Chapter 24 Stellan
Stellan
The sanctuary kitchen at breakfast is a study in practiced normalcy.
Jace stands at the stove, flipping pancakes with more focus than the task requires, hair still sticking up on one side from sleep.
The smell of butter and coffee fills the air, mixing with the sound of scraping plates and muffled conversation.
Rhett sits at the counter, close enough to steal bites when Jace isn’t looking.
Wes stares out the window like he’s seeing something the rest of us can’t.
Theo has a folded piece of paper beside his plate—correspondence from somewhere, judging by the careful way he’s not looking at it.
Gray sits at the far end of the table, silent and watchful, picking at food he’s not really eating.
Thane occupies his usual spot near the wall, silver eyes tracking every movement with predatory focus.
All of them here. All of them avoiding what matters.
It’s been three days since Thane told me about the Council’s decision. Three days since I went to Zira, knowing she’d feel the need to protect Feeders as much as I did. Three days since we’ve been working around the clock to get as many through the Oath as possible before the hammer falls.
And three days of watching the woman wearing Bree’s face plan this Council dinner like it’s her sixteenth birthday party instead of a political execution.
“You’re gonna burn those,” Rhett mumbles, nodding toward the stove.
“I don’t burn things,” Jace says without turning around. “I create controlled breakfast experiences.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Wes’s mouth quirks up slightly. “Because I remember some very uncontrolled heat experiences lately.”
“Shut up.” But Jace is grinning, and for a moment, they almost look like the same boys who stumbled into this place months ago.
The illusion doesn’t last.
“Anyone know what the hell is up with Bree lately?”
Zira’s voice cuts through the kitchen chatter like a blade. She stands in the doorway, dark curls wild from the morning wind, eyes sharp with the kind of focused irritation that means someone’s about to get uncomfortable.
Every fork stops midair. The easy banter dies.
Jace nearly drops a pancake. “What—what do you mean?”
Zira rolls her eyes and stalks to the counter, helping herself to a mug like she owns the place. “Don’t play dumb. The Council’s coming in less than two weeks, and she’s acting like it’s a fucking holiday instead of the end of the world.”
Rhett’s shoulders tense immediately. “She’s handling it.”
“If by ‘handling it’ you mean spending yesterday afternoon debating whether the napkins should be silver or pearl, then sure.” Zira pours coffee with sharp, precise movements. “She’s handling it perfectly.”
“She’s been different since the chamber,” Theo offers carefully, diplomatic as always. “But maybe she’s still adjusting to—”
“Adjusting?” Zira’s laugh has no humor in it. “She spent three hours yesterday discussing floral arrangements. For the people coming to kill us. She’s not Bree anymore.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Even the morning light streaming through the windows seems dimmer, like the words have weight enough to push back against the sun.
I set down my mug with deliberate care. “Enough.”
Zira turns that sharp gaze on me, but there’s understanding there. We’ve had this conversation already, in private. This performance is for their benefit.
“Walk with me,” I say quietly.
Zira hesitates for the appropriate beat, then follows me toward the back door. Behind us, the boys sit in heavy quiet, pretending they can’t feel the foundation of their world shifting beneath their feet.
The garden air is cool against my skin, a relief after the stifling tension of the kitchen. Birds call from the mira trees, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear the soft hum of the sanctuary’s wards—magic woven so deeply into the stone it’s become part of the architecture.
We walk toward the chamber path without speaking. The performance is over now; we can speak freely.
When I went to Zira three nights ago, I knew she’d understand immediately.
She’s seen enough of the magical world’s politics to recognize when something is wrong, and she cares about Feeders in a way that makes her dangerous to those who would harm us.
Thane’s revelation about the Council’s ban made her the perfect ally.
“The latest count?” I ask as we move out of earshot.
“Forty-three since we started,” she reports, voice low and efficient. “Thanks to you and Thane keeping her distracted, we’ve been able to bring them through after dark. The word is spreading faster than we expected.”
“Good. How many are staying?”
“About half. The others take the Oath and leave, but they’re stronger now. Different.” She glances at me. “They’ll remember this when the time comes.”
I pause, considering. “We need to move on the others soon. Get them through before the ban takes effect.”
“The guys?”
“Wes and Thane, specifically. Any Feeders who haven’t taken the Oath yet.” I keep my voice low, even though we’re well away from the sanctuary now. “Once the Council ban goes into effect, it won’t matter what she says. They’ll strip magic from anyone who tries.”
“And the others? The non-Feeders?”
“They should be fine. The ban only applies to Feeders.” I consider the timeline. “But Wes and Thane need to go through tonight. Before the Council realizes how many we’ve already gotten through.”
Zira nods, then fixes me with a sharp look. “You should too.”
I don’t argue. She’s right.
“What about all of them though?” she continues. “Bree’s guys. If they all take the Oath, become stronger… the Council might see that as too much power gathered in one place. Too much threat.”
“Perhaps.” I consider this. “But scattered power is weak power. And if we’re right about what’s happened to Bree, we’ll need every advantage we can get when the truth comes out. Better her people are strong enough to fight back.”
“You think it’ll come to that?”
“I think,” I say carefully, “that we should be prepared for any possibility.”
We continue toward the chamber, where the air grows thick with magic. The Ashen Oath has been working overtime these past few days, responding to every Feeder who approaches it with desperate hunger.
“She’s going to notice soon,” Zira says, though we both know this isn’t true. “You can’t keep sneaking people in forever.”
“We’re not sneaking.” I keep my voice soft, but there’s steel underneath. “We’re reclaiming what’s ours. She’s too busy planning party favors to look beneath her own feet.”
It still amazes me how completely she’s dismissed the magical activity happening under her nose. The real Bree would have known something was going on. Would have been there to welcome them, to understand what they needed.
This version is so focused on her Council performance that she’s blind to everything else.
“Forty-three Feeders stronger than they were less than a week ago,” Zira muses. “And more coming every night. When the Council arrives expecting to find broken refugees…”
“They’ll find an army instead.” The satisfaction in my voice is real. “One they never saw coming.”
We reach the clearing just before the chamber entrance. The air here pulses with energy—silver and black threads weaving visibly through the morning light. Beautiful and wrong at the same time.
“It’s stronger every night,” Zira observes.
I reach out to touch the carved doorframe, fingers tracing symbols that pulse faintly under my skin. The chamber recognizes me now, accepts my presence. But there’s something else underneath—a deep, ancient wrongness that makes my teeth ache.
“The Oath is alive again,” I murmur. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
She nods, awe and fear mixing in her dark eyes.
“It remembers who it belongs to.” The words taste bitter. “Which makes this even more dangerous. Because I don’t think the right person is wearing the crown.”
“You mean whoever that is isn’t really Bree?”
“Exactly.” I turn to face her fully. “The chamber doesn’t care about our politics or our hierarchies. It knows what it was built for, and it knows who has the right to command it. And right now…”
“Right now it’s responding to someone who might not be her.” Zira’s voice drops to a whisper.
Understanding dawns in her expression, followed quickly by alarm. “Then why is it answering for us?”
“Because it’s finally awake again.” The admission carries weight. “It’s been waiting for the Scarborne line to reopen it, and now that it has… now that Bree has, the chamber is functioning as it was meant to. Any true magical being can access the Oath now that the seal is broken.”
“But for how long?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I meet her eyes. “The chamber belongs to Scarborne blood. If something happens to the real Bree, if that bloodline is compromised…”
“The Oath could close again.”
“Or worse. It could turn against those it deems unworthy.” I touch the doorframe again, feeling that wrongness pulse beneath the ancient power. “We need to move quickly.”
Zira studies me with those sharp, knowing eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“What I always do.” The answer comes easily. “Balance the scales before someone decides to tip them for good.”
She tilts her head. “You think Thane’s ready for that fight?”
I allow myself a small smile. “Thane’s already fighting it. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the chamber hum beneath our feet. The sound is hypnotic—like a heartbeat, like breathing, like something vast and patient waiting to wake up fully.
“Two weeks,” Zira says quietly. “The Council’s coming.”
“Less than that now. Ten days.” I think of all the Feeders still traveling here, drawn by whispers of an impossible hope made real. “We have ten days to make sure they regret ever trying to clip our wings.”
I start walking toward the mist that guards the chamber entrance, and after a moment, Zira follows. The silver light swallows our footsteps, and I let myself disappear into it, thinking of lists and contingencies and all the ways this could go right.
Because for the first time in centuries, Feeders aren’t just surviving.
We’re preparing for war.