Chapter 66
LYRAE
Ever since I’d arrived, the Shadowlands had felt like a place the world forgot.
A primitive realm scraped raw by wind and old magic, where the air tasted like sand and sorrow, where even the sky looked bruised—low clouds dragging their bellies over jagged peaks, dulling everything to gray.
The ward was gone, but the skies were still a flat pewter, the lake a solid plane of unbroken ice, and yet, as I stood on the ramparts, I sensed something in the world shift.
Not a tremor.
A breath.
Like a deep inhale before a leap off a cliff.
Rooke stood at the edge of the low wall, a lonely silhouette against the desolate landscape. The Crown weighed down his head, the staff glimmered, the mirrored globe at the top swirling with…something that almost looked sentient.
Rooke, who wanted to make everything perfect for me.
Rooke, who thought I was…extraordinary.
Beside me, Ryland leaned on the parapet, eyes sharp, muscles tense, while Varian stood on my other side with his arms crossed, the posture of a male who—by his own muttered admission—trusted nothing about this entire process, but was too curious to look away.
And Zephryn loomed by a wall ten paces away from us, a hint of cynicism in his expression.
Like me, the dragon shifter had seen some shit in his life, so maybe he had a right to be jaded, here at the end of things.
Or the beginning, depending on how today worked out.
I wished Ariel was here to see this, instead of cheating Tavion Montgomery out of all his money, but I was glad she was finally free, enjoying life, torturing the white-haired wolf shifter who was usually torturing me.
Honestly, the bastard wouldn’t know what hit him.
Rooke’s intense gaze was locked on the snow-dusted ice, the barren hills beyond, the black sand beyond even those.
Everything dead and frozen, devoid of life.
He glanced at me once, then swallowed, elegant fingers resting lightly on the balustrade, the thin layer of snow melting around his fingertips.
“This realm used to be beautiful. My mother told me so many stories of forests so thick there was almost no sun beneath the branches, of fish-filled rivers racing over rocks, quiet valleys filled with deer and other small animals,” he said softly.
“She always liked the small, quiet things, my mother. Always found beauty in the rain, not the storm.”
“I wish I could have met her,” I murmured, moving to lean over the edge so I could see the shoreline below, still churned up from the fight with Gravelock, thankfully cleared of bodies, though I didn’t ask how.
“So do I,” Rooke murmured, the Triune’s power pulsing around us, silver and gold rivers flowing along the staff, the bloodstone tips of his crown sparkling like they’d caught a shaft of pure sunlight.
Above us, the clouds seemed to thin; if I squinted, I could almost imagine a weak winter sun nudging through.
“You don’t have to give them up,” I whispered. “This magic is yours, by right. Power your family stored over the millennia.”
Rooke’s jaw tightened. “Stored,” he repeated, electricity sparking in the air around him. “No, power we hoarded. Kept for ourselves. But no more,” he murmured. “No more.” His blue eyes were storm-dark, lit from within by more of those gilded veins as he stared down at me for a long beat.
Then his mouth tightened, not quite a smile. “I’m not hanging onto the past,” he said softly. “I’m using it to create something new. With you.”
The air crackled, charged with energy.
Runes flared to life along the staff’s length, golden symbols igniting, one by one, and from that dark globe, light spilled out in glittering beams, like a window cut into the hearth of a house, though I doubted the magic inside was warm or especially friendly.
Rooke closed his eyes.
And I felt him reach.
Down.
Past his fears, into the bones of the castle, into the heart of this realm, barren and broken and carved out by a thief who wanted to be king.
Then Rooke opened his eyes, no longer blue, no longer…Fae.
Not entirely, anyway.
Golden power shone like stars, and an echo of him boomed in my chest, my knees softening, everything inside me wanting to bow low to this male with the blood of the gods running in his veins.
And the Triune breathed. One enormous inhale I felt to my very soul.
Then a wave rolled out like an unseen tide.
The clouds above shuddered as Rooke’s new power roared away from Frostveil in a perfect circle, a wall of churning, roiling energy flying in all directions, like the Triune was glad to finally be set free.
Like after being in hiding for too long, that ancient force couldn’t wait to change the world.
As the magic passed, ice turned to dark blue water, chopped by little whitecaps kicked up from the force of the blast, that frozen expanse melting and melting, until the wave crashed against the far shore, hills softening with long, swaying grass, black wasteland turning green, saplings springing up in spindly clumps.
Ryland straightened sharply, his head whipping to Rooke. “Gods, how far will this reach?”
“Only to the border,” Rooke assured him, arms trembling slightly from where he gripped the staff. “My family’s magic is confined to this realm. I don’t seek to extend my reach any further.”
Zephryn’s broad shoulders twitched, and he looked to the sky, like he wanted to take to the air and circle this metamorphosis to make sure what we were seeing was real.
A second wave pulsed out at Rooke’s command, this one softer, deeper, sinking into the awakening land.
And life followed.
Tiny flowers—white and blue and delicate gold—burst through new-green grass, their tiny petals trembling enough for me to think of Rooke’s mother, for him to look my way and maybe think of her, too.
Small, tiny things made up a kingdom, Anaria had once told me.
Trees shuddered up from the softened ground, until a forest loomed on the right side of the lake, thick and wild and ancient, with twisted trunks and dripping moss, leaves unfurling in citric yellows and pinks and corals, drinking in light as the clouds cleared away.
I stared, unable to breathe, as the Shadowlands changed color.
Black to brown to green to…everything.
A wary deer—fluffy coat still dotted—gingerly stepped out from the edge of those woods, blinking in the brightest sunlight I’d ever seen in this realm. Then another followed, until a small herd grazed. Birds—actual birds—spiraled up into the air, filling the world with sound.
Not the lonely shriek of wind through broken spires.
But life.
Two crows speared toward that flock, then they were lost, dancing inside the eddying flock.
Rooke’s breath hitched, his hand landing on the balustrade. Hard, fingers curling around it, hanging on tight. His eyes were still closed, face drawn with concentration so fierce it looked like pain. The light from the Triune spilled across his skin, carving him into something almost mythic.
“Whoa,” I wrapped my hands around his arms to steady him.
Probably not a good idea, given his power—all fifteen millennia of it—was not a gentle thing.
A flood of icy cold power flowed into me like an ocean, and I knew this was only a trace of the Triune, while he channeled a thousand lifetimes of power, using his body as a conduit to force all this magic out into the world.
I turned my head, staring at Rooke, those strange, gold eyes, the Triune’s hum deepening, like the last notes of a song I heard all the way to my soul.
We were still staring at each other when the final wave rolled out.
This one kissed the Shadowlands with warmth.
Hope.
The kind that promised a new beginning. The same kind I’d felt three years ago, standing beside a queen who thought she was unready to rule a realm, yet became the best ruler I’d ever seen.
But then Rooke’s shoulders sagged and I was there, bracing him up.
And like a star that was finally spent, the Triune went quiet.
“Rooke,” I said sharply, “look at me.”
Rooke’s eyes were still storm-dark, but the inner glow had faded to a faint ember, and in his gaze, I saw exhaustion so vast my chest ached.
But I also saw something else. Relief. He’d never wanted the Triune for its power.
He’d only wanted to be free, and something swelled in my ribcage, something that made me feel like I was going to explode.
“Well, it’s done,” he rasped, like he couldn’t catch his breath.
Ryland shook his head with a shaky laugh. “Done? You just restored an entire realm.”
Varian’s eyes remained fixed on the valley. “He didn’t just restore it,” he said quietly. “He remade the entire world. That’s a pretty neat trick.”
A trick that wouldn’t happen again anytime soon. The staff lay in Kaden’s hands completely inert, no humming power, no golden light. The globe at the top was dead. Emptied of fifteen millennia of stored—hoarded—magic.
All Kaden’s ancestral power…gone.
Poured into a realm that had been starving.
Rooke’s fingers curled around the relics, his head bowed, eyes half closed, then he turned toward Zephryn and held the Triune out like an offering.
Zeph dipped his head, looking at Rooke with something like recognition, his gaze locked on the Triune like it was a deadly creature with nipping teeth, then he took the staff with the careful reverence of someone handling a dangerous relic that had remade a world.
Rooke pulled the Crown from his head and handed that over as well, and the bloodstone didn’t so much as flicker.
Rooke’s voice was quiet. “Take these to Queen Anaria, have her lock them away; they’re no danger to anyone now.” His eyes glinted with one last flash of gold. “Or of any use, in case someone gets it in their head to…experiment.”
“Understood.” Zephryn’s eyes narrowed. “You can trust us to keep them safe.” He paused, debating, and then, “Should you ever need them back, prince, you only have to ask. As Lyrae pointed out, these are yours by right. Far be it from us to deny you your family legacy.”
Rooke nodded, then swayed, looking down at my hands on him, like he just realized it was me holding him up.
There was something raw in his eyes. “Lyrae,” he said quietly, like my name was the only tether he trusted.
“I’ve got you,” I said, even though it was a foolish thing to promise. “You did it,” I murmured, so only he could hear. “They’d both be so proud, Kaden. Somewhere, up there, they’re watching you, and I know they’re proud of everything you’ve done today, and everything you endured to get here.”
He swallowed, throat working. “I hope so,” he echoed, his voice like gravel, and I tightened my grip on him. “I’m fine,” Rooke grumbled.
“No,” I said flatly. “You’re not.”
His eyes flicked. “You’re awfully bossy.”
“Bossy and alive and impressed,” I countered. “Now walk. You’re going to sleep for a full day, then we’ll decide what to do about all of that.”
All around us, the Shadowlands breathed—water running, birds singing, trees unfurling, a realm reawaking after a long slumber.
Zephryn stepped toward the stairwell, the Triune cradled against his chest like a sleeping beast. “I’ll fly back at once,” he said. “The queen will want these under lock and key. Lyrae, don’t be a stranger,” he murmured warmly. “I do miss our little chats.”
“Don’t let my sister cheat you out of all your money,” I muttered. “You’ll have to stay on your toes around her. And don’t let her talk Raz into taking her drinking; nothing about that will turn out right, trust me.”
“She’s being serious,” Varian said, giving me a wink that probably meant he totally hoped they lost all their money. “Ariel will clean you out. Don’t fall for her tricks.”
Then I threaded my arm through Rooke’s and steered him toward the door, turning to look one last time at what he’d done, and a shiver of excitement went through me at the prospect of starting over.
No…
Of starting over with the family I’d lost, then found, and was now, finally, complete.