Chapter 41
Chapter
Forty-One
Dawn crept through the trees, its pale light filtering through the budding branches and gilding the thin mist that curled along the forest floor, pooling in the ruts left by the passing wagons.
Araya watched it, the tension in her chest easing slightly.
Because this was just mist—nothing but water, light, and the hush of an early morning.
There were no monsters hiding in its depths, and the only shadow here was the one curled in the collar of her cloak.
It had refused to leave her, its presence an invisible comfort even though they didn’t know how far it would be able to stay with her now that they had completed the bond.
The cart bumped over a root, jostling the children packed into its bed.
Araya pressed her palm to the side, steadying it as the young fae pulling caught himself.
He was still a child himself by fae standards—but he and his friends had begged to stay and fight, only agreeing to come with the children when Loren sat down and gravely charged them with protecting the last hope of the fae.
That hope huddled in the wagons they pulled now.
Fifty children, bundled under threadbare blankets.
Some blinked sleepily at the trees as they jolted over the uneven ground.
Others were too tired to stay awake, their heads lolling with each gentle sway, while others stared into the forest without blinking, stiff and silent.
The very youngest weren’t in the wagons at all.
They were carried—in slings tucked tight to their mothers’ breast, or held close against the shoulder of one of the chaperones who walked alongside the wagons.
Healers and elders, along with one sworn acolyte begrudgingly assigned to them by the High Luminary.
“Do you really think the temple can stand against them?”
Araya glanced over at Eilwen, meeting the other female’s worried violet gaze. Selan slept in a sling across her chest, his tuft of soft hair just peeking out of the top.
“It’s a good plan,” Araya answered carefully, mindful of the small ears listening. “Gods willing, they don’t even make it ashore.”
Eilwen nodded, but none of the tension left her shoulders. None of the others with them had lived under the New Dominion. They didn’t know what it was like to wake to screams. To see neighbors and loved ones vanish without a trace. To be reduced to nothing but the magic in your blood.
But Araya knew. And so did Eilwen. They were the only ones who understood—in intimate and horrifying detail—what would happen to these children if the Arcanum took them.
And that’s why they were the best people to protect them.
The sun had already climbed well above the horizon when the temple finally came into view. The older children pulling the wagons slowed, faltering as they approached a structure that hardly resembled the abandoned, shadow-shrouded ruin they knew from stories.
The High Luminary had set to work as soon as the shadows started clearing, charging acolytes and devotees to finally lay the dead to rest. With so many growers freed to help, soft green grass now blanketed the battlefield where bones had littered the mud, studded with sweet-smelling wildflowers.
Veria caught Araya’s eye, nodding as she directed the chaperones and older children to help the younger ones from the wagons.
A few little ones clutched toys, or each other’s hands.
But no one cried. Even the youngest understood the need for silence as they filed up the stairs and through the gaping hole where the shattered doors had been moved aside.
Araya lingered beside the cart, finding the place where the bond lived deep in her chest. It ached—stretched too tight by the distance between them—but Loren’s presence was still there. Grim and focused, full of tense apprehension instead of the panic and rage she’d expected.
“They haven’t made landfall yet.” She let out a slow breath, not sure if she was relieved or terrified by the revelation. “I thought they were supposed to be here by dawn.”
“Sometimes scouts are wrong.” Eryn shrugged, his hand resting near his dagger as he scanned the tree line. “They could have run into fog at sea. Or maybe they’re gauging our defenses.”
“Maybe they turned around,” Eilwen said quietly. She stared down at her son, her eyes glued to his sleeping face. “King Loren has control of Veil now. Maybe they’re afraid to face it.”
Araya glanced at Eryn. The spymaster met her gaze, shaking his head slightly to confirm what she already knew. There was no way the New Dominion just gave up. Not if Jaxon knew she was here.
“We should walk the perimeter,” he said. “Just to be safe.”
“That’s a good idea.” Araya turned to Eilwen, forcing as much steadiness into her voice as she could. “Go inside and get Selan settled. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done.”
Eilwen managed a wan smile, tightening her hold on the sling. Araya watched her climb the steps, holding her breath until she disappeared into the dark mouth of the temple.
“She’s so scared,” Araya murmured. Her own voice felt too loud against the hush of the morning.
“They all are." Eryn fell into step beside her as they began their circuit of the ruined walls. “But you have a way of keeping them steady. The way you speak to them, the way you make it feel like there’s still hope…Loren could learn a thing or two from you.”
Araya’s mouth tightened. “He has his own strengths.”
“Of course.” Eryn smiled faintly. “He doesn’t like me very much, you know. I can’t blame him though. Most days, I’m not very likable.”
“Ah—” Araya stared at him, not sure what to make of the unexpected line of conversation. “Loren respects you.”
Eryn laughed softly. “Unlikely, Miss Starwind.”
“He does,” Araya insisted. “He wouldn’t have trusted you with this—with me—if he didn’t. And I’m grateful, too. You helped me get the children here. You might be one of the few people who never lived in the New Dominion that understands the horrors they would face there.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, Lady Starwind.” Eryn’s hand brushed her elbow, guiding her over a rough patch of ground as they turned the corner. “It makes me very sorry for what is about to happen here.”
Araya stared at him, suddenly all too aware of how alone she was was with him. She couldn’t even see the temple steps any more. The little shadow shifted against her skin, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. But before she could ask what he meant, a scream shattered the morning quiet.
Eilwen.
Araya spun, her heart hammering as she stared back the way they’d come. She was such a fool—they should have checked the inside first, before anyone went in. She started back the way they’d come, her magic already rising to the surface and sparking across her skin.
But Eryn’s hand clamped down on her arm, yanking her to a halt.
“I can’t let you do that, Araya,” he said gently. “No one here wants you to get hurt. Now—drink.”
Drink. Araya sputtered, choking on the bitter liquid as Eryn pressed a flask to her lips.
Her throat convulsed against her will, every swallow burning like fire.
She tried to turn her head, to spit—but his command dug its claws into her, leaving her with no choice but to gag and sputter until he pulled the empty flask away.
“Good,” he said, pocketing the empty flask. “Very good, Araya. Now—stay here.”
Stay. The command rooted her feet to the ground, her muscles locking in place as if her legs had turned to stone. Her power flared hot in her veins—but his command smothered it, chaining her from the inside.
Desperate, she reached inward instead, grasping for the bond. But it slipped through her fingers, impossible to grasp. She tried again, only to discover the steady hum of Loren’s presence—a comfort she’d never expected to be without again—was gone. Silent.
“Don’t strain yourself, Miss Starwind.” Eryn shook his head, his expression pitying. “You won’t be able to reach him. That tea Serafina curated for us works very quickly.”
“You—” Araya stared at him, horrified. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what you should have done,” he said. “Before you decided to cling to a dream that died twenty years ago. You know better than to believe we can defeat them. And still, you let yourself get sucked in.”
Araya’s pulse roared in her ears. “Loren can—”
“Loren is a shell of the king he should have been.” Eryn sighed, his fingers digging into her flesh like claws.
“There were a hundred chances for this to end. He should have died in that cell. Or when you tried to cross the Shadowed Sea, or when the two of you walked into the heart of the Veil. But you just had to keep saving him didn’t you? And now we’ve been brought to this.”
“No—” Araya jerked against his hold, everything in her recoiling at his touch. She had to get to the children. If he’d betrayed them and the New Dominion was here—all she’d wanted to do was protect the children, and instead she’d doomed them.
But it was the shadow that saved her.
It exploded from her shoulders with a feral snarl, launching itself through the air. Eryn’s eyes widened, but he didn’t even get the chance to shout before it slammed into his chest. He flew back, his compulsion shattering like brittle glass as his body hit the broken stone with a sickening crack.
Araya ran.
She didn’t look back—didn’t dare. Whether the shadow had torn Eryn apart or he’d managed to fight it off didn’t matter. She had to reach the children. If she could just get them into the crypt, they would be safe.
She took the steps two at a time, her lungs burning as she burst into the darkened sanctuary.
The children huddled together in the far corner, pale faces streaked with dirt and tears. The chaperones ringed them in a broken circle, shielding them with their own bodies despite the terror written on their own faces.
Except for Eilwen.
She was on her knees, her body shaking with broken sobs as Darian Hale wrenched her arms behind her back. Two inquisitors flanked him, hands raised and ready to retaliate with stolen magic if anyone dared act.
Araya froze, her breath seizing in her lungs. Not Hale—not here. She stumbled back a step, every instinct screaming at her to turn and run—but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the familiar scrap of torn cloth at Hale’s feet.
Selan’s blanket.
“Let her go.” Araya forced herself to move forward, her magic rising again. Hale might kill her here—but she’d take him with her if she could.
But she’d only managed two steps before the smell hit her. Vanilla soap—sweet and cloying. The familiar scent coiled around her throat like a noose, the voice she heard in her nightmares wrapping around her with dark promise.
“Hello, Starling.”