Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Araya woke slowly, sleep blurring the edges of her mind. Thin light filtered through the high windows of the library, muted and gray. Spring might have arrived, but there were no fresh buds or greening gardens. Not here, where a heavy blanket of chill mist still pressed against the castle walls.
But she was warm.
She blinked, groaning when she realized she’d fallen asleep in one of the library chairs, slumped awkwardly against the armrest with the reports she’d been going over still spread out on the table in front of her.
Someone had draped a blanket over her, cocooning her in the comforting scent of rain-washed stone.
Loren.
He slumped in a chair across from her, his long legs stretched out and his head tipped back against the padded upholstery—fast asleep. For once, the tension was gone from his face, the grim set of his lips softened. Even the shadows were restful, quiet around his feet.
The bond purred in her chest, delighted at his proximity and blissfully uncaring of the reasons why they could never be together. Not really. But for a moment, she indulged it. Let herself breathe in his scent and imagine that she would ever get more than a handful of stolen mornings with him.
But when she looked at him, the dream shattered.
Faint scars wrapped his throat, a lingering reminder of the iron collar he had worn for so many years.
More peeked out from the open collar of his shirt—a map of the Arcanum’s cruelties, carved into his flesh with iron and left to heal without care.
Even with all the magic in the world at their fingertips, the fae Healers would never be able to make those scars vanish completely.
Araya’s stomach turned. She might not have wielded the knife herself, but she’d been complicit. Silent and obedient.
Her focus had always been on ensuring that she was never on the receiving end of such attention. But now twenty-three fae females were dead—killed for no reason but that they bore a passing resemblance to her. Dumped into the Shadowed Veil like refuse. Forgotten.
She didn’t deserve this happiness. Not after everything she’d done. And everything she’d failed to do.
If she was a better person, she would pray to the Gods that he found someone else once she broke their bond. Someone kind and gentle. Who thought of others first.
The kind of person that would make a good queen.
But just the thought of being replaced stirred the bond from its content rest, molten power prickling beneath her skin. And she couldn’t afford that—not today.
Araya stood, folding the blanket and laying over the back of her chair before slipping from the library on silent feet.
Despite the early hour, voices already drifted up from the floors below—soft conversation, the clatter of dishes, the scent of something warm and spiced.
Ithralis was more alive than she had ever seen it, crowded with those Eloria had deemed indispensable to the retrieval effort.
Even the High Luminary had come—trailed by an entourage of white-robed devotees that mingled with a small army of soldiers and Healers, filling bedrooms and the common areas of Ithralis with talk and laughter.
But even in a place this full, it was possible to feel alone.
Araya made her way outside without speaking to anyone. The early spring air bit at her cheeks as she crossed the courtyard, mist curling low across the stones. She pulled her cloak tighter, ducking into the garden she’d worked so hard on with Thorne.
The secluded alcove where he’d waited for her still stood undisturbed, the quiet of wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.
She paused beneath the arch of dead vines, tilting her head to study their twisted length.
They would have been beautiful in full bloom—lavender curtains spilling down, their sweet scent perfuming the air and their lush leaves casting dappled shadows in the sun.
Maybe Eilwen could regrow them, once Eloria lifted the shadows. The garden would bloom again, even if she wasn’t here to see it.
Araya settled onto the damp bench, drawing her cloak tight around her shoulders. She hadn’t come to grieve what had been or mourn what she would never have.
She’d come to practice.
Araya held out her hands in front of her, turning her mind inward to brush across the current of power that flowed through her.
Back in the New Dominion, she never would have dared waste valuable magic—conservation was the first thing the human minders at Kaldrath had drilled into them when they arrived, weeping and terrified.
It wasn’t their power to use. It belonged to the Arcanum, just like their names.
But that was the human way.
She drew a steadying breath, opening herself to her power. It rose to her invitation, a faint shimmer warming her palms. For a heartbeat, it held—the thin, translucent beginnings of a shield.
But then it faltered, shivering between her hands before it broke apart and dissolved into the mist.
Araya hissed through her teeth, dragging the remnants of her power back under control.
They all said she could do this—that it would come as naturally as breathing.
She’d done better sparring with Loren. She’d saved Thorne’s life with her magic.
Loren even claimed he’d seen her use her power instinctively before, back in the New Dominion.
So why couldn’t she reach it now?
Araya closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.
This was just nerves. Today was important.
If they succeeded in retrieving the king’s remains from the heart of the Veil, she’d be that much closer to going home.
Gods, she could be on a boat this time next week.
Back to the New Dominion, and Jaxon, and the life she’d built for herself.
The thought didn’t fill her with the relief it should have.
“This is an interesting place to find the mate of our crown prince,” a smooth voice cut through the silence.
Araya’s eyes flew open, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end at the sight of the silver-haired female just a few paces away. Even without her ceremonial mantle, there was no mistaking the High Luminary’s glacier-pale eyes and haughty bearing.
Araya stood, wrapping her cloak around herself like a shield. “Does Loren know you’re out here?”
“Be easy, Lady Starwind.” The High Luminary’s lips curved in a small smile.
“I seek only a moment of your time. Even without His Majesty’s recent…
demonstration of what his shadows will do when you are threatened, I would never be fool enough to detain the mate of our crown prince against her will.
I am merely curious what drives you to seek solace in a garden of shadows and death, when most would turn to the Goddess and her temples in times of turmoil. ”
“I grew up with the Gods,” Araya said warily.
The High Luminary hummed softly. “Of course. The humans brought many gods with them when they sought sanctuary in our lands, searching for a place where they wouldn’t be prosecuted for practicing magic.
And we welcomed them—called them kin and mixed our blood with theirs.
After all, we all carry the Goddess’ blessing, no matter how much aether we can summon to our will. ”
Araya shivered, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders like a shield.
“But humans are never content with the gifts they’re given.
” The Priestess sighed, her gaze distant.
“They sought more. And when the Goddess did not offer it freely, they turned to fae blood and fae bone, committing atrocities to take what they could never earn. Your prince’s father was the king to finally heed our warnings.
He forbade the practice of using amplifiers, decreeing that what we were given must be enough. But by then the damage was done.”
Araya’s throat tightened. This wasn’t the story she’d learned from the human minders who raised her, but she knew how it ended. She had lived it.
“Humans are short-lived,” the High Luminary continued.
“But they breed like rats. A few become dozens. Dozens become hundreds, then thousands.” Her gaze swung back to Araya, rooting her where she stood.
“The clever and cunning among them quietly hoarded fae relics, crafting them into powerful weapons. With their numbers and the element of surprise…it was a slaughter.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Araya whispered.
“Because, Lady Starwind, you aren’t the first to believe you can rewrite what the Goddess has designed,” the High Luminary smiled sadly. “Nor, I imagine, will you be the last. But every fall begins with the belief that we know better than the divine.”
“People are dying,” Araya protested. “Innocents—”
“I don’t question your motivations, Lady Starwind,” the High Luminary interrupted. “None of us wish to see others die in our place. It is a noble impulse.”
“But?” Araya asked.
“But you are the mate of a prince—destined to be queen. To reject that bond… to sever what the Goddess herself has placed between you—” her voice cooled, each word deliberate, “—the consequences will ripple far beyond the deaths of a few part-fae women.”
“Females,” Araya corrected. She glared at the priestess, certain the slight had not been an accident. “They were fae.”
“Part-fae.” The High Luminary said pointedly.
“Just like me.” Araya didn’t flinch from the High Luminary’s stare. She’d spent her life being looked at as less and proving everyone wrong. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to take your counsel under advisement. But right now, I’d like to be alone.”
The High Luminary studied her for a long, weighty moment longer before nodding. “As you wish, Lady Starwind. I will burn bay and pray the Goddess grants you clarity—and that whatever choice you make does not doom more than your own heart.”
Araya wrapped her arms around herself, watching silently as the mist swallowed the High Luminary.
In just a few heartbeats, she was alone again.
Her power hummed under her skin, but she didn’t reach for it again.
She just stood there, staring into the the quiet gray until a familiar wisp of shadow slid across the stones, twining around her ankles before leaping up to her shoulders.
She stroked it softly, warmth blooming in her chest as Loren stepped into the garden.
“You found me,” she said.
“I’ll always find you,” he answered easily. He leaned against the wall, his face soft as he watched her stroke the shadow’s sinuous form. He’d come straight from the library, his hair still tousled and and a faint line on his cheek from the seam of the upholstery. “You were upset.”
“I’m nervous.” Araya sighed, glancing back into the shadowed garden. “What if I can’t do it?”
Her voice wavered, breaking embarrassingly. But Loren just took another step forward, his hand coming up to cup her jaw as his thumb smoothed away a tear she hadn’t felt fall.
“You’re the strongest person I know,” he said softly. “If anyone can do this, it’s the female who forced the Arcanum to take her seriously.”
Araya’s breath hitched. Her eyes searched his—steady, unwavering, full of a trust she hadn’t known she needed so badly. A trust she didn’t deserve.
“Loren…” she laid her hand over his, closing her eyes. “I can’t stay here.”
“I know.” Loren’s fingertips brushed over her skin, a barely there touch that sent goosebumps rushing over her skin. “And I understand. I won’t pretend the way you survived was right or easy. But I see you now. I trust you. Whatever comes next—whatever choice you have to make—I’m with you.”
Araya didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat closed around the rush of words she couldn’t voice, her chest aching with the weight of everything he’d just given her.
Instead, she surged forward, burying her face in his chest.
Loren caught her without hesitation, his arms folding around her. One hand cradled the back of her head, tucking her into him like she belonged there.
“You should eat something,” Loren said once her sobs had quieted to shaking sniffles.
“I don’t think I can.” Araya stepped back, wiping at her face.
Loren didn’t press. Just held out his hand.
“You’re ready,” he said, quiet and certain.
She stared at his hand for a moment, the ache in her chest coiling tighter. Then she slipped her fingers into his and let him lead her from the garden.