Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Araya fought her way forward, mist pressing in around her on all sides. Bones turned under her feet, almost sending her to the muddy ground without Loren’s hand to keep her steady. Every breath she took settled wet and heavy in her lungs, reeking of mud and rot.
She didn’t dare look back.
The bond clawed at her chest, screaming at her to turn around. But Araya knew if she did she would never be able to keep going. And she had to keep going. For all of them.
This was the plan.
Loren would hold dara’el at bay. Distract them long enough for her to reach his father’s bones.
And then it would be her turn.
Everything hinged on her after that. Her best chance—his too—laid in the hope that she was right about the shadows being anchored to his father’s remains. That she could use that to bring them to heel. To save Loren. Eloria, Galen, Thorne—all the fae.
Everyone but herself.
She took another step—and the bond blazed to life.
Araya gasped, clutching her chest as her magic convulsed under her skin like it wanted to escape. Her heart lurched in her chest, dragging her back the way she had come.
Something was wrong.
She turned, mist churning at her heels as she stared back the way she had come. For a heartbeat, all she saw was more formless shadow closing in around her. Then a flicker caught her eye—movement. Loren’s shadows, swirling toward her with frantic speed.
But that wasn’t right—they’d never left him. Not in the cell beneath the Aetherium. Not on the boat, when the Shadowed Veil was about to crush them. Not even in the months they’d spent fighting the pull of the bond.
Why would they abandon him now?
She stared past them, the mist thinning just enough for her to catch his gaze—his green eyes wide with pain—before he slumped into the mud. And above them all, rising from the battlefield like a wave of death, was dara’el.
Loren’s shadows weren’t abandoning him. They were shielding her.
The bond wrenched in her chest again, stealing the breath from her lungs. It splintered, shards tearing through her ribs like broken glass. But under the pain...Regret. Sorrow. Trust. Love.
The echo of everything Loren had never been able to bring himself to say to her, all poured into the last, fragile remnants of the connection between them.
“No—” Araya faltered, tears pouring down her face as his shadows finally reached her, their touch cool against her suddenly heated skin. “No—”
She had minutes—if that—to reach his father’s bones. Her fingers brushed the pouch holding the glass vials she’d carefully packed this morning, each one filled with the blood Loren had freely offered. If she could just reach the king’s body in time, she could bind dara’el and save the fae.
But Loren would die.
And Araya wasn’t ready to lose him. Not like this.
He made his choice, the shadows hissed as she took a step. Go—once he dies we won’t be able to stay with you. If you don’t have control—
Araya bared her teeth, fury clawing up her throat. Her magic surged in response, flooding her veins like wildfire. It burned up her spine and over her skin in a brilliant flare of searing light, heat pouring from her in waves. The shadows recoiled, pulling back in surprise.
“He’s not going to die,” she snarled. “I won’t let him.”
Mud sucked at her boots as she fought her way back the way she had come, cold wind clawing her braid loose. The mist thickened, trying to blind her—but her magic blazed outward, carving a path across the battlefield as the bond screamed, writhing in her chest like a wounded beast.
Loren lay where he’d fallen, his tunic torn to shreds.
Her magic arched over them, cracking and splintering as it battled the clawing darkness.
Blood poured from her nose, her ears ringing from the strain of it.
But Araya refused to let go, pouring her heart and soul into the fragile dome that surrounded them both, until she finally collapsed to her knees at his side.
“Loren,” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands. But he didn’t stir. He wasn’t even breathing, crawling veins of black spreading across his ribcage everywhere it wasn’t flayed and bloody.
And their bond—
Araya clung to it, fighting to hold on even as it unraveled in her grip. She didn’t need to be a Healer to understand.
Loren was dying.
“Loren.” Araya dropped to her forehead to his, tasting blood as the Veil pressed against her shield. “Loren, don’t you dare. You don’t get to sacrifice yourself. Not like this.”
But there was no answering spark of magic. Her shield shuddered, the last barrier between them and death flickering out like a spent lamp.
“You can’t take the son for the sins of the father,” Araya shouted, not caring that she was speaking to something far older than anything she’d ever known. “It’s not fair.”
A fool for a fool. The voice that scraped across her mind rattled her teeth, echoing in her bones. Leave him—or die beside him.
Araya choked on a sob, curling her body over Loren’s like she could shield him. Her magic sputtered in her veins, the well of power that had felt so unlimited just this morning drained to nothing in the face of a power more ancient and vast than she’d ever imagined.
“You selfish bastard,” Araya choked out. “This wasn’t the plan. You were supposed to live. To be free. We were both supposed to—” her voice broke as she pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t get to leave me,” she whispered. “Not after everything. Not like this.”
She leaned in, catching his cold lip in her teeth and biting down until she tasted blood. “Lorendrael,” she murmured against his lips, a salty tear mingling with the taste of copper on her tongue.
The wave of darkness above them shuddered, the mist that surrounded them trembling as power washed over her.
“He is mine,” Araya snarled, lifting her head. Her voice rose, each word hurled into the darkness like a blade. “And I am his. You will not take him from me.”
The shadows recoiled, writhing overhead in a vast, shivering mass. Then they answered—not in screams or hisses, but in a single, reverberating voice that cracked the air like thunder:
He is broken. Unworthy. Would you fall with him?
Araya’s magic surged, biting into her bones, but she didn’t falter.
“I already did,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I would again. I will not forsake him. Not now. Not ever.”
For a breathless instant, the battlefield held its breath.
Dara’el loomed over them, its vast consciousness coiled and ready to strike, even as it trembled with indecision.
Mist churned at its edges, thick with rage and confusion.
All around them, smaller shadows pulled loose from the dark, creeping across the shattered bones like smoke drawn to a flame.
Her little shadow reached them first, brushing against her wrist as it wound itself around Loren’s throat like it had done so many times with her.
Araya held her breath, staring up at the power behind the Shadowed Veil that had caused so much death and destruction over the past two decades.
He is not whole, they boomed, a thousand broken voices overlapping.
“I know,” Araya said, her arms tightening around him. “But neither am I. And neither are you. You could be, though. If you wanted to.”
The great shape hesitated. The shadows around her shivered—not in anger now, but in something that almost felt like grief.
More tendrils slipped free of the mist, joining the darkness blanketing them both.
They brushed over Loren’s brow, his shadow-marked chest, his slack fingers.
One coiled around Araya’s wrist, its cool touch as gentle as a kiss against her pulse. Tasting her.
A ripple passed through the mist—slow and shuddering, like a beast exhaling after a long and bitter war.
He is yours, they agreed finally. And you are his. If he survives.
And then dara’el began to unravel.
The great shape folded inward on itself, collapsing into the smaller shadows that had chosen Loren from the start. They poured into him—not to consume, but to return. His shadows accepted them, folding them into the space they’d held open all this time, knitting something new from the wreckage.
A gust of wind tore through the battlefield, scattering the remaining mist as the clouds parted overhead. And for the first time in more than twenty years, the sun shone down on the temple.
It spilled golden across the battlefield, painting the bones in and muddy ground in streaks of gold. Somewhere, someone was shouting, but she didn’t bother to look up. Loren still lay in her arms, too still and cold, his chest barely rising and falling.
If he survives.
“Lorendrael,” Araya whispered, holding his face in her hands. “I’m not done with you. Come back to me.”
“Araya—”
Hands gripped her shoulders. She didn’t know whose—Thorne’s, Galen’s, maybe both—but she snarled and twisted, refusing to let go. Tears blurred her vision as she pressed closer, fingers digging into the ruined remnants of his tunic like she could hold them together by will alone.
“No—don’t touch him—don’t touch me—” Her voice cracked as she shook them off, tears pouring freely now. “I can’t—he’s not—he’s not—”
“Araya, please—” someone pulled at her arm, trying to pry her off of him. “Let them work.”
She shook her head, clinging tighter as blue-robed Healers converged on them.
“Come back to me,” she begged, breathing the words directly into his ear. “You survived. You survived the Arcanum. You don’t get to die here—”
But his body stayed limp, the place in her chest where the bond had once lived was silent and still.
Hands grabbed her again. This time, they didn’t ask.
She screamed, fighting against them as they dragged her away from him. “No! Let me go—let me go, please—”
More Healers pushed in. Someone tried to speak to her—a Healer, asking if she was hurt.
But Araya strained against the hands holding her, her chest heaving and her vision blurred with the tears that poured freely down her face.
She couldn’t see him anymore. Couldn’t feel him.
She didn’t even know if he was alive. Shouldn’t she know?
He was her mate. She was supposed to know.
“Someone get her out of here, she’s not helping—”
Araya screamed, but her body gave out before her voice did. Her magic sputtered in her veins, her strength gone. She sagged in their grip, sobs shaking her body as they pulled her away.