Chapter 44
Chapter
Forty-Four
Without Garrick Shaw to hold it steady, the terrifying power that had held the fae of Aetheris captive for over two decades crumbled in just a few short weeks.
It was almost offensive how quickly the ranks of Arcanum soldiers diminished once the fae in the slums rose up.
Humans that had been all too willing to grind them under their heel for decades suddenly becoming uninterested in risking their lives once their access to the fae magic needed to refill their amplifiers became so much more difficult to come by.
And when Eloria and her forces smashed through the blockade, bringing boats packed with full-blooded fae in full possession of their magic right to the New Dominion’s doorstep…
well, there might be more humans than fae, but the human mages that made up the Arcanum were smart enough—and cowardly enough—to make the easy decision.
Loren accepted their surrender at the Aetherium.
The terms were simple—the magisters would lay down their amplifiers and face trial, or they would take their chances in the streets against the fae they had systematically oppressed and tortured for decades.
Araya still couldn’t decide whether she was impressed or disgusted that most accepted the deal without so much as a whimper.
Some of them still fought, of course. High Commander Erik Rowland was killed by a fae female with no magic wielding a kitchen knife.
Reports said a crowd of angry fae smashed the barricade around High Inquisitor Baran Pryce’s home and ripped him apart in the street with their bare hands—and Rian Sterling was arrested at his home without incident, apparently not having realized there was an uprising at all.
The revolution spread like wildfire, racing through the city to the camps all the way to Faerwyn and Stormport and all the tiny settlements in between—until fae all across Valendral were once again free.
It even reached Kingswalk, where black carriages trundled across the cobblestones and she’d once needed the Arcanum’s Eye to walk alone.
“So this is where you lived?” Eloria asked, peering out the carriage window.
“For a while.” Araya took a deep breath, steeling herself as she stepped out of the carriage.
Eloria fell into step beside her, her sharp green eyes taking in the sweeping architecture and the polished brass fittings gleaming against the dark wooden doors. “It’s very grand,” she said, her voice carefully expressionless. “Do you know what it was before?”
“Some sort of municipal building.” Araya stared up at the double doors. It looked smaller than she remembered it. Plainer. “It was all converted into residences long before I ever lived here.”
She had been so grateful to live here. One of the privileges of being Jaxon Shaw’s bond.
Serafina had never even come inside the building.
She’d wanted to come today, but Loren had needed her—something to do with the new clinic system they were setting up to ensure every fae could have their medical needs met as they recovered from the long-term effects of magic depletion and malnutrition.
Part of Araya didn’t even want to go in. She’d already put this off four times. But when Eloria had offered to accompany her instead, she hadn’t been able to come up with a good excuse to postpone again.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Eloria said, seeming to read her mind. “You’re the queen. You can send someone to pack everything up.”
“No.” Araya let out a slow breath, starting up the steps. “I need to do this myself.”
“Miss Starwind!” Marcus jumped up from his post as she stepped into the atrium. “I didn’t—you—”
“Is that how you address your queen?” Eloria cut him off, a frown creasing her beautiful face as she stared at the older human. “You should call her Your Majesty.”
Marcus paled visibly, his eyes going wide at the sight of the princess. Araya couldn’t help but feel like Eloria still looked far more royal than she ever would, with her head held high and the hem of her silk dress brushing the gleaming marble floor.
“I d-didn’t mean any offense,” he stammered. “I only—”
“You didn’t cause any.” Araya smiled reassuringly at the old doorman before turning back to Loren’s sister. “Marcus was always very kind to me when I lived here, El. I’m glad to see him well.”
“Thank you, Miss—er, Your Majesty.” Marcus bobbed his head in something halfway between a nod and a bow. “I’m very sorry for everything that happened,” he said, his voice earnest. “No one has been in or touched anything, I swear. It’s exactly as you and Master Shaw left it.”
Eloria stiffened, but Araya drew her on.
They climbed the grand staircase in silence, their feet making almost no sound on the polished stone.
They didn’t pass anyone—Araya wasn’t even sure what had happened to the other humans who had lived here.
She didn’t even think she had exchanged names with any of them—after all, both of them had worked so much.
And she’d had Jaxon. He hadn’t wanted her to need anyone else.
The familiar carved door opened easily at her touch, the lock springing open at the brush of her magic. Her heavy cloak still hung on its peg, Jaxon’s extra boots set neatly on the tray. It even smelled the same, the cloying, sweet scent of vanilla filling her nose like she had never left.
“Take your time,” Eloria said quietly. “However much you need.”
Araya moved through the main room first, trailing her fingers over the back of the settee and across the polished tabletop. Everything was exactly as Jaxon liked it, every single item meticulously shelved and catalogued in its proper place.
But there were touches of her there too.
She hadn’t expected that, for some reason.
The extra blanket folded over the arm of the settee.
The teapot he’d gotten to brew her tea, sitting on the stove.
The stack of books she’d been reading on the side table—undisturbed, even though he had thought she’d run from him.
Araya pushed open the door to the bedroom, ignoring Eloria’s sharp intake of breath as she moved past the bed to pull open the curtains.
It smelled like him the most strongly here, her dresses hanging side by side with his black uniforms in the wardrobe.
Araya stared at them, trying to decide how she should feel.
Nostalgic? Sad? Happy? Whatever the appropriate response was, all she felt was numb.
“Do you want to take anything?” Eloria asked, yanking her out of her thoughts.
Araya turned away from the wardrobe. “Not from here.”
She saved Jaxon’s office for last. Eloria trailed after her, her gaze narrowing when she caught sight of the runework woven into the carved door.
It opened easily under Araya’s touch as well—after all, nothing had been off-limits to her here.
Not even the hundreds of books that lined the shelves.
A small collection compared to the library at Ithralis—but at one point this had been more knowledge than Araya could have ever dreamed of being permitted to access.
She ran her hand along the bookshelf, crossing the room to the desk that stood in front of the doors onto the balcony.
His journal sat to one side—within easy reach if he was struck with brilliance while he worked.
But Araya’s attention was on the familiar book beside it, its dark cover stamped with familiar curling silver script.
The Chronicles of Valendral. The book that had started all of this. She opened it carefully, the archival paper Jaxon had kept it wrapped in crinkling as she ran her fingers over the curling script. If she’d never picked this book up, would she ever have even met Loren?
“This is the only thing I want,” she said. “Someone else can pack everything else up. It should all be given to people who need it.”
“Are you sure?” Eloria asked, startled.
“Yes.” Araya tucked the book more firmly under her arm.
Nothing here belonged to her. It never had.
“His workshop at the Aetherium will need to be packed up as well. There are cursed items there—things that will need to be carefully handled. But if you help find me the right person to dispose of it all properly, I can let them in.”
“Alright.” Eloria nodded slowly. “Are you ready then? We can probably still make the Small Council meeting.”
Araya smiled at her. “I’d like that,” she said, looping their arms together.
She didn’t look back.
They walked to the Aetherium, enjoying the bit of summer warmth that still clung to the early fall air.
Dominion Day had come and gone a few weeks ago, unremarked and uncelebrated as Loren bent himself to forging a new government from the ashes.
As a consequence, he spent all night and day in the South Tower, locked in the same meeting room the Arcanum had used to conduct official business.
The building looked the same from the outside, with its soaring architecture and carved stone. But the crowd surrounding it had shifted, the street filled with humans and fae alike, the latter staring up at the silver-blue veins of magic pulsing through the stone with naked awe.
“I never got to see it before,” Eloria commented, craning her neck to stare up at it. “Does it ever get any less impressive?”
“No.” Araya shook her head. “It doesn’t.”
Inside was just as packed, the great hall filled with fae of all ages waiting nervously to have their ly’ithra and ta’nara runes removed by the legion of runesmiths Kai had pressed into service.
Serafina’s trusted legion of healers moved among them, offering comfort and care wherever they could.
Araya prayed to the absent Goddess that this would be the last time any of these fae felt the bite of an iron needle on their flesh.
“Your Majesty, Princess Eloria.” One of the fae soldiers stationed at the base of the stairs leading up into the South Tower stepped forward, clapping his fist to his chest before he bowed deeply. “His Majesty just convened with the Small Council.”