Chapter 22Beginnings of Betrayal
22
Beginnings of Betrayal
The white sands of the Elune Isles’ seascape looked like something plucked from Elyria’s wildest imagination. The oceanside caressed her features in a temperate embrace as she wiggled her toes in the lush shore, letting the luxurious beach mold her footprints in the sand. Casting her gaze upon the Swyn Sea, she marveled at its majestic beauty. Its waters shimmered with shades of cerulean blue, glistening aquamarine, and hues of emerald as it lapped the seashore.
Elyria breathed in the brine-filled air, hoping to still her racing heart. Today marked the Sixth Day, the Vitus . Weariness lingered beneath her composed facade, burdened by the weight of her responsibilities. Sleep eluded her once again, leaving her with only her troubled thoughts for company. The absence of her sister, who had spent the day before in Orwyn, added to her unease. Feeling the opal necklace around her neck, memories of yesterday’s worries resurfaced.
The events of the Fifth Day had unfolded slowly, dragging on until moonrise, prompting Elyria to question her sister’s whereabouts at nightfall. Though tempted to scry her location, she instead sought answers from Finnor during the Offering, suspecting Elowyn was entangled with the Darkmaw prince. Her suspicions were confirmed when Elowyn later slipped into her room, giggling like a lovestruck maiden as she recounted every detail of her passionate tryst in the oasis.
Elyria couldn’t suppress a smile at her sister’s happiness. Elowyn deserved joy and contentment in her life—even as her own eluded her. Elyria had stopped seeking happiness long ago, finding comfort only in her sister’s presence amid the shadows that surrounded her. Her entire existence seemed to be a quest for answers that remained a mystery. Why had the Goddess left her unmarked as an infant? Why had her name been spoken seven years ago? Was the Moon Goddess so cruel as to subject her to a childhood of ridicule, only to offer her a chance to prove herself worthy now?
She pushed away these thoughts before they could consume her with anger, reminding herself that questioning her fate would never alter it. She had trained herself to feel so little that she wondered what remained of her beyond emptiness. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, drowning out all other sound. Just breathe. Calm down. She repeated the mantra to herself, as if they could rescue her.
“Elyria?” A familiar voice sliced through her disquiet like a steel through skin.
She turned to see Sylas smiling at her, and she felt grateful that her demeanor remained composed despite the unrest within her. “Hello, Sylas.”
“Are you enjoying the sea?” he inquired politely, his bare feet shuffling into the sand.
Though Sylas had been seeking her favor in recent days, Elyria remained wary of his intentions. Despite his seemingly genuine nature, she hadn’t yet let down her guard. Offering him a soft smile, as she had done each day before, she replied, “Very much so. I’ve beheld the Swyn Sea thrice now, and its magnificence never fails to captivate me.”
“I can relate to that sentiment,” Sylas replied openly to Elyria. There was a raw sincerity in his gaze, and a part of her sensed that he wasn’t merely referring to the sea.
“Are you prepared for tonight?” Elyria asked, avoiding his gaze as her silver eyes remained fixed on the deep blue depths of the sea.
“I am,” Sylas affirmed, sensing her unease in the silence. He drew closer to her until his bronzed, moon-inked hand hovered just inches from hers, offering silent comfort. “Yet, I find myself unable to fully relax.”
Turning to face him, Elyria met his sea-green eyes, mirroring the beauty of the waters surrounding them. “I find that the impending Seventh Day unsettles my nerves even more. Tomorrow, we'll be crossing the Bridge Between Worlds.”
Sylas fell silent, his hands finding the pockets of his trousers, his mahogany waves dancing in the breeze. “I know,” he finally murmured.
With a shared nod of understanding, Elyria and Sylas stood together on the soft shores of the Swyn Sea, awaiting the arrival of sunset, when the Vitus would begin.
The majestic Driftmoor castle rested upon one of the seven islands of the Elune Isles, appearing as if sculpted from radiant pearls and carved from alabaster-hued coral. Its walls housed intricate channels and waterways, paying homage to the Swyn Sea that surrounded it. Each kingdom of Neramyr possessed its own captivating allure: the mountains of Eriden, the forests of Mirthwood, and now, the singular beauty of the Elune Isles. Each were a sacred realm within the feylands.
Elyria, now dressed in a stunning floor-length gown, had exchanged her earlier chiffon shift dress for the occasion. The monarchs of the Elune Isles always encouraged their guests to treasure the sea and sands, appreciating those who didn’t shy from their wading waters. Hence, when formally invited to the Elune Isles, many from Neramyr would stroll barefoot along the shoreline of the Swyn Sea to pay tribute to its magnificence. If fortunate enough, a fey might catch sight of the two guardians of the Elune Isles gliding through the crystal depths: the animus of Queen Aletta and King Tydred, loch hydras—dual-headed serpents of the Swyn Sea.
Elyria’s attention was drawn to a figure passing by, her eyes settling upon her Uncle Edwyn. He entered the Great Hall of Driftmoor in attire befitting the customs of the Elune Isles. His surcoat, a brilliant teal, was embellished with golden threads weaving powerful patterns across his torso and sleeves. Draped on his arm was a sorceress sworn to House Driftmoor; she possessed deeply tanned skin, iridescent abalone eyes, and hair cascading in waves of lapis lazuli. Clad in a dress of turquoise chiffon that left little to the imagination, she radiated a striking beauty, accentuated by the golden aureum draping down her back and her divine Mark decorating nearly every inch of her body.
As they passed by, Elyria acknowledged her uncle and his guest with a kind nod of her head. Her knowledge was limited around him; however, she was well aware that secrets within the Fangwright family were as abundant as the grains of sand along this island’s shore. The lapis-haired sorceress met Elyria’s gaze, offering a demure smile as she leaned into Uncle Edwyn’s side to whisper something. Edwyn nodded in response to her murmurs, his hand resting gently upon hers as they made their way to her.
Despite her Uncle Edwyn’s pleasant smile, hidden beneath her composure, Elyria couldn’t shake the shudder that ran through her at his resemblance to her father. “Dear niece,” he began, his voice warm, “I’d like you to meet Princess Cleora Driftmoor, sister of Queen Aletta Driftmoor, and princess of the Elune Isles.”
With poise, Elyria dipped into an elegant curtsy, her gaze meeting that of the Driftmoor princess. “It’s an honor to be welcomed as a guest of House Driftmoor, Princess Cleora. The kingdom of the Elune Isles is beautiful.”
“Please call me Cleora,” the princess replied, inclining her head towards Elyria. “The pleasure is all ours. I wish you luck in the Vitus today.” Her voice was melodic, eloquent, and refined.
“Thank you, Cleora,” Elyria responded, offering a grateful smile to the Driftmoor princess, captivated by the prismatic, iridescent irises that mirrored her own. “I hope to leave a lasting impression on those who are watching.”
If Elyria had to estimate, Cleora must have been two centuries old. In Neramyr, it was notoriously difficult to gauge age based on appearance once individuals reached their late twenties or early thirties—a truer indicator of age was one’s aura. Cleora possessed an exceptionally compelling aura, weighty and prominent.
“And you shall certainly impress, Elyria,” Edwyn declared with confidence.
Before Elyria could discern the source, she felt a wave of displeasure wash over her. Queen Eddra materialized into view, her arms resting at her waist, her vulpine eyes revealing her disdain. A palpable aura of antipathy clouded the elegant planes of her face as she regarded Princess Cleora, who was draped upon Edwyn’s arm.
Queen Eddra wore a gown of sapphire, her snow-white hair bound beneath an opal crown. As formidable as Cleora’s aura was, her mother’s aura was a behemoth in comparison. Edwyn stiffened at Eddra’s arrival, but quickly masked his reaction with indifference as he nodded respectfully to her. Princess Cleora’s irises flickered between the two Fangwright royals, narrowing imperceptibly. Tactfully, she dipped her head to Queen Eddra and offered a bright smile.
“Welcome to the Elune Isles, Queen Eddra. It is an honor for our kingdom to host this season’s Sixth Day. The tales of your power and influence have not gone unnoticed among the fey of the Swyn Sea. Prince Edwyn and I were just expressing our anticipation for your daughter’s performance tonight,” Cleora remarked, turning her attention to Elyria, and placing a supportive hand on her arm.
Queen Eddra’s gaze followed the Driftmoor princess’s touch before returning to her face. “Princess Elyria is a formidable sorceress. Perhaps my judgment is influenced by a mother’s pride, but I have no doubt she will emerge as the primis of this season’s cohort.”
Elyria held in a heavy exhale, feeling the tension thickening between the three royal fey. Anxiety gnawed at her bones as she contemplated the Vitus . The Sixth Day held immense significance for a divine candidate. During this ritual, the High Priestess would call upon the Moon Goddess to witness the abilities displayed by the seven selected candidates. Each candidate would perform their skills in their chosen manner, with the success of their performance greatly influencing their chances of being named the primis .
Becoming the primis is highly coveted, it meant crossing the Bridge Between Worlds first and returning to Neramyr after completion of the Trial first—meaning the primis will also receive the final Mark first.
To be declared the divine primis is to be differentiated as a god among gods where magic is the governing constant.
In ages past, the Sixth Day, the Vitus , had been a formal exhibition of power and prowess, a demonstration of one’s worthiness to the Moon Goddess as a divine candidate. But in recent times, the Vitus had transformed into a fierce competition among the seven candidates. Elyria felt reduced to nothing more than a racehorse to be gambled on by the coin lining the pockets of the fey. She despised the feeling of being trapped, her autonomy and agency lost.
“Thank you for your words, mother. I will strive to make you proud,” Elyria replied, her voice steady despite her discomfort. “And thank you for your support, Princess Cleora.”
“The honor is truly mine, Princess Elyria,” Cleora responded, her iridescent eyes shimmering as she turned to Edwyn. “Now, my dear, we must depart and join my older sister and brother-in-law. We have preparations to attend to before tonight’s announcement.” With that, she guided Edwyn in a different direction, offering Queen Eddra a parting smile. “Please excuse us, Your Majesty.”
As Cleora and Edwyn left, Queen Eddra’s intense gaze followed them, her displeasure obvious. Elyria knew all too well the simmering animosity between her mother and her uncle, yet rarely did her mother’s composed facade crack in public. It was a testament to the tension that brewed beneath the surface. Elyria remained silent as her mother’s thoughts churned, her silver eyes staring into the hall with a vacant gaze.
Where was her father in all of this? She was relieved to be spared his presence, but she knew he lurked in the shadows somewhere. The Fangwright monarchs rarely attended such gatherings together, preferring to maintain their distance from each other.
Her mother regained her calculated poise, her eyes returning to the present. Her arms remained in their regal position above her waist, elbows gracefully tucked to her torso. Without a word, she placed a hand on Elyria’s arm before silently disappearing into the crowded hall. Elyria stared at the spot where her mother had touched her, feeling conflicted. She had never quite understood her mother. While her father openly displayed wickedness and ruthlessness towards her, her mother seemed to oscillate between contempt and care. Elyria would have preferred her mother to express her disdain outright rather than engaging in this indistinct game of mother and child.
A bright aura appeared behind her, and she spun around to find Elowyn beaming at her, with the Darkmaw prince in tow.
“Elyria!” Elowyn exclaimed cheerfully, pulling the tall, claret-haired prince closer. “This is Draeden Darkmaw, the prince of Orwyn.” She turned to the prince. “Draeden, meet my older sister, Elyria. She’s amazing, she’s everything I’ve told you about and more.”
Draeden bowed deeply and offered a charming smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Princess Elyria. Your sister speaks as highly of you as she does fondly. I’ve heard so much about you, thanks to this one here.” He nudged Elowyn playfully, and she shrugged in response.
“How could I not talk about my most favorite sister to have ever walked the feylands?” Elowyn remarked.
“Hello, Draeden,” Elyria greeted, dismissing the formalities of their titles with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think a single day has passed this week without Elowyn mentioning the handsome prince who’s been sweeping her off her feet.”
Draeden’s grin widened, his dimples appearing. “Is that so?”
Elowyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. See what you’ve done, Elyria? Now his head is bigger than the moon.”
Watching the two amidst playful banter, Elyria saw her sister laugh with such delight that it made her heart ache. It ached in a bittersweet manner—overjoyed that her little sister appeared so happy, but crestfallen that she would be torn away from her for seven years tomorrow. She hoped that Draeden could offer her comfort and companionship in her absence. As much as she wished this happiness would last, she also feared how fickle love could be. Would Elowyn experience heartbreak? And who would be there to soothe her tears then? While seven years apart seemed measurable in Neramyr, within the Trial, time was fluid and uncertain.
Worry bubbled within her and suddenly she felt she needed a moment alone before the ritual began.
“I’m glad you two found each other,” Elyria said sincerely. “You both seem genuinely happy.” She tried to maintain her composure as she addressed them. “I can see why my sister is fond of you, Draeden. She’s the most important thing in my life, so please do treat her with care.” Elyria’s anxiety began to take root. “And Elowyn, I’ll come find you after the Vitus , all right?”
Elowyn looked to her sister with a hint of concern, noticing the sudden shift in her aura. She reached for Elyria’s hand. “Hey, you’re going to do amazing. We’ll be rooting for you every step of the way. ”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” Elyria reassured with her best smile. “Trust me, I’ve been preparing for this moment for a long time. And speaking of preparation, I should get going.” With a reassuring squeeze of her sister’s arm and a parting wave to Draeden, she stepped away from them.
Her hurried steps led her to a quiet hallway in the castle, away from the Elune Isles’s Great Hall. She continued down the corridor until she reached a pair of wooden double doors. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened for any signs of movement or occupants. Hearing nothing, she opened the doors and entered an empty lounge. The decor and furnishings were vibrant and lively, influenced by the beauty of the sea kingdom.
As she wandered around the unoccupied lounge, she felt the tension within her begin to ease. Since childhood, she had taught herself to find peace in insolation. Her thoughts quieted as she focused on her breathing, her fingers trailing along the plush chaise styled after textured beds of coral. Above, a chandelier crafted from cream-colored shells cast a pearlescent glow, reflecting the light in dazzling shades. Spotting a wine decanter on a side table, she poured herself a glass of the vinum , hoping the hosts wouldn’t mind—she was a guest after all. With a shrug to herself, she took a generous sip, relishing the warmth as it traveled down her throat.
Moving to the window overlooking the Swyn Sea, she watched the rhythmic waves and wandering currents course around the castle.
As a child, Ora had regaled her with legends of the fey of the Swyn Sea, claiming they could breathe underwater as effortlessly as they did on land. Ora had also shared a folktale with her, one that spoke of a time long before the Driftmoor castle stood, when the fey of the Elune Isles once dwelled beneath the waves in an undersea kingdom. It was said that Queen Diantha Driftmoor, the first queen of the Elune Isles, had claimed the shores of the Swyn Sea to establish her kingdom following the fall of the Old Age and the dawn of the New Age .
Through her divine magic, the Moon Goddess had rid the Swyn Sea of its cold-hearted kelpies and wicked water spirits, leaving its once troubled blue waters free of foul creatures. In her absence, Caena entrusted Queen Diantha to be the keeper of its peace in her stead.
The new sovereign of the sea had only her sister and a handful of survivors by her side after the Goddess’ liberation of the feylands. Diantha named the feylands upon which she governed the Elune Isles, a collection of seven seemingly uninhabited islands. However, beneath the surface, an entire community existed that had been suppressed by the beasts who lurked in the Old Age.
Queen Diantha soon discovered the existence of merfolk dwelling in the depths of her kingdom. As a compassionate and benevolent ruler, she reached out to the merfolk’s leader, sharing tales of the Moon Goddess’ might and her role in freeing of the feylands. She spoke of the divine magic now coursing through her veins as evidenced by the moonlit markings on her hands and body. Sworn by oath to protect the sea and its waters, she extended her hand in coalition with the merfolk, promising to reign with compassion and understanding.
The merfolk expressed profound gratitude, celebrating their newfound freedom from the oppressive Old Age during which their undersea community had suffered greatly, causing it to splinter and dwindle over the years. Yet, as time passed, the bond between Queen Diantha, the merfolk, and their leader only grew stronger, forging a trusting relationship between the surface dwellers and those beneath the waves. Their alliance solidified into an unbreakable bond.
One day, the merfolk leader humbly requested an audience with the queen above, seeking her hand in marriage. Queen Diantha joyfully accepted his proposal, and their love was celebrated throughout the land and sea, sung for centuries. The sea queen cherished her fey and merfolk kin with unwavering devotion, willing to safeguard their well-being with her life in this realm and in the realms beyond.
For a time, the fey and merfolk existed in a blissful age of harmony and gaiety. However, one fateful day, the king of the Elune Isles fell gravely ill. Queen Diantha, being fey, outlived her merfolk husband, and was powerless to extend his life. Devastated by his passing, she mourned deeply, her heart heavy with grief. Unable to bear the reminders of all she lost, Diantha refused to drift below the depths of the Swyn Sea, never to return.
From their union, Queen Diantha bore a child of fey and merfolk heritage, capable of existing effortlessly on both land and in the sea. Many inhabitants of the Elune Isles shared this dual inheritance, their lineage tracing back to both fey and merfolk ancestors. Over millennia, this trait continued to be passed down through generations, though this kingdom beneath the waves became lost to lore, known only through retellings of the oldest fey. Merfolk living in the Swyn Sea were now few and far between, the divide between the fey and merfolk widening—time being the faultless reason.
Elyria was unsure of what truths lay in the folklore she had been told. In her youth, she had showered Ora with countless questions about Neramyr’s history, sometimes wondering if her handmaiden concocted stories simply to satisfy her curiosity. Now she sat finishing the last of her wine and returned the goblet. With steady breaths, she welcomed the fresh air wafting in through the window. Straightening her gown, she prepared to rejoin the gathering when she heard hurried footsteps and murmured voices outside the doors.
Panicking, Elyria ducked behind a nearby bookshelf, veiling her aura and cloaking herself with an invisibility spell. The wooden doors swung open, and she strained to hear the low voices that filled the room. Peering cautiously from her hiding spot, she recognized Sylas and another male warlock engaged in a secretive conversation.
Cursing inwardly, Elyria scolded herself for concealing her presence. After all, she was a guest of the Elune Isles, a royal candidate participating in the Ceremony for moon’s sake. She had every right to seek privacy in an empty chamber to prepare for the Vitus . Now, if the two warlocks were to discover her deception, it would cast suspicion on her motives.
The two warlocks continued their conversation in hushed tones, making it difficult for Elyria to discern their words with clarity as they stood with their backs turned to her.
Suddenly, Sylas straightened his posture, running a hand through his hair in a display of unease before releasing an exasperated sigh. “My answer remains the same as it has always been, Kerrick.”
Elyria froze at Sylas’ words, edging slightly closer to the end of her hiding spot to get a better view of the warlock he was addressing. Recognition dawned on her as she realized it was the Driftmoor candidate, Kerrick Graylon, whose name had been spoken by the Goddess seven years ago. However, his face remained obscured behind Sylas’ figure.
“Don’t be foolish, Fenhart,” Kerrick retorted. “One of us deserves to be named primis after the Vitus . You know it as well as I do.”
“I want the title of primis just as much as the rest of you, but the decision is not mine, or any of yours for that matter,” Sylas answered, his hand now rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. “It’s the Goddess’ choice alone.”
“The Vitus should be a showcase of our full potential. How can the Goddess assess our ability to protect the feylands if we’re merely performing parlor tricks on stage? Securing the title of primis is crucial for establishing our reputation as divine warlocks or sorceresses,” Kerrick asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “While only one of us can claim the title, primis , we can still ensure that the rest of us cross the Bridge Between Worlds before her. Consider this, upon our return, we’ll receive the final Mark before she does. The sooner we return, the more divine magic will be at our disposal.”
“For the last time, my answer is no,” Sylas said with irritation. “For the love of the Goddess, will you quit your attempts to persuade me otherwise?”
“What’s causing these reservations?” Kerrick scoffed. “What has changed your stance? We’ve been planning this since the moment we were chosen as divine candidates. You’ve been following her all week, yet you’ve provided us with nothing significant.”
“I’m working on it,” Sylas sighed. “But it’s irrelevant now. The Vitus is hours away.”
“There’s still time.” Kerrick grew more agitated. “We’ve discussed this every week since our training in the Spires. Are you truly willing to abandon this opportunity? When we’re on the brink of success?”
“I just need some time to think,” Sylas grumbled. “She’s different than I anticipated. She’s not as easily manipulated as we had assumed. I can’t get any information from her. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“You were the one who proposed this plan to all of us seven years ago. Among the non-royal candidates, you’re the most likely to become the primis of our cohort. What has changed? You possess the strongest magical abilities among us. You’ve been preparing to claim the title of primis since the beginning of our candidacy,” Kerrick pressed.
“It’s useless. She’s a royal candidate,” Sylas responded sharply. “It’s tradition. The primis will always come from royal blood if they’re selected as a divine candidate.”
“To hell with tradition,” Kerrick shot back. “You’re too stubborn to acknowledge that times are changing, Sylas. You want to speak so highly of tradition? Well, consider this: the Moon Goddess left her unmarked as a member of the royal family. That’s unprecedented in fey history. The eldest Fangwright princess serves no purpose, then and now. Even the king of Eriden can’t conceal his embarrassment. If the Goddess truly cared about tradition, she would’ve blessed her with the Mark upon her birth.”
Sylas countered with an edged voice, “The Moon Goddess still declared her candidacy regardless of that. It’s not something we can overlook.”
“Look, we still have a chance to claim the title of the divine primis , even with a royal candidate in our cohort,” Kerrick persisted. “Think about the Clever Queen. Before she became queen consort, she was announced as the Fangwright candidate in her season by the High Priestess, despite everyone expecting the prince of Eriden to be chosen. Prince Edwyn has royal blood and is the brother of King Eamon, yet lowborn Eddra Sunhaven was selected. Nothing is impossible.”
Silence hung in the air as Sylas absorbed Kerrick’s arguments, his fists clenched in frustration.
“Listen, everything I’m saying just reinforces the idea that we shouldn’t see the Fangwright princess as a threat. It’s no secret that there’s something off about that family. Especially with their unfortunate history with the Moon Goddess. They’re cursed, and we both know it. I highly doubt she’ll even make it through the Trial,” Kerrick added.
“Do you ever know when to stop talking?” Sylas’ tone grew tense. “My stance hasn’t changed, Kerrick.”
Kerrick met his irritation head-on. “Is it because you’re interested in her?” He chuckled dryly. “If I knew your standards were that low, I’d suggest you try your luck with some of the creatures lurking in the Swyn Sea.”
Sylas spun to face him. “Watch yourself, Kerrick. I’ve let you express your thoughts, but my patience is wearing thin.”
“She’s pleasing to the eye, I’ll admit,” Kerrick countered. “But remember, you’re a divine candidate for Goddess’ sake. There are plenty of females from all seven kingdoms here. Just find someone else to occupy your time and focus on what really matters.”
“This conversation is over. I don’t have time for this,” Sylas answered.
Kerrick clicked his tongue in disappointment and sighed, approaching Sylas with a sense of camaraderie. “You know I see you as a brother after everything we’ve been through. Lillia, Lynora, Iva, Galen... we all do. We can’t do this without you.” He gave Sylas a meaningful look, briefly patting his shoulder before exiting the lounge.
Alone now, Sylas sank onto the chaise, his head dropping into his hands as he sighed in frustration. After a moment, he lifted his head and glanced around the room, noticing the wine decanter on the side table. With a sense of resignation, he pushed himself up, bracing his knees as he approached the table. Pouring himself a goblet of wine, he raised it to his lips and drained it in one gulp. Replacing the goblet, he took a steadying breath and shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.
Elyria held her breath as she watched Sylas begin to pace the room. She remained still, not daring to make a sound as he moved about in the confined space.
Sylas muttered quietly to himself, his gaze darting back and forth aimlessly as he paced. Running a hand through his hair, he eventually came to a stop. With a determined air, he adjusted his surcoat and pushed open the doors, leaving the lounge behind.
Elyria waited until the doors had closed completely, and then she waited a few minutes more. Her heart continued to beat wildly as she replayed the conversation between Sylas and Kerrick in her mind.
A flood of emotions swelled within her—anger, betrayal, and disappointment. She chastised herself for ever believing that Sylas was any different from the others. How foolish. Her entire life she had been born into a world where everyone discarded her. The Cursed Princess, the Unblessed Daughter of the Moon, the Unmarked Candidate. Why would anything change now? She was destined for a life of isolation and rejection. She loathed herself for entertaining the idea of finding friendship in him.
Releasing her hold on the invisibility spell, Elyria emerged from behind the bookcase. Her eyes narrowed as her breathing steadied. This revelation changed nothing. She would face this alone.
Everything was still as she planned.