Chapter 11
T he world rotated. Snow and trees and rocks rolled past her, and she had the vague sense that something in her body, very soon, would snap, as she twirled and twirled and twirled.
Her hands. She knew they were bleeding. Because of the trial in the snow, perhaps other things too. And forges pounded in her head ever since it had met something hard and unforgiving.
Thalon held on to her until they slammed into a sharpened boulder. It broke them apart, sending them tumbling.
Down and down and down that mountain with nothing stopping them.
Not the snow. Not the sharp rocks. Not the trees.
Not the lake, frozen over in feet of ice?—
Alora gasped in horror as Thalon’s head slammed into a rock—hard enough to leave a gash. His body went limp like a stuffed doll and barreled for the glassy surface of the lake. She could do nothing more than tumble as he pummeled into the ice and cracked the surface. The leathers of his armor cast a smooth trail across the snow as he slid farther from shore, but somehow, he remained on top of the ice.
And she was next.
She saw the stone. Saw how her path drew her to a cliff’s edge that would throw her hundreds of feet to the frozen lake below.
With nothing in her path, nothing to stop her, Alora curled her arms around her knees and tucked her head between them. Hoping—praying—that whatever came next would be swift and painless.
Her breaths froze her throat. Heart sputtering?—
Over the edge?—
Down, down, down ? —
The ice split open on impact. Swallowing her to its depths. Survival instincts screamed inside her as she fought, falling deeper into the lake until her arms and legs created enough resistance to slow her.
But it helped little—she had drifted too far down.
Darkness surrounded her, offering no inclination of where the surface was. So Alora calmed her limbs, waiting to be pulled. Waiting to float in a direction that would?—
Her back rose.
That way. The surface was behind her.
Alora turned, threading her numb fingers, legs, and arms through the water. Her lungs burned and pleaded for relief as a beam of light irradiated far far above her.
She kicked—so terribly did she kick.
Those traitorous lungs, they wouldn’t stop pleading that her mouth needed to open—it was going to open?—
Air, air, air. She needed air.
Needed air, needed air, needed?—
No— no!
Alora’s fingers slid against thick, damning ice. Fists balled, she willed every ounce of depleting strength into her arm and pounded against it. Even with her High Fae strength, it was no use. The resistance of the water was too strong.
Then it happened. The borders of her vision began fading to darkness. Her chest burned like starfire, tearing and shredding her lungs. And she … she knew. She knew she was going to die.
The water at her chest pulsed to the rhythm of her slowing heartbeat as the frigid temperature constricted her every vein.
She counted them. One. Two. Three.
Four. Opened her mouth to breathe air, only to remember the water.
This was it. Her fight was over?—
Five.
.
.
.
White flames burst from her body, igniting her entire being like a living flame.
Burning the ice at her fingertips.
Starfire—her blazing, beautifully ruinous starfire—melted the ice in pathways like lightning.
The entire lake surface boiled away, and Alora found that vital air, choking on it. Greedily inhaling frigid gulps as she blinked away water, or tears—she couldn’t be certain.
And when her starfire burned out, the lake instantly started to freeze because that winter storm … that winter storm wasn’t nearly at its peak.
She needed to get out of the water. Before the lake froze over and trapped her inside.
But her body was too cold, and her fire was now nothing more than a spark on her fingertip.
Torturous . Every movement was torturous . Like electricity shooting into every nerve. Like ten thousand needles pricking her skin. She wouldn’t make it to shore. Couldn’t.
Water splashed in the near-distance, and she threaded another aching hand through slush and ice crystals, turning to see darkened gray hair and battle-black armor.
Garrik reached her in time, and panted through a frigid rasp, “I have you, clever girl.” His breath slowed as his hands pulled her to him. It was an effort to hold her sobs inside as his arm banded around her and he kicked forward. An effort to breathe , each gasp agonizing.
Alora’s eyes drifted to the shore behind them. Too far to swim to, where two figures stood over a mass in the snow.
Thalon .
Jade and Aiden were alive, tending to him.
Garrik’s feet hit the slope of land. With one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, he lifted her, convulsed, and shuddered. They had escaped the lake seconds before the surface froze behind his last step. His focus drifted across the glass, finding their friends safe.
To their horror, when he dared a step back on the ice, it cracked. Garrik cursed as his foot sunk through.
He pulled her closer to him. Ice shards forming against his armor and hers. “It will be some time before we can walk the lake,” Garrik said, forcing a swallow as ink swirled in his eyes.
Maybe we can walk around maybe ? —
Garrik shook his head in answer.
She scanned the lake—the enormous lake, too wide to walk around in this storm.
Alora felt him go taut. Watched as he shook his head and cursed when only a small coil of Smokeshadows danced off his shoulder, then misted away.
They wouldn’t be dawning.
Garrik’s voice trembled the ground beneath them as he yelled across the lake, “Wait for us there,” and pointed.
Behind their friends, a small wooden structure sat within the trees. Aiden turned, finding the roof of the building peeking through the snow-bogged treetops.
Jade’s muffled agreement carried across the lake as she rolled the backpack from her shoulders and chucked it. Flying over the glassy lake at an impressive distance before it fell, the pack slid to where Garrik could reach and collect it.
The last they saw, Jade and Aiden pulled Thalon from the snow. Thalon, still limp and relaxed, had his arms slung over their shoulders while his feet created a path in the snow as they dragged behind.
They were safe. On their way to safety.
Garrik pulled her tighter to his chest, but she didn’t have the strength to cling to him.
Her eyes refused to stay open. Body shutting down from how drenched she was. At how the ice froze over her clothing, forming crystals on her skin. Alora glimpsed her hands. Corpse-like. Blue. So blue.
“Alora.” Garrik’s voice was hard, demanding. And there was worry there. “You must stay awake. I will get you out of this, but I need you to stay awake .” Not a suggestion. A command from the voice of her High Prince.
Those same ice shards turning her skin to glass turned his too.
He trembled. “Please stay awake…” Pleading now, no longer that hardened demand.
“I’m-m … s-so cold,” Alora stuttered.
“I know,” he breathed. “Stay awake for me, alright? Please.” His eyes. The panic.
Over and over, Garrik’s feet crushed through the heavy snow. Over and over, she felt her lungs shattering from the crystals forming inside.
A shower of snowflakes caused a thin layer to settle across her body and his hair and shoulders, and silver eyes never stopped panicking, while hers ruthlessly fought to remain open.
Corded arms pulled her impossibly closer.
Then Garrik’s voice cracked. “Don’t die, Alora. Please. Don’t?—”
She woke to heat.
And darkness—spanning above her to broken … rafters?
Yes , her eyes focused, that is a roof . A decrepit roof with glimpses of the winter sky and starlight between.
A pulse that wasn’t her own thumped against her warm cheek, and Alora focused on the incredible heat there as her senses fought to strengthen. Dreaming of how perfect the lazy circles massaging between her shoulder blades felt… Then she realized it wasn’t, in fact, a dream.
Thick fingers followed the dips of her sore muscles and bones. A calloused hand cupped the small of her back, an arm rested over her hip. And those were warm, muscular legs intertwined with hers.
Warm skin. She smiled, forgetting for a moment, forgetting what a warm body lying in bed with her could do, and nuzzled her face closer to that heartbeat.
Had a calm, deep voice that evoked visions of the night sky not broken through the winter silence, she would’ve panicked. But Garrik’s voice, warm as his arms around her, began, “Forgive me,” and any fear stirring instantly melted. “I am afraid I had to force a decision for you this time. You were fading too quickly and so damn cold, I ... had no choice.”
It was then she realized they were mostly skin-to-skin. Leathers shed, drenched above their heads. Both so close they shared breath.
Garrik was folded around her, legs interlaced with hers. Bursts of blissful friction from his rubbing hands sparked across her back under a blanket. Occasionally, his finger caught on a strap on her shoulder?—
So … she wasn’t fully naked. Then again, Garrik would never put her in that position. She trusted that without a doubt.
Stars. It felt like a dream.
Warm and perfect and lovely laying there like nothing else mattered.
She should’ve been embarrassed—being in only her underthings. Pressed against the hardened planes of muscles of … of Elysian’s High Prince. But this was better than freezing to death. And far more enjoyable.
“Where are we?” she asked.
That gentle caress tingled against her mind. Even without her wall of flames, he still waited to be allowed inside.
She nodded and saw, through Garrik’s eyes, what had happened after the chill of the lake and death of winter froze her to the bones.
A break in the trees in front of him—their salvation.
Garrik stormed forward to an abandoned building. Its boards were old and rotted, falling apart, allowing winter to trickle inside. A double-sided door swung in the merciless wind, slamming into the sides of the structure.
A barn.
Exhaling relief, Garrik trudged forward.
His frozen limbs ached terribly as he cradled Alora against him. Growing weaker and weaker, every nerve tortured him. The ice forming on his skin offered only punishment as he stepped through the door.
To his right, a rickety ladder and loft with mounds of loose straw underneath while stacks of bales, sickly brown-yellow and half-molded, were falling apart. Snowflakes danced through the collapsing roof.
Under the loft was the only area sufficient for shelter, so Garrik laid Alora on the straw before he pulled the double doors closed and knelt by her side.
Starsdamnit. She was barely there—breathing too shallow.
If they did not warm up soon …
No. He would not allow himself to think of that. Would not allow her to die.
Garrik rummaged through the backpack and breathed a sigh of relief when he found a rolled wool blanket. It would not be enough to warm them entirely, but it was something.
He covered Alora in it, and with his last remnants of strength, Garrik created walls of stacked bales around them, leaving enough space for a small doorway. Creating a small room where their body heat could collect inside.
Alora blinked away Garrik’s memory.
When shivers pricked across her skin, he adjusted the blanket over her, and as if the vision wasn’t enough of an answer, he added, “We are in our bed for the night.”
A weak, sarcastic grin crept up her face. “I knew you would get me in your bed.”
Garrik lightly scoffed. “So it would seem.” Brushing a hair behind her ear. The movement settled moonlight on his mutilated death mark. “That is three times now you have fallen for me. Do not make this a habit.”
A rush of icy wind.
Instinctively, she pressed against him. Desperately hoping to soak up more of his warmth.
His warm breath fanned over her neck as he spoke. “Hopefully only a few more hours and winter should turn to spring.”
Nuzzling her nose against him, she wondered, “How long have I been asleep?”
Garrik frowned. “Two days.” His calluses scraped gently along the strap of her underthings—the only thing reminding her of the savagely trained High Prince beneath that delicate touch. “It was not restful. You had fits. Get some rest, now. You need your strength to return.”
She couldn’t argue. Her limbs felt like Fourtress laid on them.
Alora managed to shift, greedily indulging in his warmth . The only time she had felt him like this was after the whipping in camp.
“You’re so warm,” she groaned as his hand brushed her hip. “How is that possible?”
Garrik considered a moment as if he wouldn’t speak. As if the answer was a traitorous secret. She opened her mouth, but Garrik, at last, explained, “I sent what little shadows I had away. Without them, I am warm like everyone else. Among other things.” Emphasizing the lack of his velvety darkness, Garrik palmed her lower back.
“I’m not sure I like it,” she murmured, closing her eyes to take in the foreignness. No one felt like him. No one else sent her body teeming with cooled comfort like him. Even in winter. Even if she needed the warmth to stay alive. There was no mistaking the pointed ache in her chest with the absence of his ice.
He breathed a laugh. “What would you like, darling? I am afraid I cannot satisfy your comfort until my shadows return.”
Satisfy. The thought of Garrik satisfying her rushed scarlet to her cheeks. She squirmed, refusing the urge to press into him, to tighten her thighs at the heat pulsing there.
Garrik hummed at her movement.
She felt his smirk as his lips feathered along the shell of her ear. Small rushes of his breath had her choking back a groan when her skin pebbled, and he smiled at that too.
Garrik repeated the torment, over and over, having her skin return to normal only to pebble it once more. Teasing.
The mighty bastard. He knew what he was doing.
She exhaled slowly, focusing on where Garrik’s body touched.
Could he feel how her heart seemingly stopped, then thundered?
Or how her thighs pressed together? How her hand trembled where they scratched against her skin to keep from brushing his? Which was entirely impossible because, with each of his uneven breaths, his chest dusted hers. Allowing his steady heartbeat to wrap around hers and steal it entirely.
Whether it was from the journey or the harrowing day, there was no mistaking how exhausted her body and mind felt, regardless of how he was making her feel.
Relaxing into his touch, Alora’s traitorous eyes half-lidded, bobbing enough to coax a frustrated sigh from her lips.
Garrik smiled, releasing a pleasing hum as he carefully pulled the blanket over her shoulders and guided her head to rest on his considerable biceps. “It is alright, Ara,” he said softly. “Sleep.” Warm breath fanned across her head as he pressed his lips to her hair.
But there was … a gleam in his eyes.
It sent a spark of energy through her. So, Alora examined that silver glow, realizing no one she’d ever met had eyes like him. Not one. Silver like a polished blade. It wasn’t common. In fact, before she met Garrik, she hadn’t known that eye color even existed.
“What is that look for, clever girl?”
Scarlet flushed her cheeks. What had he noticed? Awe? Enchantment? Wonder?
“You have beautiful eyes,” she casually blurted and rolled her lips between her teeth. She hadn’t fully intended to say that, but …
Garrik released a breathy chuckle. “Careful, darling. Look too closely and you might discover all my secrets.”
Alora raised her hand to his cheek before she convinced herself otherwise.
He remained unmoving, tracking the cautious glide of her fingertips until they teased his hair.
Even in such dim light, his eyes glowed like a beacon on a storming sea, guiding lost ships to safety. She could get lost in them, she admitted. Perhaps they were not a beacon at all but rather the storm captivating her wandering heart until she would be hopeless, forsaking the safety of the shore to remain on the crashing waves.
Only, when her fingers traced his cheek, turning his head slightly to catch the reflection of moonlight in his eyes, she didn’t find treacherous waters. She didn’t find wrath or vengeance or savagery. Those glowing silver orbs were hope. A future.
“What do you see?” he whispered, hesitant. The sound almost broken.
A serene smile swelled her cheeks. “You,” she answered. “I see you.”
He released a shuddering breath.
“In all my life, I’ve never seen silver eyes.”
“They were once green,” Garrik said. There was pain there. Flashing across his features.
Alora’s brows pinched. “What happened to them?”
That steady heartbeat in his chest quickened as ink overtook his once-green eyes. Alora placed her hand on the star-shaped burn scar—over his heart. The skin quivered, and his head snapped down, spearing it with his gaze.
His eyes clenched, and inhaling a steadying breath before they opened, the abyss misted away. Garrik’s palm enveloped hers, pressing her deeper into his chest. “I was a fool,” he began. “Rarely, I accepted drinks from servants. It would be mindless of me to be anything but sober when Magnelis’s demands were malevolent. I had sent away Jade, Aiden, Thalon, and Everlyn?—”
Alora’s throat knotted at the mention of Thalon’s wife.
“—as I was informed of a possible coup. Brennus never trusted them. He led schemes to have them injured or dismissed from their positions. So, I would not have them there. I would be alone.
“But that night, at a ball celebrating Magnelis’s ascension anniversary to the throne, I recklessly allowed my suspicions to subside the longer the night carried on.
“I believe it was the wine. I remember seeing her. My confused thoughts regarded her like it was the first time. The long black hair and serpent-like eyes. Such beauty was captivating, though with a sober mind, I would not have desired more.
“But she brushed her hand over mine, and I felt ... a shift in my mind. Against all reason, my body demanded it, and my mind failed to convince me against taking another cup. The burn in my throat should have come as warning enough. But no matter the protest, I continued drinking.
“Summoned to speak with Malik, the dark-haired High Fae in the Dawnspace, Ravens who spoke in whispers led me through a hallway as I stumbled.
“Malik crossed through the threshold to Magnelis’s war chamber, where Brennus braced himself with his boots on the table littered with maps and correspondence. I presumed it was likely a strategy meeting. But my head ran away with itself, and a dreadful pain settled behind my eyes, rendering it hard to see, let alone remain standing. I did not notice Ravens gathering behind me, nor have time to defend the blow to my head.”
Alora shook her head in earnest—unable to stop as if the motion would stop what had happened.
“When I woke, I smelled the wet iron of my blood first. Hooks were pierced through my arms, shoulders ... my back. Chains drawn tight while my blood dripped to the floor from where I hung. I called on my powers to steal into the mind of a guard to release me, but,” Garrik’s lips trembled, “they did not answer. And I knew as Magnelis stalked through the door that my wavering obedience to his commands had concluded.
“He allowed me a choice; Freedom for complete fealty. Locate Marked Ones for his gain or decay in the dungeons until the stars claimed my life. But I would not betray my kind for comfort.
“Instead of ending my life, Magnelis deemed my powers too valuable to waste. And because of his deal with Kerimkhar, he could not steal the powers of those with his name or blood. So, as long as I lived, my mother and myself were protected from his control, but we suffered. She died because of it, and when we imagined the powers of Zyllyryon passing to me, her heir, Magnelis, instead, seemed to have stolen them. Perhaps a flaw in Kerimkhar’s deal. Nonetheless, my mother was gone. And years later, I was imprisoned.”
Alora kept her breathing quiet, gut twisting.
Garrik’s gaze embedded into the straw behind them. His hand mindlessly brushed her. “They call it magic-washing. Magnelis tainted Zyllyryon’s sacred mate ritual and constructed a blasphemous altercation for his own usury. Instead of offering yourself in service to your intended, he created servants for himself. He gave powers to few, the power to steal into minds and reframe their entire being for his pleasure.
“ She was one of them. But she also held powers of poison—venom. Daily, she, Malik, and Brennus visited my dungeon. Daily they tortured my body until I simply had no voice to scream, and even after, they continued. Though my body was useless, somehow, magic itself protected my mind since I could not. A part of me their drugs never penetrated. She could not cleave through.”
Horrible, despicable, infernal monsters ? —
“But by mistake of one guard’s foolishness, I died, and she found a pathway.”
Alora’s eyes flickered to the scar on his neck.
He noticed and regretfully nodded. “For thirty years they tortured me in unimaginable ways no body could withstand. That is why when I succumbed to my injuries, she was always present—restoring my life—so the game of my suffering and humiliation continued.
“They brutalized and destroyed, killed, and fucked me until the only thing remaining was the reminder of what Magnelis would do to those I protected. If my mother’s powers were stolen by a flaw preceding her murder, then what of mine? There was no choice. I endured the torture and humiliation for as long as the stars allowed my existence, so Elysian escaped Magnelis.”
Garrik paused. Blinking, eyes glassy. “My silver eyes … a result of stealing into the consciousness. Altering everything I once was due to the magic-washing. And I am not alone. Every one of those washed is colorless in our gaze. On minds, unlike mine, the washing is effortless. She uses her magic to slither inside the deepest parts and irrevocably change everything until her victim is a shell to be filled and molded into whatever Magnelis deems necessary. For my own, she, Malik, and Brennus were forced to stop my heart. Over and over, shattering every lingering stronghold of magic until nothing remained but a thin barrier.
“On that final day, I was simply entertainment. Magnelis hosted balls and celebrations monthly, summoning his elite and the kings of Elysian with their courts. To which I was always … invited.”
Only, Alora knew Garrik’s invitation wasn’t as a willing guest.
He continued, “An endless night of food, drink, and proclivities centered on gambling—casting lots for their perversions and barbarity under the illusion of high class and sophistication.”
Alora’s hand tenderly flattened to his chest, hoping it was as soothing as she meant it to be.
“They,” a tear slipped down his cheek, “took turns.”
Some distant echo rippled in her mind. He had said in that first annulus, ‘The High King and a few others … he allowed to take their,’— she couldn’t breathe—couldn’t breathe— ‘desires and pleasures from me …’
Garrik cleared his throat. “Some brought weapons. Magnelis urged others to demonstrate what new horrors the smiths had concocted. Whoever forced me unconscious the slowest won something as simple as a glass of wine or … a night with me to enact whatever their perversions manifested. And if anyone interfered…” He shook his head as his eyes went distant. “Magnelis expected Thalon to be by his side on nights such as this.”
Thalon had to watch. He couldn’t do anything ? —
“I would not allow him to. Any of them,” Garrik interrupted and drew in a deep, trembling breath before continuing. “ She healed me countless times that night. When I was close to death but the entertainment was too short-lived. After hours of my suffering, the final event began.”
It was becoming harder for him to speak, she realized. His breathing labored.
With pain behind his eyes, Garrik closed them, shuddering as if the memory cracked something inside him. “The High King allowed my death then. To their greatest pleasure in my blood and screams, Magnelis sealed my fate. I endured his thousand cuts with what I knew would be my last breaths. Only I did not know it would be the last tether of power holding closed the doors to my mind’s stronghold.
“He ended my worthless life. My shield tore entirely. I was to be a testament to their magic-washing abilities. Their greatest triumph, conquering the Lord of Minds. And she was at last able to perform her worst.
“Her venom surged through my veins, as it had countless times. Only this time, her magic slithered through my mind—my eyes—changing them permanently. I felt every bit of myself slip away. My mind screamed, but my mangled body was hopeless to fight. Her darkness intruded inside, my eyes sucked of their color, creating the silver-eyed savage Elysian hates. I was her greatest masterpiece for seventeen Blood Years. A demon Made for Magnelis’s will. And I could not do a starsdamn thing about it. Trapped inside a monster, my mind was not my own. My thoughts, will, actions, my body … were all controlled and used by that of who Made me.”
Unimaginable pain rippled across his features.
And she thought she imagined it, but those were screams— bloodcurdling screams— echoing around them. Thousands of voices, dying, pleading for mercy before the slice of iron rang or the bone-shattering crack of spines resounded. Garrik’s memories … somehow, she knew they were his memories .
In that moment, Aiden and Thalon’s words finally made sense.
‘Forced mistakes.’
‘That wasn’t the real Garrik.’
‘Garrik didn’t decide to do a bloody thing.’
‘He was my brother held captive.’
‘Garrik would’ve never done that if he could’ve stopped himself.’
Burning tears filled her eyes. One escaped, swift and brutal, down her cheek. And that horror—that shame —boiled from her heart as she breathed, “You’re not at all who I thought you were.” Lips quivering, she said, “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. For … for everything.” Even as the words escaped, she knew no amount would ever be enough. How could she ever make it up to him? How could she?—
“You could not have known.” His gaze settled somewhere behind her, somewhere distant. “I was who they Made me to be. Elysian—you knew nothing but the bloodshed, the savage beast that I am.”
Even now. Even after everything he’d shared. What terrors and torture he went through …
Always the male to take the blame. But none of it was his fault.
So, she whisked her thumb over his heart, and whispered, “What they did to you…” It wasn’t your fault, speaking to the space between them—his mind—where he needed to hear it the most. And she had no words left. Could only shake her head, could only offer, “I’m so sorry.”
His eyes flickered to her, and he brushed a tear from her face.
She wondered if what was on her face reflected on his; Terror. Surprise. A hint of undying rage.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured, a little too sternly that she knew he meant it, no room for argument.
But she did have something to be sorry for.
Not just for that star-shaped scar on his chest but for every time he had tried to show her who he truly was. For every time she had flinched away. All the awful words. The skepticism that he was a good male. For what she had said to Aiden in the arena when he was at Brennus’s camp, pretending to be who they had Made him to be.
All of it. Every terrible action against him and word and thought. Everything .
Alora rasped, “Thank you for what you did for us.” For Elysian. For his family. For her.
All those years. All those scars.
Something melted off his face. A decades-old wound began to heal. Reforming, reshaping into something new and … vulnerable. Something cleansing, perhaps reborn, rested on his face as if no one had ever said that to him before.
So, she said it again, only this time… “Thank you for keeping me safe.”