Chapter 17
?──── Serenya ? ────?
The council chamber is quieter than usual, the steady flicker of the hearth casting thin shadows along the walls.
I sit at my mother’s right hand, the long polished table stretching out between ministers, advisors, and generals.
Their voices blend into a low drone, the familiar rhythm of court politics.
“…the southern caravans are still delayed by the spring floods,” Lord Cahir rumbles, tapping one thick finger against the map laid out before him. “If the rains continue, we’ll need to reroute the grain shipments.”
“That will raise costs,” Minister Hazen says with a pinched expression. He’s already shuffling through his parchments, searching for numbers he’ll wield like weapons. “We can’t afford to waste coin when our trade routes east have yet to stabilize.”
Across the table, Councilor Veyra lifts her chin.
“Then perhaps the humans should be taxed higher for the privilege of passing through our borders. They clog the roads as it is, and Eiravareth sends more traders across the sea each season, claiming they want nothing to do with our politics while involving themselves in every market we have.”
I glance at my mother. Her expression doesn’t shift. She listens, serene as a statue carved from ice, only speaking when she decides the rest of them have tangled themselves in enough knots.
I fight to keep my posture the same—straight, impassive, and untouchable.
However, I’m restless on the inside. The conversation continues on, circling over patrol schedules and merchant contracts, and all I can think of are the flooded ruins where Koen and the others are fighting their way through the second trial. My nails dig into the carved armrest.
“…the shipment from Elowen’s court will arrive by the next moon,” Hazen is saying now, adjusting the parchment in his hands. “As agreed, her merchants will provide rare glasswork and distilled moonwine in exchange for—”
“Lumenstone,” another councilor finishes for him with a small smile. “She’s quite eager for it, claiming her artificers will use it for ornamental work.”
There’s a round of polite chuckles, the kind that mean no one really cares what Elowen wants with it.
I, however, sit a little straighter. Lumenstone isn’t something anyone outside our borders usually asks for.
It’s mined in the oldest reaches of our mountains, difficult to harvest, and known to have… other uses. Magical ones.
My mother doesn’t seem troubled. “The trade agreement stands,” she says, tone cool and decisive. “The arrangements are profitable for both kingdoms.”
Profitable. My fingers curl tighter. Elowen has never been one to barter without purpose. Dimitri’s warning slides unbidden into my mind: Elowen is moving pieces again. Quiet ones. Dangerous ones.
I push the thought aside, focusing on the conversation as Hazen continues. “…of course, the glassware will be presented at the royal wedding reception. Her Majesty has already extended a personal invitation for Queen Elowen to attend.”
That makes my head snap up, my gaze fixed on my mother. An invitation to come here. During my wedding.
No one else looks unsettled. Not even slightly.
“She’ll bring her usual entourage, no doubt,” Veyra says lightly. “At least her court knows how to dress properly. Perhaps it will remind certain nobles of ours what elegance looks like.”
More quiet laughter. The sound scrapes at my nerves.
My mother catches my eye for only a heartbeat, then looks away, moving seamlessly on to the next matter—the patrol routes along the northern borders, the influx of human traders in the east, and the harvest tax from the western villages. Her voice is steady, her commands absolute.
I sit in silence, outwardly composed, but inside my thoughts churn like stormwater against stone. What if Elowen isn’t coming for the ceremony and gifts? And what is she really using the lumenstone for?
By the time the meeting adjourns, the weight in my chest has settled like a stone. I rise with the rest of them and smile when I’m meant to, but I can’t shake Dimitri’s warning.
────────────? ? ?? ?────────────
Alira leans across the rug in front of the fire, snatching up another card with a grin that makes her blue eyes gleam.
“You’re terrible at this, Tor,” she says, tossing her card down with a flourish.
Torin groans and flops back dramatically onto the floor, his cards falling from his fingers. “That’s because this game doesn’t make any sense.”
I blink down at the five cards in my hand—none of them good—and toss them onto the pile in silence.
Alira tilts her head. “Serenya?”
I glance up. “Hmm?”
Torin sits up, frowning. “You haven’t insulted either of us in a full five minutes. Are you dying?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. Then I sigh and pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “Sorry. I’m just distracted.”
They’re both quiet.
Alira reaches for the wine bottle. “The trial.”
I nod once.
I should find comfort in their presence. In hearing their laughter. In playing games with them. But my mind keeps drifting.
The crackle of the fire fills the silence. Shadows flicker over Torin’s boyish face, softening his usual mischief. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re thinking yourself into knots again.”
“That’s her favorite pastime,” Alira adds, pouring wine into my empty cup before I can protest. “Brooding. Sulking. Staring dramatically at nothing.”
I shoot her a look. “You make me sound unbearable.”
“You are,” Torin says with mock seriousness. “But we love you anyway.”
Alira bumps her shoulder into mine, her warmth grounding. “You’ll be fine. You always are.”
Her certainty should settle me. Instead, a knot tightens in my chest. Always fine. Always strong. Always making the right choices.
I take the wine and swirl it in my hands, watching the firelight catch against the surface. “What if I’m not? What if…what if I make a mistake?” I whisper before I can stop myself.
They exchange a glance. Not pity, thank the stars, but worry all the same.
Torin clears his throat and straightens, reaching for the scattered cards. “Then I suppose Alira and I will just have to clean up whatever mess you leave behind.”
“Rude,” Alira says, smacking his arm.
I laugh, the tension easing for a moment. Their ridiculousness and easy banter are safe and familiar. For a heartbeat, it almost works.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop my mind from going back to the men fighting for their lives.
I didn’t tell either of them that I sent a shadow with Koen.
I only sent one because I can’t spare more. It would be pushing my limits, holding connections with so many of my shadows from so far away. I haven’t pushed those limits since the war.
Since losing Kallan .
Since my shadows whispered his name every time I tried to wield them. Once, our magic had danced together like twin flames, strengthening one another. Now mine feels jagged and unstable.
I wanted to send a shadow with each man. But only one could go, and I chose to send it with Koen. Why? I don’t really know. He is irritating and arrogant, but he is also brave and stubborn.
So, no. I didn’t tell them. I’m not ready to say it aloud. Not when I don’t understand it myself.
Torin is shuffling the deck again when my shadows move.
I freeze.
Black smoke curls around me. They wrap around my legs, my wrists, and my shoulders. Not squeezing, but urging me.
Torin scrambles back. “What the—? Serenya?”
Alira stands up fast, wine forgotten. “Are those—? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t summon them,” I whisper.
My heart beats wildly. My shadows never move like this without my command. Well, unless they are trying to get to… Koen. I close my eyes and reach for the shadow I sent with him. It isn’t like seeing through my own eyes. It is fragmented, like a shattered mirror that has been put back together.
I see him knee deep in murky water, his shirt plastered to his chest with sweat and grime, his blade drawn, eyes scanning.
Something is wrong. He’s moving like a predator, but there’s a wildness in it. Raw, untrained, and desperate.
My breath catches as a massive black scorpion launches from the water beside him, clicking violently, then diving beneath the surface before Koen can strike.
Gods, Koen.
He slashes the next time it attacks, and his sword scrapes against its shell; a scream tears from the creature’s throat before it disappears again.
He is going to die. That thing will wear him down, one slash at a time, until—
The image jolts violently as he shoves the blade deep into the scorpion’s belly during its third strike. The moment freezes. Water and chitin. Sparks and blood. Then it collapses.
I exhale, only now realizing I had been holding my breath. I just watch, frowning and confused. Why am I relieved? It isn't just the trials. Yes, I want him to live. But not for duty. For...
I shake my head. Nope. He is arrogant and reckless and irritating when he speaks. And I don’t like the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching.
The view changes again. Koen is now crouched on a slab of stone, blood on his arm, sword in his hand. My vision jolts slightly as my shadow follows his gaze.
Dozens of cloaked figures.
I stiffen. Guardians of the Wastes.
Their lanterns swing with an unnatural rhythm, but the water never stirs beneath their feet. No footsteps. No breath. No face beneath the hoods.
One of them turns toward Koen.
I almost stand. Almost sever the link and call for my shadows to take me to intervene. But Koen doesn’t move, and the guardian turns away, continuing on.
Once again, he survived.
I blink as the image trembles and dims.
Koen on the ground. Bleeding. A creature looming over him. Tall, cloaked, its face...Aren. No, not Aren. Something wearing him. My stomach lurches. A mawless.
Gods above. Aren didn’t deserve this. He was a good man who was only here because he just wanted to help his sister. A tear slides down my cheek.
I’m so sorry, Aren.
My eyes fly open, pulse roaring in my ears. “I have to go.”
“What?” Torin steps forward. “Go where?”
“Cover for me,” I say quickly. “If anyone asks, I’m in the library. Or asleep. Or…I don’t know…just lie, you’re both good at it.”
Alira’s face pales. “Serenya—”
“I don’t have time. Please , ” I say, hoping they see the desperation in my eyes.
I’m not sure how much of my magic will be left for me to heal him by the time I get there, so I grab the leather satchel I always keep ready. It has bandages, balm, tinctures, and salves. My hands are shaky and my breath trembles, but I move fast.
I fling open my balcony doors. Wind sweeps in, snuffing a few candles.
My shadows start swirling around my ankles.
Torin steps onto the balcony after me. “This isn’t like you.”
I turn to him, determined. “He’s in trouble.”
His brow furrows. “Koen? How are you going to get there in time? You can’t vaelshad . You’ve never been there.”
“I will get as close as I can, then I’ll ride my shadows the rest of the way. But I have to leave. Now. ”
Alira comes up behind us, wrapping my cloak around me and shoving my boots into my arms. “Be careful.”
I give a quick nod. Then let my shadows swirl around me until there’s nothing but darkness.
“Take me to him,” I whisper.