Chapter 22 Thane
Thane
The children are playing in the garden when I find them.
Three of them—refugees from the northern territories, barely old enough to understand why their parents brought them here. They’ve built a fort out of fallen branches beneath the mira trees, their laughter echoing off the sanctuary walls like something precious and fragile.
The youngest one, a girl with dark curls, looks up as I approach. Her eyes go wide—not with fear, exactly, but with the careful awareness children learn when they’ve seen too much too young.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
The question hits harder than it should. Because no, everything is not okay. The woman these children think saved them hasn’t walked these paths in weeks. Hasn’t checked on the crops, or asked about the barriers, or stopped to watch them play the way she used to.
I know why she stopped.
But they don’t.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell her, crouching down to her level. “Just making sure everyone’s settled.”
She studies my face with the intensity only children possess. “You’re not her.”
“No,” I agree. “I’m not.”
“Will she come back?”
The question lodges in my throat like broken glass. Because the real answer—that she never left, but something else is wearing her face—isn’t something I can explain to a six-year-old who’s already lost everything once.
“I don’t know,” I say instead. “But you’re safe here. I promise.”
She nods solemnly, then returns to her game. But I catch the way her shoulders stay tense, the way she glances toward the sanctuary doors like she’s waiting for someone who might never come.
She’ll walk this path again if I have anything to say about it. I will find her.
I straighten and continue my rounds.
This is what Bree used to do. Every morning, without fail.
Check the perimeter. Visit the newest arrivals.
Make sure the children were eating, the elderly were comfortable, the Feeders weren’t pushing themselves too hard.
Small gestures that kept the sanctuary functioning as more than just a collection of refugees hiding from the world.
I’m efficient at it. Thorough. But I lack her warmth, the way she made everyone feel seen instead of managed.
Still, it needs doing. And if she’s not, if this impostor won’t, then someone has to fill the void.
The irony isn’t lost on me. For centuries, I served the Council’s interests above everything else. Played their game, followed their rules, convinced myself that survival required sacrificing pieces of my soul until nothing remained but strategy and hunger.
Now I find myself protecting the very thing they want to destroy.
A woman walks toward me from the eastern garden—Mairen, the Feeder woman who arrived first with her family. Her face brightens when she sees me, relief evident in the way her shoulders relax.
“Thane,” she says, slightly breathless. “I was hoping to catch you. The children have been asking about magic lessons. Nothing dangerous,” she adds quickly. “Just… basics. How to recognize their gifts when they emerge.”
The request is reasonable. Necessary, even. Most of the refugee children have magical parents but no formal training. They’ll need guidance as their abilities develop.
But the thought of organizing lessons, of planning for their futures, assumes we have a future to plan for.
“I’ll see what can be arranged,” I tell her. “Perhaps Theo could help. His gift is gentle enough for children.”
“Thank you.” Her smile is genuine, grateful. “It would mean so much to them. To all of us.”
I nod and turn to continue my rounds, but her voice stops me.
“Thane?” She hesitates, then forges ahead. “Is she… is everything all right with her?”
The question I’ve been dreading.
“What do you mean?”
“She seems different lately. Distant. I know she has responsibilities, but…” Mairen wraps her arms around herself. “She used to stop and talk. Ask about the children by name. Now she barely acknowledges us when she passes through.”
My jaw tightens. Because Mairen is right. The woman wearing Bree’s face—because that’s who we’re really discussing—treats the refugees like subjects instead of people. Useful when they serve her purposes, invisible when they don’t.
“She’s been under a great deal of pressure,” I say carefully. “Leading isn’t easy.”
“Of course not.” But doubt lingers in Mairen’s expression. “It’s just… when she first came to us, it felt like she understood. Like she’d been where we were. Now it feels like she’s already forgotten.”
Pain flares beneath my ribs, sudden and searing.
The summons burns through my flesh like acid, and I barely manage to keep my expression neutral as the Council’s brand activates beneath my skin. Not now. Not when I’m finally starting to understand the full scope of what this deception is costing these people.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, pressing a hand to my side. “Council business. I’ll be back.”
Mairen’s face immediately shifts to concern. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “Just… duty calls.”
I turn and walk quickly toward the sanctuary, needing to be away from witnesses before the magic takes hold. Behind me, I hear Mairen calling out something about hoping everything goes well, but her voice fades as the summons intensifies.
The magic wraps around me like chains, pulling me sideways through space. Light and shadow twist into a corridor of sound, disorienting and nauseating, until—
The Chamber of Five materializes around me.
Same black throne, same position of deliberate inferiority. But this time, the atmosphere is different from our last meeting. Where before there was agitation and threats, now there’s something that might be satisfaction.
Valdris paces near her throne, but her flames dance with controlled pleasure rather than agitation. Nyx looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in months, draped across her throne with the lazy contentment of a predator whose hunt has succeeded.
Even Marcus seems less rigid than usual, his steel throne reflecting what might be approval.
Only Eris maintains her typical distant expression, silver eyes unfocused as she stares at something none of us can see.
“Thane,” Valdris says as I take my seat. “Your timing is impeccable.”
I settle into my black stone throne and wait. The shift from our last meeting—when they were ready to unleash Phil immediately—to this is jarring.
“We have an update,” Marcus announces. “A change in strategy.”
“Phil’s visit didn’t go as planned,” Valdris admits with obvious irritation. “His methods proved… less effective than anticipated.”
My blood runs cold, but I keep my expression neutral. “I’m not surprised.”
“However,” Nyx continues smoothly, “her influence continues to grow. More refugees arrive daily. Her following expands.”
“Which brings us to our decision,” Marcus says. “The Council has voted.”
Here it comes.
“The Ashen Oath will be reopened,” Valdris announces. “Effective immediately.”
The words hit me like ice, but I force myself to remain still. “I see.”
“Under proper oversight, naturally,” Nyx adds, her smile never wavering.
“What sort of oversight?” I ask carefully.
“We’ll need access to the chamber she unlocked,” Marcus explains. “Full access. No restrictions.”
“And in exchange,” Valdris continues with obvious satisfaction, “we’re prepared to consider offering her a sixth seat. Full Council membership, assuming everything proceeds smoothly.”
A trap disguised as an honor. Give us what we want first, and maybe we’ll reward you later.
“Elementals and Seers will have unrestricted access,” Marcus counts off. “Shifters as well, provided they demonstrate adequate control. Mentalists require pre-approval—standard for advanced magical workings.”
He pauses, and I know what’s coming.
“Feeders, however, will be prohibited entirely.”
The world tilts.
“Prohibited?” I keep my voice level.
“Completely,” Valdris confirms. “The research is clear—Feeder participation creates dangerous imbalances. Too much potential for exploitation.”
“Those who attempt unauthorized participation,” Marcus continues with clinical precision, “will face binding. Magic stripped, feeding capabilities severed.”
Binding. Slow starvation. Death.
“You’re condemning them,” I say quietly.
“We’re protecting the magical community,” Marcus corrects. “Feeders have always struggled with control. This removes the temptation.”
“How thoughtful,” I murmur.
Valdris’s flames flicker higher. “We knew you’d understand. After all, you’ve been monitoring her progress. You know better than anyone how dangerous unchecked power can be.”
“The growing refugee population at her sanctuary,” Nyx adds with pointed emphasis, “demonstrates her influence continues to expand. Better to work with that reality than against it.”
The pragmatism of it sits in my stomach like poison.
Because that’s exactly what the imposter has given them over the last few weeks. Compliance disguised as strength. A Source who plays by their rules instead of challenging their authority.
Everything Bree would never have accepted.
“When does this take effect?” I ask.
“Once we’ve inspected the chamber and confirmed access,” Marcus says. “The announcement will be made after we’ve verified everything is in working order.”
“How thoughtful,” I murmur.
The timeline gives me something to work with. Not much, but something.
“Phil has been exceedingly pleased with the progress,” Nyx adds with a razor smile. “Especially since that incident at the sanctuary. He says she’s been far more… cooperative since then.”
My stomach clenches. Phil reporting back on Bree’s behavior. Watching. Evaluating. It’s disgusting.
“Cooperative,” I repeat carefully.
“Precisely,” Marcus says with satisfaction. “No more erratic outbursts. No more dangerous surges. She’s learned to channel her power appropriately.”
“There is one more thing,” Eris says suddenly, her voice hollow and distant. All conversation stops. When the Seer speaks during Council meetings, we listen.
“Change comes,” she continues, silver eyes unfocused. “Not the change we planned. Not the change we seek. The girl… there are two paths before her. One leads to the throne we would build. The other…”
She trails off, blinking slowly.
“The other?” Valdris prompts.
“The other leads nowhere we can follow.” Eris’s gaze suddenly sharpens, focusing directly on me. “Choose carefully, Feeder. The future turns on choices not yet made.”
A chill runs down my spine. Seers rarely speak directly to individual Council members, and never in riddles this pointed.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I say.
“Don’t you?” Her smile is slight, knowing. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
The meeting concludes with typical Council efficiency—assignments distributed, timelines established, responsibilities clarified. I sit through it all with perfect composure, playing the role they expect.
But inside, I’m calculating.
The Oath is open, but poisoned. The Council thinks they have their perfect compliant Source. And somewhere in the sanctuary, refugees will soon celebrating news that will ultimately destroy them.
All because they’re trusting a woman who isn’t the person they think she is.
As the others begin to disperse, Valdris catches my attention.
“Tell your queen we’re grateful for her obedience,” she says with a smile that suggests she knows exactly how that word will land.
Obedience.
I don’t answer. Just nod once and let the Council magic pull me back to the sanctuary.
But as I materialize in the garden where I started, one thought echoes through my mind with terrible clarity:
Bree would never have been obedient.
Which means I’m running out of time to save her.