Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Araya spent days drifting between sleep and waking.
Sometimes she surfaced to find Thorne by the window, thumbing through one of the books she’d asked him to bring. Other times it was Ilyana who eased her upright with patient hands, coaxing her to sip from steaming bowls of broth.
“What exactly are you trying to figure out here?” Thorne asked at last, tossing the thin volume he’d been leafing through down on the bed.
Araya picked it up, smoothing her hand over the cover.
The table beside her bed was stacked high with more of the same—official accountings of fae succession and royal mating bonds, records of the fae monarchy’s first years in exile, religious texts detailing proper burial rites—thousands of years, boiled down to nothing but words.
“It’s just a theory I’m working on,” she said.
Thorne hummed, his sharp gaze lingering, but he let the non-answer pass. “Loren wants me to take you back to Ithralis now that you’re stronger.”
“Does it even matter where I am?” Araya asked, picking at the embroidery on the coverlet rather than meet his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve seen him.”
“He’s been busy,” Thorne said carefully. “He and Eloria have been holding the Small Council at bay—but they’re demanding their turn with you. If you’re at Ithralis, it’s harder for them to reach you.”
“Don’t they deserve the chance to question me?” Araya laughed bitterly. “Look at what Jaxon has done because of me. Look at what I did in the square. I’d want to question me too.”
“You aren’t responsible for his actions.” Thorne laid his hand over hers, stilling her restless fingers. “And no one was seriously hurt in the square. It’s a good thing that your power manifested. Shielding is a valuable skill. If you cultivate it—”
“I want to talk to the Small Council,” Araya cut him off. “As soon as possible.”
“Loren won’t like it—”
“Loren forfeited my trust by hiding that Jaxon is killing people to demand my return,” Araya snapped. “I want to speak to someone who doesn’t have a vested interest in hiding things from me.”
Thorne was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, his chair scraping across the floor as he pushed to his feet.
“You should get dressed then,” he said. “Eloria and the Small Council are hearing petitions today. If you want to get in front of them without a fight from Loren, this is your chance.”
It only took minutes for Araya to pull on one of the simple dresses that had been delivered to her room. Plain and unadorned, it was more suited to convalescing than open court, but the rough-spun fabric was almost comforting in its familiarity. The uniform of someone who needed to blend in.
She scrubbed water over her face, wrestling her hair back into a tight braid.
And for a heartbeat when she looked in the mirror she almost recognized the person she’d been before she ever met Loren Shadowbane.
But then that strange power scraped against the inside of her skin, sharp and restless.
A reminder that she could never go back to who she’d been—not completely.
They passed no one as they descended the stairs.
Araya barely recognized the Central Hall—its long feast tables put away and the bright glow of the aetherlamps dimmed until the vast chamber seemed more like a tomb than a gathering place.
Every step echoed too loudly, her plain skirts brushing against stone.
“You’ll have no friends in that room,” Thorne warned, turning into a narrow hallway. “Eloria will be overseeing, and Galen is always kind—but their loyalty will always lie with their people. To the rest of them, you’ll be either a weapon or a liability.”
“And Loren?” Araya asked, her voice shaking.
“Loren is going to be furious when he sees you,” Thorne said grimly. “He’s convinced Cormac—that’s Eloria’s commander at arms—was the one behind the bodies on that float. He and Eryn have been the loudest voices questioning your motives in coming here.”
“The spymaster?” Araya shivered, remembering the way Loren had thrown the male against the wall all those weeks ago.
“The very same,” Thorne confirmed. “Expect questions—especially about your relationship with the Shaws.” He stopped just short of the door, turning to face her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Araya stared at the door. She could feel Loren beyond it. Not as clearly as she had before, when he’d been ready to rip this place down stone by stone, but her magic leaned toward him even more than it had before, desperate to get to him.
“I have to do this,” she said.
“Alright then.” Thorne set his jaw, turning back to the two guards that stood in front of the door. “We’re going in. Lady Starwind has a petition to present.”
“Very well, sir,” one of the guards said, though he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He shoved the door open, stepping inside with a perfunctory bow. “Lord Emberwood and Lady Starwind,” he announced, his voice carrying into the chamber. “To present a petition to the Small Council.”
The hush that followed was immediate. Dozens of heads turned, the petitioners clustered in front of the long table whispering to each other as they craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the female who had ruined Bloomtide.
Araya faltered under their scrutiny, her pulse suddenly racing as she stared up at the long table.
Loren sat at his sister’s right hand, the shadows curling up around him betraying the fury hidden behind his carved-from-ice expression. The bond pulled taut in her chest, crying out for her to cross the room and go to him—but she just stood beside Thorne, frozen.
“Arcanum’s whore.” One of the petitioners turned his head, his spit striking the floor at her feet. “Go back to where you came from, halfblood.”
Araya flinched and hunched her shoulders, shame crawling over her skin. She had no defense—her argument that she had only been doing what she needed to protect herself fell flat here, where so many had fought for and gained their freedom.
But Loren was on his feet. “What did you say to her?”
The petitioner shifted, color draining from his face as his companions drew away from him. But he lifted his chin, his voice steady. “Nothing but the truth, Your Majesty.”
“You can’t salute me and insult her.” Loren’s voice didn’t rise—but the shadows did. They unspooled like smoke, stretching long tendrils toward the male. “Apologize.”
The male opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. But the words wouldn’t come. The shadows hissed, reaching for him. He couldn’t apologize, Araya realized with dawning horror. Because he wasn’t sorry—and fae couldn’t lie.
“Loren—” she caught up her skirt in one hand, hurrying forward to push between the man and the shadows. “Don’t.”
For a heartbeat she thought he hadn’t heard her.
The shadows parted around her, circling the shaking male that had insulted her.
Araya stretched out her hand for them, desperately willing them to come to her instead.
These were Loren’s people. If he started hurting them because of her, they would never forgive him.
“Clear the room,” Eloria snapped.
Petitioners scattered, a scribe clutching his ledger as they all fled, filing out of the room until only Thorne and the seated councilors remained.
But Araya didn’t even get to take a full breath before Loren shoved his chair back so hard it struck the wall, shadows darkening around him.
He stormed across the room, shoving Thorne hard enough that the other male stumbled back.
“What were you thinking, bringing her here?” he snarled.
“You don’t have any right to keep me away,” Araya cut in. She stepped forward, her spine stiff as the miasma of darkness writhing around Loren swallowed her too. “You keep telling me I have a place here,” she challenged, her voice shaking. “That means I have every right to present a petition.”
Loren froze, finally looking directly at her. His lips parted, something sharp and wounded flickering behind his fury. “Ael’sura…” His voice cracked, more plea than rebuke. “You don’t know what you’re walking into. They’ll never agree to what you want to do. They’re going to tear you apart.”
“I have to do this, Loren.” Araya raised a hand, giving into the urge to brush her fingers over his cheek. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”
Loren closed his eyes at the featherlight touch, his eyebrows drawing together like he was in pain.
“I’m not supposed to interfere,” he said finally, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “But if you want to leave, say the word. I’ll get you out.”
Araya’s heart twisted. There was no guile in the offer. Just truth. If she asked him to save her, he would. But she couldn’t let him destroy himself like that.
“It will be fine,” she murmured, dropping her hand. “I’ll be fine, Loren.”
This room hadn’t been built for holding council sessions.
None of the chairs matched, and the long table was actually several shoved together.
But the people who sat around it—Araya fought the urge to cower in the face of their scrutiny, feeling more like she was standing trial than an invited guest.
“Thank you for coming, Lady Starwind.” Eloria said, standing at the head of the table. “We appreciate you making the time to speak with us today.”
One of the councilors snorted, his arms crossed over his chest like a shield. Dark bruises marred his throat, vivid against the pallor of his skin. He sneered, staring her down with bloodshot eyes.
“Finally,” he said. “We’ve been requesting her presence for weeks.”
Beside his sister, Loren stiffened, the aetherlamps flickering in their sconces as the room darkened.
“She’s here now—of her own free will,” Eloria said tightly. “Let that be enough, Commander. We don’t need a repeat of Bloomtide here today.”