Chapter 24 #2
“Gentle,” Araya murmured. She didn’t want to scare Eilwen or her child—but the shadow slipped even closer, curious.
“Is that shadow magic?” Eilwen didn’t flinch or pull away, her voice laced with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it yours.”
“Not mine.” Araya shifted, letting the shadow curl around her wrist. “The shadows belong to Loren. This one just…likes me.”
Eilwen’s eyes widened. “Prince Loren?” She glanced toward where he lingered by the tables with Galen. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you.”
Araya blinked, uncertain how to respond. “It’s complicated,” she said at last.
“It always is.” Eilwen laughed, stretching out a tentative hand toward the shadow. The tendril paused, considering her, then curled gently around her hand. Araya tensed—but Eilwen only laughed, soft and amazed, as the shadow twined through her fingers like smoke before slipping away again.
“I had a bond with Selan’s father,” Eilwen said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “We could share power in small ways, but nothing quite as impressive as this.”
Araya glanced down at Selan, feeling the weight of Eilwen’s words. “He was fae too, wasn’t he?” If there was human blood in this baby, it wasn’t much. His life…it wouldn’t have been a kind one in the New Dominion.
“Half,” Eilwen said, her sad smile telling Araya everything she needed to know about where this male was now. “I didn’t even know we were mates until Thorne explained it—it felt like losing him twice.”
“I’m so sorry, Eilwen,” Araya swallowed, staring down at the baby in her arms. The back of her neck prickled and she glanced up, not surprised to find Loren staring at her.
There was something in his expression that was tender, almost vulnerable as he watched her cradle Selan and his shadow twined around them both.
“I didn’t know about the mate bond either,” Araya said quietly. “I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“It’s a lot to take in.” Eilwen took Selan back as he stirred, fussing quietly. “A year ago I thought the Arcanum was going to put me to death,” she said. “I never would have believed a place like this even existed—much less that I’d be growing half the flowers for Bloomtide.”
“You grew all these?” Araya looked around again at all the flowers that surrounded them. ““They’re beautiful.”
“I’m a grower,” Eilwen said. “I’ve always had a knack for growing things—but the things I can do now, with my full power?” Her smile deepened, pride brightening her violet eyes. “Most days, the Princess Regent has me focused on crops. But for this? I got to make something beautiful.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Araya startled, a shiver running through her as Loren’s warm hand wrapped around her waist. She glanced up at him, but his gaze was fixed on the child in Eilwen’s arms, his expression unexpectedly soft.
“What a beautiful child,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Eilwen dipped into a clumsy curtsy, flushing. “It’s an honor to meet you. My son and I—we wouldn’t be here without Araya. She saved us.”
“Did she?” Loren’s grip tightened, sending sparks racing across Araya’s skin. “Well, I’m glad you both made it here unharmed. Your son is lucky to have you.”
“He’ll be a handful soon,” Eilwen said with a breathless laugh. “He’s already a troublemaker. I had to tie him to my back just to finish the floats for tonight.”
“You worked on the floats too?” Araya asked quickly, grateful for the shift in conversation. Loren’s hand remained at her waist, steady and warm, but she didn’t dare look at him.
“I did.” Eilwen grinned, bright-eyed. “Come on—I’ll help you find the best place to watch. You don’t want to miss this.”
The music and laughter swelled as the crowd pressed in around them, the air thick with the heady scent of crushed petals and magic as Eilwen led them forward, Selan snug in her arms. Heads turned as they passed, Loren’s name spreading through the crowd like wildfire.
Araya kept her eyes locked on Eilwen’s back, trying not shrink under the weight of so many eyes. But with every step, she became more acutely aware of Loren behind her—the heat of his presence a burning contrast to the cool brush of his shadows curling around her ankles like curious hands.
“We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Loren murmured, his voice pitched low, meant only for her. “This is a lot—I can take you back.”
“No,” Araya said quickly, even as her voice wavered. “I want to see the floats.”
She meant it. She wanted to see this world—the one he had endured so much pain to protect.
A hush rippled through the crowd as the music swelled, rising to a joyful crescendo as the first float glided into view, drawn forward by nothing but threads of shimmering magic.
A phoenix rose from it, sculpted from living blooms of crimson lilies and golden marigolds, held together by curling vines heavy with orange trumpet blossoms. It’s wings stretched wide, petals rustling softly in the spring breeze as if it might take flight at any moment.
“You grew that?” Araya gasped.
“The theme was rebirth,” Eilwen said, turning Selan in her arms so he could stare at the passing floats, his eyes wide with wonder. “They tried to represent all the old stories, to help teach those of us who never got to learn.”
Araya didn’t answer right away, her throat thick and her eyes stinging as the phoenix glided past them. Dancers spun and twirled barefoot in the shadow of its spread wings, scattering petals in their wake like a blessing. The crowd answered with a roar of delight, hands and voices lifted skyward.
But Loren didn’t cheer.
He stood beside her, silent and unmoving, his shoulders rigid as he stared out at the floats. The bond between them twisted with the ache of everything he felt—so much grief tangled with joy that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
Before she could think too hard about what she was doing, Araya leaned closer, letting her fingers tangle gently with his.
Loren startled slightly, his hand stiffening before his fingers curled tightly around hers. He looked down, his expression shadowed, his bright eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly.
He cleared his throat, blinking hard as he turned back toward the parade. “The last Bloomtide parade I saw was in Tirnavel,” he murmured. “With my parents. Eloria was only fifteen.”
Araya squeezed his hand. “Did that one have phoenixes then, too?”
Loren nodded slowly. “Always. My mother used to tell us the stories—how the phoenix rises from its own ashes, how nothing beautiful is ever truly gone.”
“Will you tell them to me?” Araya asked.
Loren glanced down at her, surprise flickering across his face. “You want me to tell you fae bedtime stories?”
“I’ve never heard them,” Araya admitted, staring back out at the parade rather than meet the pity in his eyes. “I’d like to, I think.”
Loren was quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles. “All right,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll tell you what I remember.”
And he did.
Loren whispered in her ear, his soft words bringing each float to life as it drifted by in a riot of color and life.
He told her of the great stag, its silver antlers crowned with blooming flowers, each step leaving a trail of new life in its wake.
Of the serpent, who guarded the hidden paths that led to the Goddess’s last sanctuary coiled among thorny vines and poisonous blossoms. Of the dusk-winged moth that drank magic straight from the shimmering starlight that gilded the still pools deep in the Eldergreen, weaving dreams into silk.
“The last float is always the Absent Goddess,” he said. “A reminder of the duty she left us with.”
“Duty?” Araya asked. “We were taught that she abandoned the fae.”
“They would say that.” Loren snorted, shaking his head as the final float rolled into view. “She didn’t abandon us. She charged us to protect this world—to serve as her stewards. Of aether. Of the Eldergreen. Of each other.”
The float was enormous, almost as wide as the street itself, and impossibly tall—gliding forward on a platform so thick with flowering vines it seemed to hover above the ground.
White blossoms spilled over the wheels and trailed behind like the train of a dress.
The Goddess stood at the center of it all, her upturned face veiled in silver and her arms raised in what could have been welcome or blessing, petals piled high around her feet like drifts of snow.
Araya leaned forward to see better, squinting at the shrouded forms that rested at her feet. “What do the bodies at her feet represent, then?”
Someone in the crowd gasped. The music faltered, laughter and cheering giving way to horrified whispers. Araya jerked her hand away from Loren, shoving her way to the very edge of the barrier where Eilwen clutched her son to her chest, shielding his eyes.
Because those bodies—they weren’t part of the float.
“Gods.” Araya clapped a hand over her mouth, choking on the reek of rotting flesh mingling with the sickly-sweet perfume of crushed flowers.
“Araya—” Loren reached for her, his shadows wrapping around her ankles, but she shook them both off, unable to tear her eyes from the grisly site as the float groaned to a halt just feet from where she stood, showering them all with delicate white petals.
Some of the bodies had been laid out carefully, their hands folded over their chests. Others buzzed with flies, their waterlogged flesh bloated and heavy. Every one of them had red hair. Clipped ears. And the same message burned into their flesh.
RETURN HER
Araya staggered, the world spinning around her.
She couldn’t breathe, every gasp of air she managed rotten with guilt and fear as people around them started to scream.
The message that had been carved and burned into every body echoed in her mind, seared into her soul as surely as it had been burned into every female Jaxon tortured and killed.
“Halfblood whore.”
The insult sliced through the horrified murmurs, silencing the crowd.
The male pulling the float ripped his harness open, dropping it to the cobblestones.
He stalked toward her, his face twisted with hatred.
“You should never have come here. Go back to your master before he kills more innocents just to send you a message.”
Araya froze. The noise of the crowd dulled to a distant roar as her muscles locked, her hands plastered uselessly over her mouth. Her fault. All of it was her fault—
Shadows curled around her ankles, their cool touch racing up her back to fall over her shoulders like a living mantle of darkness as Loren stormed forward.
“You do not speak to her like that,” he snarled. “She is under my protection. Threaten her again and I will add your body to the next pyre.”
The man blanched, his bravado crumbling. “But she—”
“She didn’t kill them,” Loren snapped, his words ringing out in the hushed horror of the square. “You want to blame someone? Blame the Arcanum. Blame Jaxon Shaw—the monster that actually tortured and killed these females. Not his victim—”
“You knew?”
The words fell from Araya’s lips before she could stop them. She whirled to face him, the chaos of the square fading to a dull roar in her ears. His guilt was written plainly across his face, his jaw tight, his eyes wide with the realization that he had been caught.
“You let me stand here and laugh,” Araya whispered, the words like glass in her throat. “You let me dance—” she choked, the sweet, metallic tang of aether flooding her mouth.
“I was going to tell you.” Loren stepped forward, heedless of the hundreds of eyes on them both. “Please, ael’sura, let me explain—”
“How long?” she demanded. Power roared through her, her voice rising. “How long did you know he was killing people because of me?”
Loren lifted a hand like he would catch her arm and draw her back—but the pressure that had been building under her skin broke first, engulfing the square in a wave of searing, crackling energy. Someone screamed, people stumbling back as it curved into a shimmering wall between them.
But Loren stayed, reaching for her despite the way her power lashed out at him, striking him hard enough to draw blood.
“Control it, ael’sura,” he begged, blood flecking the corners of his mouth. “Your power answers to you. Your will, your intentions. I know you don’t want to hurt all these people.”
A child’s cry broke through the roaring in her ears, the screams and shouts of the terrified crowd suddenly deafening.
Blackened petals drifted down around her, burning her skin and singing her beautiful dress.
One landed on the float, and then another—until the masterpiece of flowers and foliage became a pyre, its flames reaching for the stars above them as it consumed the bodies of the females Jaxon had murdered just to send her a message.
Araya sucked in a deep breath, immediately choking on the smoke.
Loren’s shadows surrounded them both, shielding the crowd from her wrath—but he stood inside of them.
Unshielded and vulnerable, bleeding from where she had struck him in her fury.
Her power recoiled at the sight of it, twisting in on itself as her chest tightened, panic rising in her throat.
“It’s alright, ael’sura,” Loren took another step forward, heedless of the danger. “You’re safe. I have you.”
Araya dropped to the cobblestones, barely feeling the pain that lanced through her knees.
Loren’s shadows surged to catch her—only to break against her power as the magic she’d unleashed folded in on itself, collapsing around her.
Her head buzzed, the world around her tilting sickeningly as she took it all back—too much, too fast.
The last thing she saw was Loren’s face, her name on his tongue and his green eyes wide with fear as he fought to reach her—and then the world went dark.