Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Loren had never spared much thought for the flood tunnels under Aetheris.
Why should he have, when he walked through the streets of the city as its prince?
He’d never considered how cold and dark they must be, or how everything would reek of damp and mildew, the stench clinging to his hair and his clothes no matter how much he scrubbed.
He’d never bothered to think about how the steady drip drip drip could wear on a person’s sanity over the course of just a few short weeks.
And he’d certainly never imagined that he would be living in them, huddled in the darkness like a rat, hiding from the humans that had stolen his kingdom.
You should be out there. The shadows curled around his ankles, sibilant whispers slithering through his mind. Jaxon Shaw took her from us. And you have done nothing.
Loren rubbed at the scars around his wrists, the cold bite of damp air and the constant darkness reminding him a little too much of the cell he’d spent twenty-five years in.
Finn swore they were safe in the tunnels, but all he could feel was the weight of the city pressing down above them.
She was up there somewhere—so close but still entirely out of his reach.
“She’s in the Shaw house,” he said. “We need to be making a plan to get in there.”
“We can’t move without confirmation,” Finn said patiently. “It’s too risky. We need more information—scouts, timing, watch rotations. Rushing in blind gets people killed, Loren.”
“We’ve been searching for confirmation for weeks,” Loren growled. “There’s nowhere else he would have taken her.”
“I know you believe that, but you don’t know,” Serafina said gently.
She smoothed the map on the crate between them with her crabbed hands, studying it.
“They kept you in the cells under the Aetherium for twenty-five years and we never heard a whisper of it. I don’t think they would have taken her there after you escaped, but there are other black sites, some we know about and plenty we don’t. ”
“If you could feel her,” Finn added, his voice just as careful, “it would give us more to go on—”
Loren swore viciously, slamming a fist against the cold stone. Pain lanced through his hand, bones cracking.
It always came back to that. He couldn’t feel her. There was nothing where their bond should have been except silence and the hollow, aching reminder that he was failing her. Again.
“Loren—” Serafina caught his injured hand before he could pull away. Warmth spread from her touch, her magic soothing the pain and encouraging flesh and bone to knit back together. “You can’t blame yourself.”
Loren laughed darkly. Who else was there to blame? Serafina’s bent fingers trembled as she released his hand—another thing that was his fault. The Arcanum had tortured her for months because she helped him escape with Araya the first time.
Loren looked away, forcing himself to breathe evenly as dara’el stirred around his feet, its dark power brushing against his mind. It had tried to crush the life from him once, its spirit as broken as he was. But now the ancient magic was part of him—partner, rather than foe.
Araya had done that. She had claimed him with blood and name, reunited dara’el with its shattered pieces and dragged a power that predated the fae themselves back from the brink of madness.
Every fae on Eluneth owed her their lives. He owed her his life.
And he’d repaid her by failing to protect her.
His sister’s own spymaster had handed her back to the Arcanum, and then the small council had refused to send an army after her.
He’d come anyway, determined to rescue her—but instead he’d spent weeks in these awful tunnels, doing nothing while she suffered at Jaxon Shaw’s hands.
And without the bond…they could be doing anything to her, and he would never know.
She lives, the shadows whispered. You would know if she did not.
A small comfort. Loren drew a shuddering breath and held it. He knew better than most that there was a lot Jaxon Shaw could do to a fae without killing them.
“They’re keeping the bond suppressed,” he said when he trusted his voice again.
“But I know the Shaws. I was a valuable prisoner—but Jaxon…” Loren shook his head, unable to meet his friends’ eyes and face the pity he knew he’d see there.
“He thinks he owns her. He’ll keep her as close as possible. Trust me.”
“I do, Loren.” Finn sighed heavily. “But we’re talking about people’s lives. If we go in blind and something goes wrong—” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Let’s just wait and see what Kai has to say, alright?”
“And you trust him?” Loren clenched his jaw, the shadows darkening around him.
Kai might claim to be helping them, but what had he done in the weeks they had been here?
They were no closer to rescuing her than they were when the rebels and Farhallow first put him in contact with them. “He was there when she was taken.”
“Loren…” Finn sighed, the slow drip of water from the ceiling and quiet rustle of other rebels moving around in the adjacent tunnels suddenly loud.
“I don’t know what you want from him. He helped Eilwen escape with her son on Eluneth.
He’s been working with Maerin’s rebels here—he even found a way to adjust the ly’ithra runes so it wasn’t obvious they’d been tampered with.
The Arcanum would kill him for that, no matter who his father or his friends are.
What else does he have to do to prove himself? ”
What did Jaxon Shaw’s best friend have to do to prove himself? Loren bared his teeth, ice skimming the puddles on the floor as the shadows slid across the walls, swallowing the weak glow of the aetherlamps.
“He should be here,” he snapped. “Getting us the confirmation you keep saying we need. He spends more time in Farhallow than he does rubbing elbows with the people he’s supposed to be informing on.”
“Loren…” Serafina trailed off, glancing over at Finn. “I’m sure Kai is doing everything he can to help find Araya, but have you seen what it’s like in Farhallow? The way the fae there live? Your people need help too.”
Not as much as Araya did.
Loren bit back the ugly words, but from Serafina’s sharp look they still showed on his face. She opened her mouth, no doubt ready to say something that would have him wallowing in a pool of guilt the rest of the day—but before she got the chance a shrill whistle shattered the silence.
Finn surged to his feet, twenty years of instincts honed by living in dark holes fighting the Arcanum springing to life all at once.
“That’s the perimeter rune.” He waved his hand, silencing the shrieking alarm with magic sparking at his fingertips.
“Evacuate the civilians to the main tunnel. Nyra is there, she’ll make arrangements to get everyone sheltered. ”
Serafina nodded, her face ashen in the darkness.
But she didn’t hesitate, the pale gleam of her hair vanishing as she limped into the deeper darkness of the tunnels.
They had refugees there—dozens of them, all pulled from the slums. Finn and his people had been helping fae escape the New Dominion for over twenty years, but now that the Shadowed Veil was gone they’d struggled to move anyone out through the Arcanum’s blockade.
His fault. The shrill ghost of the alarm echoed in Loren’s ears like an accusation. He’d brought this down on all of them.
“You too,” Finn called over his shoulder. He had his sword in his hand, already heading for the opening of the main tunnel. “You can’t be here. If the Arcanum has found us—”
“If the Arcanum is here my shadows are your best chance at survival.” Loren drew his borrowed sword, stalking after his friend. “Rethink any plans you’ve made that involve me leaving you behind to die.”
For a moment Loren thought Finn might argue, but then he nodded once, his gaze flicking from Loren to his shadows.
They didn’t speak again, the shadows racing ahead as they made their way together toward the main channel.
Loren’s chest tightened as the stone walls pressed close around them, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Finn would hear it. Why did it have to be underground?
“Here,” Finn said, stopping. He lifted a hand, the dim aetherlamps that lit the tunnel behind them winking out all at once and plunging them into absolute darkness.
For a heartbeat, Loren couldn’t breathe. The sudden loss of light clawed at scars that had never truly healed, cold dampness seeping into his bones and freezing him where he stood.
But this wasn’t his cell underneath the Aetherium. And he wasn’t in iron this time. Wasn’t powerless.
The shadows curled around him, their whispering voices quieting as Loren strained his ears for any hint of what they might be facing.
Water splashed, muffled voices echoing off the damp stone walls—too many voices.
Dara’el hissed, surging forward in a cold rush of ancient power, as eager as he was for the chance to draw blood against the people that had taken so much from both of them—
“Shit—” Kai cursed somewhere in the darkness. “Wait! It’s us! We tripped the perimeter rune—”
Finn swore viciously under his breath. “How did you trip the perimeter rune? We’ve shown you the way through a dozen times—” The aetherlamps flickered back to life, throwing the tunnel into sharp relief. “Goddess save me, who are they?”
Kai Sterling—unrepentant traitor to the Arcanum—stood in ankle-deep water, clutching a fae child bundled in tattered blankets to his chest. Maerin’s golden-haired messenger—Caela, Loren thought she’d said her name was the only time he’d met her—stood a step behind, her arm wrapped around a too-thin fae female with clipped ears and dark, wild hair.