk the boat.” Araya shrugged. “And I didn’t think it was fair that they were judging you so harshly.”
“That’s their job.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “The Goddess gave dara’el to the fae to mark those worthy of leading in her absence. The strongest, the most capable—the fae who were most suited to guide and protect her people until her return. A job I’m clearly failing at.”
Araya frowned, something about the way he said it settling wrong in her chest. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” she said. “You endured twenty-five years of torture without ever once giving the Arcanum what they wanted.”
“And yet, the shadows don’t obey me.” He waved a hand at the shadows spread out across the room.
“They react. Sometimes, our goals align…but when they don’t?
” He shook his head, his jaw tight. “I thought they were going to attack you in the dining room. I live in constant fear of losing control and hurting someone I love.”
Araya’s stomach twisted, the accusation he didn’t speak gnawing at her. “And that’s my fault, isn’t it? Because I don’t want to complete the bond?”
Loren’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing.
“No—” he leaned forward, like he might reach for her but thought better of it at the last moment. “Bonded pairs are typically more powerful—but it’s not your fault, ael’sura. The shadows are mine to control—or to fail at. That’s on me, not you.”
Araya flushed, her gaze fixed on the journal open in front of her without seeing it. Maybe he believed that, but she had a feeling his sister would have disagreed.
“We’ve been at this for hours.” Loren snapped his book closed, shoving back from the table. “It’s time for lunch.”
Lunch. Araya almost groaned. She glanced down at the open journal in front of her, the delicate script still only half-translated.
Lunch meant the end of their quiet hours here.
After they ate, Loren would force her to abide by her end of their bargain, spending the afternoon letting him help her train her magic.
Araya pushed to her feet, grimacing. “Let’s get it over with, then.”
“All you have to do is extinguish the flame.”
“Without touching it, using runes, or any sort of focusing assistance,” Araya retorted, glaring at the candle that flickered between them.
“Yes.” Loren didn’t so much as blink at her irritation, his voice as even. As if they hadn’t been doing this for weeks without success. What had he told her the first time? That this exercise was so easy a child could do it.
She shifted on the floor, running her fingers over the cool stone floor of the training room.
Racks of weapons she would never have been allowed to touch in the New Dominion lined the walls, crowded in beside battered practice dummies and simple targets.
But there was no chalk, no place for her to trace any runes to guide and shape her power.
Leaving her with nothing but Loren and his inflexible instructions.
Right on cue, he spoke again. “You should be able to feel it—”
“I can feel it fine,” Araya snapped.
She reached inward, finding that internal well of aether easily. That wasn’t her problem—the power was there, waiting for her to shape it. But instead of molding it into something useful, she did what Loren insisted on and just…opened herself to it.
And—nothing. The flame didn’t even flicker.
Loren sat back on his heels, watching her. “Try again.”
Araya grit her teeth, biting back a sharp retort. Why was she even bothering with this? Why was he? It never worked. Still, she’d promised to try. So Araya sucked in a deep breath, letting her mind drift.
“You’re holding on too tightly,” Loren said finally when the candle continued to burn.
“I’m not.” Araya glowered at him. Her power fizzed in her veins, more interested in the male sitting across from her than doing anything for her. “This is pointless. It’s not how my magic works.”
“You’ve done it before,” Loren insisted. “In my cell when I broke my chains—you used your magic instinctively to keep me from hurting Shaw. The problem is you how you learned to use your magic, limiting your potential to what humans deemed acceptable. If you just relaxed—”
Araya’s patience snapped. She had spent years fighting for even a chance at learning to use her power. And then she’d spent even more time honing her control and precision to make her into something useful to the New Dominion so she could keep that power.
She swept her fingers across the stone, tracing the familiar contours of zephra, a rune she had used a thousand times for far more complicated work than this ridiculous exercise.
Without an anchor, the power she threw amounted to nothing but a puff of air—but it was more than enough to blow out that damned candle.
Araya whipped her gaze to Loren, not bothering to hide her triumphant grin. That was how magic was supposed to work.
“Really?” Loren glared at her, his green eyes blazing with fury. The shadows shifted around him, echoing his anger. “You didn’t even try.”
“I did try.” She climbed to her feet, brushing her skirts back into order. “And I succeeded—my own way. You’re the one insisting on a solution that isn’t possible.”
Loren’s jaw flexed, his expression cooling into something far more dangerous than open anger. He climbed to his own feet, the hair on the back of her neck prickling as he stepped forward, invading her space.
“This isn’t a game, ael’sura.” He took another step forward, his shadows sweeping forward to surround them both in shifting darkness.
“Do you not understand? Forget the power that could kill you if you don’t figure out how to coexist with it.
Anyone here can compel you with the name you give out so freely, and you can’t do anything to stop them. ”
Araya faltered, falling back a step as Loren plucked a dagger from one of the racks, offering it to her hilt first. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Take the dagger, Araya.”
Araya gasped as his magic washed over her, his order crawling under her skin and digging its claws into her will. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger, her muscles twitching as the compulsion burned in her blood.
“Stop,” she gasped. “This isn’t what I agreed to—”
“You don’t feel like this is helping?” Loren’s shadows ran over her, cool as silk against her overheated skin. “It’s helping me feel like I was right.”
“Loren—” her voice cracked, caught between a warning and a plea.
“Put the knife to your throat, Araya.”
Araya choked, her lungs seizing as her hand moved of its own accord. The edge of the dagger pressed into the fragile skin at the hollow of her throat, the world narrowing to the sting of cold steel against her pulse point.
“Any fae here can do this to you,” Loren murmured. He stepped in close, his voice curling like smoke against her ear. “You don’t have the discipline to fight off a child. Anyone could make you kneel, strip—even slit your own throat.”
“Stop it.” Araya’s voice shook, the word breaking on a sob. Hot tears blurred her vision, sliding down her cheeks. But she didn’t dare move. Not with the dagger pressed against her throat.
Loren’s gaze shifted, something unreadable flickering across his expression.
He lifted his hand, his thumb brushing across her cheek.
Heat sparked at the contact, magic surging beneath her skin as the bond snapped tight in her chest. It didn’t care that he was forcing her to hold a knife to her own throat.
That she was helpless, captive to his will.
It wanted him—stretching forward with the desperation of a vine searching for light even as her mind screamed no.
Loren went impossibly still, his nostrils flaring as the air between them crackled with power. His eyes dropped, her pulse leaping treacherously as his gaze lingered on her lips. He leaned toward her, his mouth opening—and then it wasn’t Loren standing there at all.
It was Jaxon. Jaxon’s shadow falling over her. His hand crushing her wrist. His magic scraping across her skin like a thousand iron-tipped needles—
Her hands shook, the dagger trembling dangerously at her throat. The room blurred, the edges of her vision darkening. She could smell him, the cloying vanilla perfume of his soap clogging her lungs as she choked, struggling to pull in enough air.
The dagger slipped from her hand, clattering against the stone. But all she could hear was Jaxon’s voice whispering in her ear, reminding her that her place was on the floor at his feet—
“Araya—” Loren started, a thread of panic in his voice as he reached for her.
“Stop!” Araya planted both hands against Loren’s chest, shoving hard. “Stop—don’t touch me—”
Her voice broke on a sob, her blood rushing in her ears like roaring waves, drowning out Loren’s voice until all she could hear was Jaxon whispering her name.
She staggered back, folding in on herself as her spine hit the wall.
She couldn’t stop the tears, every breath catching sharp in her throat as she cowered against the stone, gasping.
Loren froze, the concern on his face collapsing into something stark and horrified. He took a half-step forward, then stopped again. Even his shadows wavered, curling close around his boots like they didn’t know whether to shield her or him.
“Ael’sura—”
“Well,” a smooth, unhurried voice drawled from the doorway. “I can see why you’ve kept her tucked away, Your Majesty. Everything certainly does make a little more sense now.”
Loren’s shoulders snapped back, every line of him hardening as his shadows surged to life, rounding on the intruder with lethal intent. “How did you get in here?”
“That’s my job, Your Majesty.” The stranger leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his dark eyes.
“I’d make a pretty poor spymaster if I couldn’t sneak into an unguarded castle, wouldn’t I?
Now—” his gaze raked over her, freezing Araya’s sobs in her chest. “There’s nothing of greater interest to me right now than a formal introduction Jaxon Shaw’s bond. ”
The shadows around Loren hissed, but Araya couldn’t pick out what they said over Loren’s snarl. “Do not.”
“Touchy.” The male clicked his tongue, shaking his head. But his eyes didn’t leave Araya’s, holding her rooted to the spot. “You might not know this, dear, but mated males can be very… territorial.”
The male hit the wall so hard the aetherlamps rattled in their sconces.
Araya flinched back, her heart in her throat as the shadows dragged the stranger up the wall, his chuckle cutting off in a pained wheeze.
But it wasn’t until Loren’s hands wrapped around his throat that his gaze finally left hers.
Araya gasped in a breath, her body acting before her mind caught up.
One moment she was frozen—then she was shoving past Loren.
She lurched through the door, the pounding of her boots on the stone floor ringing louder in her ears than her own ragged breaths.
She couldn’t get enough air, her throat closing tight as fresh tears blurred her vision.
She turned a corner too fast and slammed into something solid. Someone caught her before she fell, hands steadying her with firm pressure at her shoulders.
“Araya?” Thorne’s eyes searched her face, taking in her blotchy cheeks and wild eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“Loren—there was a knife—he made me—” Araya shuddered, her throat bobbing as the words tangled in her throat. “Someone—someone came in. Loren—I think Loren is going to kill him.”
Thorne’s expression hardened, though his grip on her arms eased. “Everything is going to be fine,” he said firmly. “You’re safe. Now go—lock yourself in your room.” His tone left no room for argument. “I’ll deal with Loren.”
Araya nodded. She stumbled past him, racing for the one place here where she could shut the door and hide.