Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Araya stood alone beneath the trees.
No—not trees. These were monoliths, their trunks rising like living pillars jutting up from the mist that clung to the forest floor.
They surrounded the broken palace, great roots heaving up through the courtyard stones and vines crawling through the wreckage.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled, the sensation of being watched pressing down on her like a physical weight.
But nothing moved. There was no sound—not of people or animals or even birds.
Araya took a careful step forward, studying the wreckage.
She could still see glimpses of what this place must have been.
A moss-covered fountain, choked with debris.
Shards of colored glass still stuck in the arching window frames.
A fragment of intact wall carved with swirling, curling motifs that were as strange to her as they were familiar.
How long had it been since a person last walked here? Years, probably. Maybe even decades. Even the air tasted old, every breath Araya took thick with the taste of damp earth and stone, all underlaid with the faint but unmistakable tang of iron.
“Am I dead?” Araya asked.
No one answered. But the feeling of something other only intensified, settling into her bones and echoing in the space between her heartbeats. It had been there when the vines tore into Elvanfal too. She could have sworn it had spoken to her there. But she’d been hurt—very hurt.
Araya closed her eyes, shivering at the memory of the iron-braided lash coming down across her back. Kai had been there. He’d killed Garrick Shaw. Had carried her when she could no longer walk. Taking her to—
To Loren. Araya choked on a sob, pressing her hand against her chest. Had they really made it? Or had her exhausted, agonized mind simply been trying to give her one comfort in her last moments?
That presence wrapped around her, holding her like it had in Elvanfal. Ancient and vast, yes. But also comforting and warm, like the memory of her mother’s arms, and for a moment the pain and fear of not knowing faded away.
“What are you?” she whispered.
It didn’t speak, but she could feel it all around her now. It brushed over her skin, filled the air she breathed and the ground under her feet. It latched onto something inside her, a tug that pulled on every fragment of her being, drawing her forward.
“In there?” Araya asked, opening her eyes.
The doors of the palace hung from their hinges, smashed and broken.
Araya held her breath, half-expecting someone to step through the doors and beckon her forward.
But there was nothing—no movement, no sound, no reassurance that she wasn’t walking directly into her own doom.
It had been the same with the Shadowed Veil.
Dara’el had saved the fae on Eluneth—and doomed them, all at the same time.
Whatever power had intervened here…Araya had no doubt that it was dangerous.
Powerful. It had torn down the wall at Elvanfal.
Killed Caylin. Consumed Garrick Shaw. It would have killed her, if Jaxon hadn’t cut her free.
But she was either dead or dreaming now. What harm could she come to?
Araya took a step forward, searching for the best path down to the palace. But at the same moment the world shuddered around her, the ground pitching under her feet as her surroundings rippled like water, bending and splitting into a thousand reflections of itself.
Throwing caution to the wind, she lunged forward, stretching out her hand like she could pull herself clear—
Araya woke with a ragged gasp. Hard wood pressed against her cheek, the cloying scent of oil and blood and crushed herbs filling her lungs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything more than blink as fire lashed across her back, tearing the flesh from her bones. It hurt. It hurt so much—
“She’s awake.”
She knew that voice. Araya forced her eyes open.
The room swam around her, aetherlight and dark shadows blurring together.
For three agonizing heartbeats, she couldn’t make sense of what was in front of her.
Then she blinked, the familiar scent of granite and cold rain surrounding her as his face came into focus.
Loren knelt beside her, both hands wrapped around one of hers so tightly his knuckles had gone as pale as his face.
His shadows pooled around them both, their voices a fractured, frantic murmur in her ears.
She still couldn’t feel their bond but he was there.
A broken sound slipped from her lips, as weak and pitiful as she was. They were together again—
“She’s awake,” Loren repeated, his panicked voice rising. “Serafina—”
“I’m trying to put her back under,” Serafina answered. “Araya, don’t fight me. You don’t want to be awake for this—”
But she did. Araya tried to speak, but all that slipped past her lips was another pained moan. Every breath hurt. Her body had endured too much, forced to keep going when she should have collapsed long ago.
But he was here.
She could see him. Could feel his hands wrapped around hers, warm and solid and real. She didn’t want to go back to the dark. She wanted to stay here, with him.
Serafina’s magic poured over her, heavy and cool. Araya tried to shake her head, but her body didn’t answer, her vision going dark around the edges.
“Loren—” her voice broke, slurring.
“I’m here.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead carefully against hers. “We have you, ael’sura. You’re safe.”
She wasn’t. None of them were. There was something she had to tell him—but Araya couldn’t hold onto it. Her thoughts slipped from her grasp, carried away by the gentle waves of Serafina’s magic washing over her, coaxing her under.
Her eyelashes fluttered. Loren’s breath warmed her skin, the salt of his tears coating her lips. He was here. She’d made it back to him.
The last thing Araya felt before the darkness claimed her was the warmth of his hands around hers, refusing to let go.
Araya woke slowly the next time.
The fog of unconsciousness gripped her mind like thick mud, each thought peeling its way free slowly, with great effort. She was still lying facedown, but someone had turned her head to the other side, something soft pillowed beneath her cheek instead of the rough wood grain.
And her back—
Araya shied away from that thought, just the memory of the lash enough to make her recoil. But the pain she knew should be there was dull and far away, muted beneath layers of magic and medicine, the sharp, herby bite of the poultices Serafina made stinging her nose and making her eyes water.
Serafina.
The healer sat beside her, head bowed and shoulders sagging with exhaustion. She barely looked like herself without her blue robes—the sleeves of the ill-fitted men’s shirt she wore shoved up to her elbows, the cheap linen wrinkled and stiff with drying blood.
Araya swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet cracked lips.
“Hi,” she rasped.
Serafina’s head snapped up, bright blue eyes wide in a face that was so much thinner than Araya remembered it. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Serafina’s composure cracked.
“Hi,” she breathed, her lip trembling and her eyes flooded with unshed tears. “You’re awake.”
“I’m alive.” Araya laughed hoarsely. “Can I—”
“No, don’t try to move.” Serafina was on her feet in an instant, the mask of the stern healer snapping back into place. “Your back is still open.” She fussed with the linen draped over Araya’s back. “That bitch used an iron-braided whip on you.”
“I remember—” Araya’s breath hitched as Serafina adjusted something, a flash of pain breaking through whatever Serafina had done to mute it. “Gods, that’s really going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“It will.” Serafina frowned, her brow furrowing. “I’d prefer to keep you asleep until the worst is over—”
“No,” Araya snapped, the word coming out so forcefully it stung her aching throat. “No more keeping me asleep,” she continued. “Not unless you have to. Please.”
Serafina’s expression softened. She reached for Araya’s hand, her fingers a little too stiff and clumsy as they curled around hers. “I’d be here the entire time,” she said gently. “You’re safe now—”
Araya shook her head, swallowing against the twinge of pain the movement caused. “I’ll never be safe so long as a Shaw is alive in this world,” she said. “I want to stay awake.”
Otherwise the next time she woke up she might not be here.
Serafina exhaled slowly, understanding replacing the concern on her face. “As long as you can stay still,” she said. “And only if you don’t fight natural sleep, too. You need rest to recover.”
Araya managed a faint smile. “Just as bossy as ever.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Serafina squeezed her hand one more time before laying it carefully back down on the table. “Are you thirsty?”
She was already moving, crossing to a chipped basin and dipping a clean cloth into the water and wringing it out with stiff fingers, her hands strangely clumsy as she pressed the cloth to Araya’s lips.
Araya drank greedily, the cool water soothing her ravaged throat. But all too soon Serafina was pulling it away, dropping the cloth back into the basin despite Araya’s protest.
“That’s enough for now,” Serafina said. “You need to be careful. Take it slow.”
Araya scowled but nodded. She’d heard Serafina give the same advice a hundred times before, for injuries much less severe than having your back flayed open by an iron-braided whip.
“You probably have questions,” Serafina said. “I can do my best to answer them, if you want.”
She did. But not the ones Serafina was probably expecting.
Araya let her gaze drift over her friend’s too-thin face, lingering on the sharp line of her cheekbones, the dark circles shadowing her eyes. Her lips were torn and raw, as though she’d been worrying them between her teeth—but none of that compared to what had been done to her hands.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Serafina’s fingers twitched, her gaze flicking down for a heartbeat before flashing back to Araya, a strained smile plastered across her face. “They broke them.”
Araya’s jaw tightened. “Bastards.”
Serafina laughed—the startled sound bursting past her lips so unexpectedly that she clapped both hands over her mouth, staring at Araya with wide eyes.
Araya’s own lips twitched, a strangled giggle slipping out despite her attempt to swallow it down. And then they were both laughing—tears streaming down their faces.
“I missed you,” Serafina said when she caught her breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. “So much.”
“You sent me away,” Araya retorted, but there was no ire in her voice. “With a brooding fae prince you didn’t even know—”
“Not just any brooding fae prince!” Serafina protested. “Your mate! And the two of you seem to have worked it out, despite how it started. He’s been beside himself.”
“Has he?” Araya’s smile faltered. Serafina was mostly human—she could lie and exaggerate things as much as she pleased. “He blocked our bond.”
Serafina winced. “I made him,” she said. “He hated every second of it, I swear. But they were using you against him—”
“I understand why,” Araya said quietly. “But...he’s not here.”
“That’s not—” Serafina cut herself off, her expression conflicted. “He hasn’t gone far, I promise. I think it’s hard for him. Seeing you like this and knowing he didn’t protect you from it.”
“There was nothing he could have done.”
“You and I know that.” Serafina’s fingers stroked the back of her hand. “He’s still figuring it out.”
Or maybe he just couldn’t look at her without seeing everything Jaxon had left behind.
“You’re tired,” Serafina said, rising to her feet again. “Try and get some rest. I won’t be far.”