Page 2

Chapter

One

The acrid tang of scorched magic clung to the workshop, the stench of burning aether stinging Araya’s nose and making her eyes water. She ignored it, steadying her hand as she etched the final rune into the pendant’s silver housing.

Her own power simmered inside her, pulsing in her blood and bone as naturally as her heart beat. The shard of fae bone hummed under her fingertips in response, eager to drink in her magic. She needed to be careful here—bone was one of the better amplifiers, but the Arcanum only allotted a sliver of the precious resource for its foot soldiers. Too much, and the shard would shatter. Too little, and it would be useless to the mage it was meant to serve.

Neither failure was an option.

The Arcanum would never renew her waiver if she wasted their materials—and without it, she had no future at all. Not one she could endure.

" Freyn’thara, ly’ithra ," she whispered, her heartbeat picking up as the tiny rune tattooed at the base of her thumb heated. Holding her breath, she used her forceps to carefully nudge the sliver of bone into place before threading a tendril of her own power into it .

For one heart-stopping moment, the pendant trembled under her fingertips. The dissonant whine of compressed aether sliced through the air, setting her teeth on edge. Humans couldn’t even hear it, but the sound made every hair on the back of Araya’s neck stand up as she grappled with the flow of power, adjusting it with practiced precision.

Finally, with a shudder, it yielded. The screech softened into a low, discordant hum, and the runes she’d carved into the housing holding the shard dimmed. Araya only released the breath she was holding once they had faded completely, sliding the finished amplifier across the workbench.

“Was that your last one, Adept Starwind?” Master Carrow asked from his desk. He didn’t look up, his pen scratching faintly as he worked.

“Yes sir.” Araya slumped on her stool, her back screaming from the hours she’d spent hunched over her workbench. They were alone in the communal workshop, all the others long gone. She was first in and last out—again.

“How many was that, today?” Carrow rose, crossing the workshop to inspect her work.

“Thirty, sir.” Araya held her head high as the Master glanced at her sharply, not working very hard to hide her pride. It was a new record—even for her.

Carrow picked up one of the amplifiers, rolling the pendant between his fingers before testing it. It flared in response, its glow sharp and strong. But the magic itself felt sluggish, lacking the fluidity that came naturally to fae. Human hands could wield magic, but only with help. That’s why Araya worked here, in a workshop alongside other fae deemed trustworthy enough to craft and imbue the amplifiers humans needed to wield the power they craved.

“No one else manages that many in a week,” Carrow mused, his voice tinged with rare admiration. “And your quality is impeccable, as always. The Arcanum discovered a hidden asset when they granted your waiver, Adept Starwind. ”

“Thank you, sir.” Araya didn’t let herself smile, but warmth rose in her chest. She didn’t know a single other fae who had risen to the rank of Adept—the highest someone like her could attain. She wouldn’t have been able to do it herself without Jaxon’s help, even if he had abandoned her when it counted most.

A sharp pang settled under her ribs. This role—menial as it was—was a privilege for her. But she might not even have this for much longer. Her cycle had finally started at twenty-eight years old—late, even for a fae. She had reported it as required, filing for her extension at the same time.

That was six months ago.

Carrow placed the last of her amplifiers into the velvet bag, cinching it closed with a practiced flick of his wrist. Araya watched, swallowing her nerves as she steeled herself to speak.

“Sir…about my waiver—” she hesitated, but pressed forward when Carrow paused to glance up at her. “Have you heard anything?”

“The Arcanum has no shortage of petitions to review,” Carrow said. He tucked the bag into his case, carefully securing her day’s work. He watched her for a heartbeat, then sighed, his expression softening. “It doesn’t go unnoticed, Adept. Your hard work—your dedication. I’m certain they see that.”

Araya forced a small smile, lowering her gaze. It didn’t matter if it was noticed—not if they took everything from her anyway. At any moment, the Arcanum could strip her of everything she’d worked so hard for. They would tell her she had served well and now it was time to do her duty to the New Dominion. And then they would send her away—to a life she wanted no part of.

“You’ve done everything you can, Adept,” Carrow said. He gave her an almost sympathetic look. “It’s up to the Arcanum now.”

That wasn’t comforting. Nothing would be comforting until she had confirmation that she wouldn’t end up like the others—her magic stripped away and her worth reduced to what power she could bring to whatever human mage the Arcanum deemed a good match for her bloodline. That was all most fae females were worth to them.

But Araya had spent her whole life showing them she was useful, proving she was worth keeping. It had to be enough.

“Thank you, sir.” Araya forced a bitter smile as Carrow gathered his things. “Happy Ascendancy.”

Carrow sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he studied her. “Araya…Are you walking home alone tonight?”

Araya blinked. The question caught her off guard—Carrow was not the type to ask personal questions, much less show concern.

“I have my papers?—”

"Papers won’t stop a mob, Starwind." Carrow exhaled sharply. "You should have left with the others."

“I had work to finish, sir.”

“You always do.” Carrow shook his head. His tone wasn’t unkind, but there was something too close to pity in his eyes, and it made her chest tighten.

“Take care, Araya,” he said quietly. “Lock up on your way out.”

Araya busied herself at the workbench, reorganizing tools that were already in their place and rubbing imaginary specks of dirt off them with a soft cloth. She didn’t let her hands start to shake until the door swung closed behind him, the latch clicking shut and leaving her in silence.

Araya gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, blinking fast against the sudden burn in her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sound that might have been a sob, then slowly sank onto the stool by her bench. For a few long breaths, she let herself feel it all—the fear, the anger, the uncertainty of what tomorrow would look like for her.

Then, like she had done every day for the past six months, she packed it all up into a tiny, neat box and locked it in the back of her mind.

Then she straightened. Wiped her eyes. Thirty amplifiers in one day—that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Araya clung to that hope as she moved through the workshop, securing the windows one by one, shutting out the distant roar of the streets below. The celebrations had begun as the sun started to set, filling the city with laughter, drums, and the crackle of fireworks.

For humans, Dominion Day was a night of pride. A night where they toasted the kingdom they had built on stolen magic. But for fae females like Araya, Dominion Day was a night best spent behind locked doors.

The others had left hours ago, slipping away in small, tight-knit groups for safety. No one had asked if she was coming, or invited her to walk with them.

They never did.

Araya had been set apart the moment the Arcanum granted her waiver, permitting Jaxon to sponsor her apprenticeship while her peers were reassigned to workshops and other menial pursuits, only to disappear into the breeding program once their cycles began.

Jaxon hadn’t saved her like he’d promised. He’d left her here without a word of explanation, leaving her trapped on the same precipice as every fae female under the Arcanum’s authority.

Araya exhaled sharply, pushing the thought to the back of her mind as she hurried through the rest of her cleanup and swept her cloak around her shoulders. It might be summer, but only a fool would walk around tonight without doing everything they could to hide their fae blood.

She fastened the clasp at her throat as the door creaked open behind her. “Did you forget something, sir?”

But it wasn’t Carrow who responded, his voice filled with a familiar dry amusement that sent her heart galloping as she whipped around to face him, not believing her own ears.

“You never used to call me sir .”

“Jaxon,” Araya whispered, her traitorous heart skipping a beat.

The last time she’d seen him—Gods only knew, they had never been equals, but it had been as close as they would ever get. Now he stood before her, immaculate in a high-collared black coat trimmed with gold thread. A formal black sash crossed his chest, pinned in place by a gleaming medallion bearing the Arcanum’s Eye—marking him not only a Master, but a Commander.

But that smile was the same—smug, self-assured, steeped in privilege and charm. Worse, so was her reaction to it. If Jaxon had been fae, he would have heard her heart betray her. It thundered in her chest, caught somewhere between longing and dread.

The door fell shut behind him, plunging the workshop back into shadow. He prowled toward her, the click of his polished boots ringing out against the stone.

“Are you finished for tonight?” he drawled, his voice as thick and sweet as honey.

“I—” Araya stumbled over her words. “I just finished. I’m meeting Serafina tonight.”

“Reschedule,” Jaxon suggested. He stepped closer, crowding her. Gods, he even smelled the same—the familiar vanilla perfume of his soap surrounding her. “Come to dinner with me instead, Starling.”

Araya stiffened. The old nickname slid between her ribs like a cold knife, cutting straight through the heat he stirred.

“I can’t,” she said shortly, fighting to keep her voice level. “I didn’t even know you were back—you never wrote.”

She had. Twice.

The first time was three years ago, when the sting of his abandonment was a raw wound in her battered heart. The second was just six months ago, when desperation drowned out her better judgement.

He hadn’t answered either one.

Jaxon tilted his head, watching her. "I wasn’t exactly in a position to write, Starling."

That wasn’t an answer, and they both knew it. But his hand caught hers before she could pull away, his thumb grazing over the tiny ly’ithra rune tattooed at the base of her thumb. The tiny touch sent a spark of warmth through her, curling low in her stomach. Even when she wanted nothing more than to forget she had ever met Jaxon Shaw, her body remembered.

Gods, she hated herself for that.

“For three years?” she snapped, yanking her hand away. She tried to step back, but the workbench pressed into her spine, leaving her nowhere to retreat.

“I’m making up for it now, Starling,” Jaxon murmured. His hand slipped beneath her cloak, tracing tiny, maddening circles on her hip with his fingertips. “Have dinner with me. Serafina will understand.”

Araya choked on her incredulous laugh. Serafina absolutely would not understand, though Araya refrained from reminding him that her best friend still despised him. Araya wasn’t sure what startled her more—his audacity, or the way her heart still fluttered when he looked at her like that.

“I promised Serafina that I would help with maternity rounds tonight,” she said. “She’s scheduled for Ravonfar.”

“On Dominion Day?” Jaxon’s frown deepened, his fingers tightening on her hip as she tried to step out of his arms. “It’s a holiday, Araya. Everyone else is celebrating. Why not take a break and enjoy it?”

Enjoy it . The words turned her stomach. “Babies don’t care about holidays, Jaxon,” she said, forcing a thin smile.

Jaxon didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched taut between them, broken only by her own thundering heart in her ears.

“I’ll find you after, then,” he said finally. “I reserved a table—we can do drinks instead.”

He twisted a strand of hair that had escaped her braid around his finger, tracing how it shifted from deep red to dark violet. His thumb grazed the long line of her neck—a featherlight touch that sent goosebumps racing across her skin before he finally dropped his hand, releasing her.

“Jaxon—”

“Don’t make me wait too long, Starling,” he murmured, softening the warning with a grin that could somehow still ruin her .

Then he was gone.

The door shut behind him with a soft thud, leaving her alone with the lingering scent of vanilla and old regrets.

Araya sagged against the workbench, her breath leaving her in a shaky rush. Only Jaxon Shaw affected her like this—and he knew it. Three years without a single gods-forsaken letter, and in one night, he had undone her.

She shook her head, staring out the window as she pressed a hand to her chest, desperate to slow her galloping heart. She didn’t even know if he meant to keep the promise he’d made her three years ago.

Was she a fool for hoping he did?

Araya scowled out the window, not sure she wanted the answer to that question. People thronged the streets around the Aetherium, the celebration in full swing now that night had finally fallen.

“Gods save me.” She leapt to her feet, swearing as she yanked her hood up to cover her hair and the clipped tips of her ears. She was so late—Serafina was going to kill her. Healer or not.

Revelers clogged the streets around the Aetherium, their wild laughter clashing with the frantic drumbeats and the sharp crack of fireworks overhead. Heat and smoke thickened the air, the acrid taste of spent firepowder burning in her throat.

Araya yanked her hood lower as a man slammed into her shoulder, slurring something unintelligible at her before lurching away. She kept moving, weaving through the crowd without meeting anyone’s gaze.

She didn’t slow until the towering spires of the Aetherium were behind her, crossing the bridge into the outer districts. The crowds were thinner here, the raucous celebration giving way to a subdued hush as she passed through the shadow of the crumbling wall that separated Ravonfar from the city .

Relief unfurled in Araya’s chest as she spotted Serafina waiting near the gate. The Healer spotted her too, greeting her with a scowl.

“You’re late.” Serafina grabbed Araya’s arm, not giving her a chance to catch her breath. “I’ve been waiting for ages!”

“Sorry—” Araya fumbled out her papers for the guard as Serafina dragged her forward. “Work ran long. And then, you’ll never believe it—Jaxon showed up.”

“Jaxon?” Serafina snatched her papers back from the guard so abruptly that Araya flinched, half-expecting a reprimand. “What did he want?”

“Dinner.” Araya handed her own, much thicker packet of papers to the guard with an apologetic smile he didn’t bother to return. “But I told him I was meeting you?—”

“Hood down,” the guard ordered, his fingers curling around the club at his belt.

“Ah, sorry—” Araya shoved her hood back, not giving him an excuse to use it. The humid air clung to her skin as his gaze flicked from her face to the portrait stamped on her papers. Finally, he folded her papers back up, but he didn’t hand them back.

“Left hand,” he ordered.

The hair on the back of Araya’s neck prickled as she held out her hand, palm-down to display the rune tattooed just below the knuckle of her thumb, where the skin stretched thin over bone.

The guard leaned in, his sour breath wafting over her skin as he pressed his fingers roughly into the mark. Her stomach turned, nausea rising in the back of her throat as aether flared under her skin, answering his call obediently—then kept going. A thread of her magic slipped free, leeching away under his touch.

Araya barely checked the instinct to rip her hand away. That power wasn’t hers to give or his to take—it belonged to the Arcanum. But if she fought him now, the Arcanum wouldn’t be here to keep him from punishing her. All she could do was grit her teeth and close her eyes against the violation of it?—

“Is that really necessary?” Serafina snapped.

The guard’s lip curled, his fingers lingering a second too long before he finally released her. Her magic recoiled, retreating like a wounded animal as he shoved her papers back into her hand with a grunt.

“Move along, then.”

Serafina muttered something vicious under her breath and turned, taking Araya’s arm gently but firmly. “Come on.”

She shoved through the gate, setting off at a brisk pace that forced Araya to almost trot to keep up, her skin still buzzing with unease as they rushed through the deserted streets.

“Are you alright?” Serafina asked once they were clear, her voice tight with fury. “He’s not allowed to do that—why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because then he would have beaten me,” Araya said flatly. “And I’d be one of your patients instead of your assistant tonight—that would have made us really late.”

Serafina stopped walking, guilt flickering across her face. “Gods, Araya?—”

“It’s fine. I’m fine—he didn’t take that much.” Araya waved her off, already moving again. “Let’s just get to the clinic.”

“You know I can’t do this without you,” Serafina said quietly, falling into step beside her.

“You have five apprentices,” Araya pointed out, laughing. “Surely one of them can handle checking names off a list.”

“I have five human apprentices.” Serafina sighed, not bothering to hide her frustration. “Half these females wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have you with me. It doesn’t matter that I’ve spent my whole life helping them—here, they’ll never see me as anything but human.”

Araya didn’t have an answer to that. In some ways, Serafina was more fae than she was. After all, she’d grown up with a half-fae father, while Araya had been raised by human minders in the reeducation camps the Arcanum established for fae orphans, where they’d beaten every bit of fae they could out of her.

But here—just like in the Aetherium—blood trumped everything.

Serafina was only a quarter-fae. No one would ever mistake her blonde hair for spun gold, and her green eyes could have come from her human mother as easily as her half-fae father. She had never needed permission to practice magic. No one had ever pinned her to a table and tattooed a ly’ithra rune on her hand, condemning her to a fraction of her power while the rest went to the Arcanum to feed their never-ending thirst for magic.

But Araya was three-quarters fae. A halfblood, by the Arcanum’s laws. Even worse, she looked fae. From her deep red hair streaked with violet, to her silver eyes, to the way aether pulsed beneath her skin and her clipped ears, marking her as someone who had suffered at the hands of the Arcanum.

And that, to the fae here, made her safe.

They fell into an uneasy silence as they raced through the deserted streets. There were no cheery bonfires here, no bright songs drifting through the air. Here, every broken window and flimsy door was bolted tight, offering no sign of the residents that surely huddled inside.

“So?” Serafina demanded as they walked up to the community hall the Arcanum had reluctantly granted her use of for her maternity clinic. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I couldn’t go,” Araya said.

“And he just took no for an answer?” Serafina snorted, handing her papers over to another human guard. “That doesn’t sound like Jaxon.”

“No,” Araya admitted, handing her own papers over. “He wants to get drinks after I’m done here. He said he has a table reserved.”

The guard here barely glanced at her papers, stifling a yawn as he handed them back. An interior checkpoint in Ravonfar was pretty much the lowest position a guard could get—Araya wondered what he’d done to deserve it.

“Do you want to get drinks with him?” Serafina ducked into the ramshackle building, nodding to the females already lined up waiting for them, many of them clutching heavy bellies.

“Maybe.” Araya had too much fae blood to lie to Serafina—no matter how badly she wanted to, the denial stuck in her throat. “For old time’s sake.”

Serafina made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort, but whatever sharp retort she’d been ready to unleash died when one of the waiting females doubled over, a rattling cough overtaking her thin frame. She clutched her swollen stomach, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

Serafina stopped instantly, her irritation evaporating as she slid an arm around the female’s shoulders and rubbed slow circles on her back until the spell passed.

Araya slipped past them and ducked into the clinic, blinking hard. She blamed the burn in her eyes on the harsh soap the Healers used to scrub everything down. The astringent tang clung to the air, mingling with the sour stench of damp wood and sweat.

But it wasn’t the soap.

It was the line of females, hollow-eyed and desperate for whatever reprieve their wombs could buy them. If they delivered healthy children, they would earn the chance to move to a better district—a safer one, further from the shadowed mists that crept in from the Obsidian Shore. Ravonfar was a pit, one of the grimy corners of Aetheris where fae survived by only the narrowest of margins.

If not for Serafina, she would have ended up here when Jaxon left. And she still might, if the Arcanum declined her waiver and restricted her movements.

Araya cast a quick glance over the clinic, scanning the stained privacy screens and sagging cots to ensure everything was in place before taking her place at the wobbly desk by the door. She checked each female in, flipping quickly through their papers and recording the relevant information for the Arcanum’s records.

Every one of them carried marks of their fae heritage, just like she did. Hair that was too bright or too dark, eyes that gleamed with an inhuman hue in the dim light, ears that were either delicately pointed or scarred. Araya avoided looking too closely at any of the fae with clipped ears, unwilling to recognize anyone from her past.

“Araya, can you come here, please?” Serafina’s voice was calm, but Araya could see the tension that hid beneath her serene expression.

“She’s afraid to talk to me,” Serafina whispered as Araya ducked behind the screen, pulling it shut behind them. “Can you try?”

Araya nodded, her throat tight as she stared at the female huddled on the rickety cot, her body curled protectively around her swollen belly. Araya could see the marks of a life in the camps on her skin and body, the jagged edges of her ears not quite hidden by the fall of her black hair. She must have fought when they clipped them.

Araya knelt beside the cot, moving slowly in an effort not to startle her. She had enough nightmares of her own to guess at this female’s fear.

“ Vira’thal ,” she murmured, one of the few phrases she remembered of her native tongue that had nothing to do with magic.

The female’s head whipped up, her violet eyes wide. Araya stayed perfectly still, letting the female take in her silver eyes, the deep red hue of her hair and the way it darkened to violet, and—most telling of all—the jagged edges of her own ears.

Araya had fought too.

“Velgrim?” the female whispered, her voice so quiet that even Araya’s fae hearing struggled to catch it.

“Kaldrath,” Araya replied just as softly. Never speak too loudly— it was the first of many hard lessons all fae learned in the camps. Humans could hear much better than fae children realized. “What’s your name?”

“Eilwen,” the female murmured, her voice trembling. “I… I’m from Farhallow. But I heard…they said there was someone in Ravonfar who could help fae like me…if you knew who to ask.”

“She helps,” Araya said, glancing toward Serafina. The Healer couldn’t hear their muttered conversation, but watched with quiet concern. Araya knew her friend bent every rule she could, walking the knife’s edge between what was permitted and what was right. Clearly, word of her kindness had traveled.

“You can trust her,” Araya added. “She’s a quarter fae.”

Eilwen’s gaze darted between them, her fear almost tangible in the dim light. Slowly, she nodded, her hands twisting in her tattered shawl until her knuckles whitened.

“I didn’t report my pregnancy to the Arcanum,” she said loudly enough for Serafina to hear, her hushed words heavy with desperation. “The father… isn’t the human they matched me with.”

“Fae?” Serafina asked, her careful tone betraying no judgment.

Eilwen nodded, tears glimmering in her violet eyes. “He’s dead—he didn’t even know. I thought… I thought I could hide it, just until the baby was born.” Her voice cracked, breaking into a sob as she buried her face in her hands.

Serafina stilled, the dread that flashed over her face echoing the tightness in Araya’s chest. Araya had checked her in—that meant the pregnancy had to be recorded. And even if they left the father’s name blank, the babe’s fae bloodline would be obvious the moment it was born.

“Let’s just start with an exam,” Serafina said gently, stepping forward. “How far along do you think you are?”

“About seven months,” Eilwen whispered, trembling as Serafina helped her stretch out on the cot and lift her thin shirt to expose her swollen belly.

“Are you eating enough?” Serafina asked, her hands moving in careful, practiced motions along Eilwen’s abdomen. “Any pain? Cramps?”

Serafina’s questions blurred, her gentle voice muffled by the rising pressure in Araya’s skull. If the Arcanum decided Araya was more useful as a breeder than a mage, they would deny her waiver. Strip her of her magic. Her name would be reduced to a line on a registry, her worth measured in offspring and obedience .

Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t?—

Eilwen’s voice cut through the fog, thin and shaking. “Will they take the baby?”

“They’ll try,” Serafina said, her expression somber. “But I’ll do everything I can to stop them, Eilwen. I promise.”

Araya swallowed hard.

Serafina could make promises like that. She could stand tall in front of the Arcanum, bend the rules and take risks—because her human blood shielded her.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she backed away from the cot. The walls pressed in around her, the air too thin in her lungs. Araya had no shield. She only had her waiver, the thin thread of usefulness she clung to like a lifeline.

She didn’t realize she was shaking until her hip bumped the tray of instruments, nearly toppling it. Metal clattered as she fumbled to steady it, barely catching everything.

“I—” Her voice cracked. “I need some air.”

She turned and slipped through the curtain without waiting to make sure Serafina even heard her. She had to get out of here—before anyone saw her fall apart.

Araya moved on instinct, her feet carrying her out of the clinic and into the night. The guard barely stirred, not bothering to challenge her as she rushed past him.

She didn’t think—just walked.

By the time the cobblestones gave way to jagged shards of obsidian, her breath had slowed, blind panic retreating enough that she could think again. She stopped, staring out at the dark waves that stretched out in front of her, gleaming silver in the moonlight until they vanished beneath the ever-present looming wall of mist.

Guilt gnawed at her—she’d promised Serafina she would help. But she couldn’t. Not tonight.

A cold wind swept off the water, cutting through her cloak and threading damp fingers through her hair, chilling her despite the warmth of the summer evening. The mist drifted on the current, unraveling in long tendrils that curled over the waves, reaching for the land.

The fae in these districts called it the Shadowed Veil—a lingering remnant of the war that had toppled their king and ripped them from their place in the world. On nights when it thickened, those tendrils billowed over the black glass and reached into the streets, bringing misfortune with it.

Children wasted away, burning with fever. Mothers woke gasping for breath—and when a father left for work and never returned, or a sister vanished on her way home…all the fae could do was blame the mist.

It was nothing but superstition. The mist didn’t make the fae sick. It was hunger and poverty that opened the door to disease, and the Arcanum’s relentless rationing of magic that let it run rampant through these neighborhoods.

And as for the creatures in the Veil—they were nothing but stories, tales told to keep children from straying too close to shore. Over time, they’d grown teeth and claws, becoming the nightmares of children and adults alike.

At least… that was what Araya had always believed. But standing here, alone in the dark? The certainty she’d clung to wavered.

Araya rubbed absently at the thin scar that stretched across her palm—a mark from years ago when these same sharp stones had bitten into her flesh. The hiss of the waves sounded almost like voices now, a low chorus of whispers rising and falling in rhythm with the tide.

She couldn’t make out the words. But the cadence was familiar— too familiar. Like the darkness spoke a language she should have remembered, but couldn’t quite grasp.

The whispers sharpened, scraping against her mind and pressing into her skull until?—

“Araya?”

The voices vanished, sucked back into the mist as if they had never existed.

Serafina picked her way carefully across the obsidian shards. Her braid was damp, loose strands whipping around her face in the wind. She had changed out of her blue Healer’s robes, the sleeves of her plain dress pushed up to her elbows, revealing the faint smudges of soap and water still clinging to her skin.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

Araya blinked, disoriented. Had she really been out here long enough for Serafina to finish seeing patients and clean the clinic?

“I just needed some air,” she said, forcing her voice to steady as she fought the urge to glance back at the now-motionless mist. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Is Eilwen alright? The babe?”

“They’re both going to be fine,” Serafina replied, stopping beside her. Her voice was calm, but her gaze lingered on Araya’s pale face. “Are you alright?”

Araya opened her mouth, desperately wishing she could lie. What she would give to say yes and sweep all of this under the rug—but it stuck in her throat like shards of glass. She coughed, dislodging the lie and letting the truth slip out instead.

“I started my cycle six months ago.” Araya dropped her eyes, unable to face the betrayal she knew she’d find in Serafina’s expression. “I didn’t tell anyone. I just filed the mandatory report with the Arcanum and sent a letter to Jaxon—but that’s it.”

Serafina stiffened. Her breath hitched once, like she’d been slapped.

“Jaxon,” she repeated, her voice sharp. “That’s why he’s back then. Swooping in like the vulture he is.”

“He could help me?— ”

“I could have helped you!” Serafina snapped. The words rang out, too loud against the crash of the waves. But her voice hollowed at the end, fraying with hurt. “You should’ve told me .”

Araya pressed her arms tight around herself, as if that could keep everything inside from breaking loose. “You can’t stop the Arcanum from revoking my waiver.”

“And Jaxon can?” Serafina demanded. “You don’t need him, Araya. You’ve served the Arcanum loyally for years. That has to mean something.”

“Does it?” Araya laughed, bitter and breathless as she finally looked up to meet Serafina’s eyes. “Even for a halfblood?”

The slur hung between them, ugly and heavy. Serafina’s face tightened, but she didn’t flinch away.

“They’ve already made exceptions for you,” she pressed. “They haven’t said anything yet. Maybe they just won’t.”

“I’m not risking my life on a ‘ maybe ,’” Araya said flatly. “Jaxon could be my only sure way out of this. He said he’d help me?—”

“ Three years ago ,” Serafina said. “Before he left you here without a word of warning. He’s not here to save you out of the goodness of his heart, Araya. He wants something.”

“Of course he does,” Araya snapped. “The same thing he’s always wanted— me .”

It hadn’t mattered that it was forbidden—not to him. Jaxon always took what he wanted, rules be damned. And when she was his apprentice, what he wanted was her .

Or at least, she’d thought it was. Until he left.

Serafina stared at her, eyes wide as the wind lifted the loose hair that had escaped her braid from her face. “Araya…you don’t still love him, do you?”

“I don’t have the luxury of love,” Araya snapped. “There isn’t another choice here, Serafina—not for me.”

She turned away, black glass crunched under her feet as she stormed toward the street. Sometimes it felt like Serafina lived in a different world than she did. But Araya knew better. Jaxon was young, powerful, and ambitious. Even if he didn’t love her, there were worse human mages to tie herself to.

“Araya, wait!” Serafina caught up to her, voice breathless. “If there was another way out—would you take it?”

Araya froze mid-step, her back still to Serafina. “There isn’t another way.”

“You could leave,” Serafina whispered, as if even the wind might carry it to the wrong ears. “If we planned it right?—”

“No.” Araya spun around so fast the hem of her cloak snapped. “Are you insane ?” Her voice shook. “Do you have any idea what they’d do to us if someone heard you say that?”

“I’m just saying?—”

“No,” Araya hissed. “If they catch me even thinking about that, they won’t just revoke my waiver—they’ll collar me. It will be Kaldrath all over again—only worse.”

Serafina’s lips parted, maybe to apologize, maybe to argue—but Araya didn’t wait to find out. If she stopped to listen, even for a second, the hurt roiling in her chest might boil over into something she couldn’t take back.

There was a new guard at the gate. He barely glanced at Araya’s papers before waving her through, but she still caught the sneer curling at the edges of his mouth.

“Happy Ascendancy,” he said.

Araya nodded stiffly, tucking her papers away. She should have thanked him, but twisting the words into a half-truths she could speak would take more energy than she had left.

Serafina fell into step beside her, their footsteps the only sound in the deserted streets. The transition was subtle at first—a few intact windows, a freshly painted door. The streets widened, the golden light from well-tended aetherlamps softening the edges of the darkness. Even the buildings stood straighter, small gardens full of sweet late-summer flowers spilling over wrought iron fences. Somewhere, a woman’s laugh drifted through an open window, light and carefree .

When she remembered that this was where Serafina had grown up, Araya could almost forgive her optimism. There was still hope here, even if it was tattered at the edges.

But Serafina’s father had died on these streets, murdered for nothing more than daring to exist as a half-fae. Safety was never a guarantee—not for fae.

“That’s different,” Serafina murmured, breaking the silence as they turned onto their street.

Araya followed her gaze and froze. The carriage stood waiting outside their little house, the Arcanum’s Eye gleaming gold on the door against the sleek black finish, a silent reminder of the power it represented.

Jaxon leaned casually against it, his dark eyes glittering as they swept over her. A smirk curved his lips, sharp and knowing.

“Adept Serafina Hart,” Jaxon said smoothly, though his attention never wavered from Araya. “Happy Ascendancy.”

“Jaxon,” Serafina replied, inclining her head just enough to be polite before brushing past him to unlock the door.

Araya swallowed. Her throat was dry. “I need two minutes to change,” she said quickly, her gaze darting between Jaxon and the carriage. “Where are we going?”

Jaxon grinned, running his tongue over the blunt edge of his front teeth. “You’ll see,” he said. “Wear something nice.”

It wasn’t an answer—not really. Araya hesitated.

“Are you sure?” she asked, fingers worrying the frayed edge of her cloak. “It’s Dominion Day.”

Tomorrow, Serafina’s clinic would be full of fae females—bruised, broken—whispering through swollen lips about the guards who had let their drunken attackers go free. The ones who had laughed. Or worse—joined in.

Araya had seen it before—had scrubbed bloodstains from clinic floors, had watched too many fae swallow back sobs as their futures were decided by someone else.

Jaxon’s low laugh curled around her like smoke—thick and suffocating. He stepped closer, invading her space. “I was the one who reminded you, Starling.”

Her breath caught. Gods, he said it so easily—like nothing had changed. Like he still believed she belonged to him. And worst of all, part of her wanted to believe it too.

His fingers grazed her temple, sliding down to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and tracing the scarred edge with a featherlight touch.

“Wear your hair down tonight. Show your ears—whatever you want.” He smiled down at her, reading the objection on her face before she could voice it. “Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe with me.”

Safe . The word sent a chill down her spine. She should say no—it was madness to flaunt her fae features tonight of all nights. But the rejection lodged in her throat, tightening like the collar the Arcanum would lock around her neck if she even considered running from them.

She couldn’t be a breeder. She needed Jaxon’s help.

“Two minutes,” she repeated, her voice steady despite the unease clawing at her chest.

Jaxon’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened—lazy and unshaken.

“I’ll wait.”