Page 38 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)
“Suppressed with wristbands,” Kayson added. “They cannot feel or summon their power.”
Arenna squeezed her fists underneath the table. “My seamstress wore bands like that. They were so nicely decorated that I thought. . .” She swallowed. “I thought they were jewelry.”
She remembered Mannie’s soft smile as she sewed golden thread through a hem on her gown, the delicate bands glittering under the sunlight that filtered through her chamber windows.
Arenna even complimented them once and said they were lovely.
Mannie had simply nodded, the smallest flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
Now she knew the truth of the bands, Arenna felt sick.
And it wasn’t just Mannie. There had been dozens more—Isla, who baked cinnamon loaves and hummed when she was nervous; Jeral, the stableboy with the mismatched eyes who never looked her in the face; Lysa, the healer who always wore long sleeves, even in the heat of summer.
All of them had worn those bands.
All of them had been taken, enslaved—
“You can see why I find it hard to believe you had nothing to do with this,” Kayson said.
Arenna had never felt more shame in her life.
The weight of her escape from her husband’s torment pressed down on her, knowing she had left behind those Fae rotting in the same prison she had endured, probably suffering far worse than she.
Their faces crowded her thoughts, each one a silent accusation.
A tremor ran through her, hot and hollow, tightening around her ribs until her breaths came thin and shaking.
“I knew Jaksen was cruel. But I didn’t know he was capable of this.
He was good to our people, kind and fair.
” The words sounded brittle even to her own ears, as if they might shatter with the next heartbeat.
Arenna paused, uncertainty gnawing at her like teeth on bone. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Believe that your husband is not from this world. He was forged from Sorrows itself, created by an evil we have never witnessed in this lifetime,” Kayson stated.
Arenna stared at him, the words sinking in like slow poison. “What are you saying? Are you implying Jaksen isn’t . . . human?”
It was Bramnen who answered. “We don’t know. We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on all of this.”
“I—I don’t know,” Arenna stammered. “He’s always been vicious and cruel, and sometimes he would change when he got angry enough—but after learning about his past and the blood magic, I thought it was just that. I don’t understand . . . you can’t kill him?”
“We’ve tried,” Kayson said. “Again and again, with blade, with magic, with every weapon our kind could summon. And still he stands. Wounded, yes, but never fallen. Whatever was forged in him—it bends the laws we understand. This blood magic is foreign, layered, protected, and a part of something ancient.”
Arenna’s breath came faster now, shallower.
“But you, Arenna,” Kayson continued, “are more helpful than you can even imagine. We’ve taken one step closer to fixing all of this.” He stood and walked to a small bookshelf at the back of the room. His tanned hand glided across various spines until it stopped on a thick, dark leather book.
Arenna watched his every step as he returned to the table, setting the book down gently.
He flipped through the pages with care, then pointed to the left page. “Read,” Kayson instructed.
She carefully turned the book toward her, struggling to decipher the faded text.
It was poorly written, smudged in places, and the ink fading in others.
Words like Worldbinders, elements, and prophecy leaped out at her.
“It’s the prophecy,” she whispered, disbelief threading through her voice.
“How did you come across this? I thought it was lost shortly after humans came into power.”
“Just read it,” Kayson insisted.
In the age when shadows lengthen and the earth cries in despair, when two have fallen and two remain, four souls shall rise, each bearing an elemental might, with powers of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, they will set the wrongs to right.
From the South comes the Warrior of Earth, strong, unyielding, and wise, with hands that heal the broken ground, and a heart that never lies. His strength shall turn the desolate fields into a verdant, blossoming floor, and restore life to withered roots from ashen floors.
From the West, the Warrior of Air, kind and fierce, his hands shall heal the fractured skies, and calm the stormy sea. Whispers of change he shall bring forth, on wings of a renewing breeze, uniting voices, thoughts, and dreams.
From the East, the Warrior of Fire, fierce, passionate, and bright, her flame shall light the darkest paths and banish the longest night. With warmth that kindles the coldest hearts and courage that never tires, she shall destroy the evil lingering in darkness with unquenchable, burning fires.
From the North, the Warrior of Water, deep, ethereal, and serene, her touch shall purify the tainted streams and make the foulest clean. In her power, life shall flourish, in waters clear and still, healing the wounds of a broken world, with a gentle, loving will.
Together they stand against the odds, a unity forged in trials, their powers combined shall mend the severance, across the blackened miles.
A continent once torn apart, shall again be whole and grand, and so shall prosper all life anew, in this resilient, blessed land. Listen close for their coming, in the whispers of wings and stone, for only when the four are one, shall the land reclaim its throne.
Arenna stood abruptly, shoving the book away. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “ No .” She looked down at her trembling palms, feeling the flame within her burn brighter, hotter beneath her skin, as if it were whispering, Yes, it’s true. You were born for this. We were born for this.
Marea sneered. “The prophecy was aligned by the Seven themselves and written by our first ancestors. It is older than our earth. Do not disrespect it by questioning its reliability.”
“No,” Arenna repeated, running her hands through her hair. “I am not her . I’m not even from the East.”
“You are her,” Kayson insisted. She backed away slowly, dread pooling in her stomach. “I cannot tell you how long I have waited for you, Serpent. You were unexpected and changed all my plans,” he admitted. “But you have become the most important thing to me.”
“I am not what you’re looking for,” Arenna said frantically.
“I cannot be.” She was just Arenna—born in a small port to a poor family, married to a cruel man.
She was broken, barely able to defend herself without succumbing to panic, and yet somehow, Kayson, the Fae King, believed she was the Firewielder from the prophecy.
He thought she was one of the keys to reuniting their continents, to restoring the lands to their former glory.
She couldn’t be.
“You are everything I’ve been searching for,” Kayson whispered.