Page 26

Chapter

Twenty-Five

The world came back to her in fragments. Pain first—a dull pulse behind her temples. A deeper ache sinking into her hips and wrists. Araya whimpered as the silk sheets scraped against her raw skin, the cloying scent of vanilla choking her.

She was in bed—in Jaxon’s bed.

She jerked upright, pain splitting her skull with flashes of memory that left her gasping for breath. His hands pinning her down, the crack of her wrist as she fought to free herself, the moment her body betrayed her and went still, panic driving her to flee before her mind could catch up. Her stomach heaved, the room swaying around her as she clawed her way free of the sheets.

She’d barely reached the basin when her knees gave out, her stomach twisting violently. She gagged, her body convulsing as sickness tore through her in relentless waves. Each heave sent fresh agony jolting through her aching joints, bruises burning hot where he’d held her down as cold sweat rolled down her spine.

When it finally passed, Araya sagged against the cool porcelain, her forehead pressed to the rim of the basin as she fought to steady her breathing. The shaking wouldn’t stop—whether from exhaustion, pain, or the lingering nausea twisting in her gut, she didn’t know. Her arms felt boneless, too heavy to lift, and her knees throbbed where they’d hit the tile.

She still wore yesterday’s shift—the thin linen clung to her skin, sour with sweat and vomit. Her overdress lay crumpled on the floor where she must have shed it, but she didn’t remember undressing. She didn’t remember climbing into bed, or anything at all after Jaxon had left her broken on the floor of his office.

This was worse than last time. So much worse.

When Jaxon had drained her all those months ago, he’d left her with enough power that she could stand. Speak. She’d been weak and tired—but not broken. Not curled up on the cold tile, too sick to scream and too weak to run.

Gritting her teeth, Araya reached for her magic—part of her still unable to believe that Jaxon would have left her defenseless. There had to be some spark left?—

But where her magic should have sat, Araya found nothing but an aching void. There was nothing left inside her to reach for—no warmth curling in her chest, no lifeline. Only a vast, terrible emptiness.

Araya shuddered, her stomach cramping again even though there she had nothing left to purge. This went beyond depletion—it was devastation. Jaxon hadn’t just taken too much. He’d taken everything .

She braced a hand against the floor to push herself up, but the room spun around her. Araya dropped back to the floor, clenching her jaw and squeezing her eyes shut. Her skull throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull, relentless pulse behind her eyes. Bruises bloomed along her arms, the imprint of his fingers biting into her flesh, and pain flared through her pelvis each time she shifted, her hips aching and bruised where he’d held her down.

Araya forced herself to breathe through it, sucking in sharp breaths through her nose as she willed herself to stay conscious. She had to pull herself together, to figure out what she was going to do before he?—

“Gods, Starling.”

Araya flinched, her breath catching in her throat as Jaxon loomed over her. Every instinct screamed at her to stay still and quiet—to not do anything to provoke him. But the survival instinct that had kept her alive all these years was at war with something else now—the raw, burning humiliation that he was seeing her like this, broken and weak.

Jaxon crouched beside her, his expression unreadable—though something dangerously close to regret flickered in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers brushing the cut along her hairline before she could react.

Pain flared behind her eyes, blinding her. Her stomach twisted again, a fresh wave of nausea leaving her bent over the bowl. But she had nothing left to come up, her shoulders shaking with violent, useless convulsions that left her breathing ragged and her skin clammy.

A hand steadied her, slipping around her waist when she had finally finished.

“Easy,” Jaxon murmured. “Let me see.”

He eased her back until she was sitting on the floor, her pulse thundering in her ears. He studied her for a long, silent moment, his brown eyes sharp as he took in the bruises, her raw skin, how she couldn’t stop shaking.

Finally, he sighed. Before she could react, his hands were on her again. He hooked an arm around her waist, lifting her effortlessly, ignoring the way she hissed in pain. Her stomach heaved violently, nausea still gnawing at her, but she bit down hard on her lip to keep from retching again.

“Jaxon—”

He didn’t answer, just adjusted his grip, maneuvering her out of the bathing chamber and depositing her on the edge of the bed like she was something fragile—a delicate possession in desperate need of repair.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, throwing open her wardrobe. He selected a simple, dark dress, dropping it on the bed beside her before grabbing the hem of her shift and stripping it off over her head in one smooth motion.

Araya sucked in a sharp breath as cold air licked over her bruised skin, her arms reflexively curling around herself in a feeble attempt to shield what little dignity she had left.

Jaxon sighed, clicking his tongue at her. “You’re acting like I haven’t already claimed every inch of you.” His fingers curled around her wrists, prying them away with a patient force that was somehow even more terrifying than his rage had been. But all he did was drag the fresh dress on over her head, guiding her arms into the sleeves.

Araya shuddered, tears pouring freely down her face as he smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, fastening the buttons like she couldn’t be trusted to do it properly. Maybe she couldn’t. Her head spun, her body trying to drag her back down into the numb relief of unconsciousness.

His thumb lingered on one of the deep purple bruises marring her forearm—the shape of his fingers, branded into her skin. “I have to go to the Aetherium,” he said, straightening. “You’re in no condition to come—I’m going to arrange for a carriage and a guard to take you to Serafina’s clinic.”

Araya blinked, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. Serafina —the name sparked a flicker of hope, faint but stubborn beneath the fog of pain and exhaustion. But?—

“I don’t need a guard,” she rasped.

“That’s not your call, Starling.” Jaxon raised his eyebrows like she’d said something amusing. “You’re too important to risk now.”

He sighed, gliding his fingers down her throat. “If the shadows answer to your blood, you matter just as much as Loren now. Maybe more.”

Araya shivered, a chill skittering down her spine as his hand tightened around her throat. He studied her for a moment, like he was counting each terrified beat of her heart under his hand.

“You can’t take risks anymore,” he continued, his words wrapping around her like silk. “It’s for your own good, of course. You’re too valuable to be left to your own devices. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Do you know how many fae would beg for the protection you have?” His fingers traced over her skin, threateningly gentle. “Anyone else would be rotting in a cell right next to the prince. But not you.”

A cell next to Loren. No sunlight. No escape. Just the cold bite of iron against her skin.

They wouldn’t just take her magic and her blood—they’d carve her into pieces. And when she finally died, they’d take her bones too, cataloguing every part before using her up completely.

The threat curdled in her stomach, thick and suffocating. Her vision narrowed to a pinprick, and Araya swayed where she sat as the world shifted around her. She wasn’t in Jaxon’s room anymore—she was at Kaldrath, screaming while they held her down and carved into her flesh with iron.

She’d rather die.

Whatever Jaxon saw on her face, it must have pleased him. He smiled down at her. “I don’t want that for you,” he said. “But if you fight me again…if you do anything that makes this harder than it has to be…it may be out of my hands.”

He wouldn’t have to lift a finger. If he just said the word, the Arcanum would leap at the chance to do the rest. Araya forced herself to nod, clenching her fingers around the fabric of the dress he’d chosen for her.

“Good,” Jaxon said with a satisfied smile. “Let’s get moving, then.”

Araya barely curbed the instinct to flinch when he reached for her, pulling her to her feet. She had to be perfect for him. Even if his touch burned against her skin and every instinct screamed at her to run.

Because there was nowhere far enough that Jaxon wouldn’t find her, that he wouldn’t drag her back. There was no escape for her—not from this.

So she let him lead her to the door, leaning against the wall as he shoved her feet into her boots and laced them before sweeping her cloak over her shoulders, fastening it at her throat. Finally, he lifted the hood, covering the last of her bruises. Hiding what he’d done.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Jaxon asked, tucking a loose strand of hair into her hood.

“Yes, Jaxon,” Araya whispered.

“That’s my Starling.” His fingers trailed down her spine, a gentle, possessive touch, before settling at the small of her back.

“You’ll see,” he said, his voice a silken promise as he led them out the door. “It will all work out in the end.”

A grim-faced guard rode in the carriage with her, watching from the opposite bench with surly intensity. But Araya couldn’t bring herself to care. She leaned against the window, her mind drifting as the wheels rumbled over the cobblestones.

He grabbed her by the arm before the carriage had even fully stopped at the back of Serafina’s clinic, ignoring her weak protest. When she tried to tell him patients had to enter through the front, he gave her a vicious shake, jarring her already aching joints and cutting off whatever words she’d meant to say.

“She needs a private room,” he said, wedging his boot in the door like he expected the confused apprentice who’d answered his pounding to slam it in his face.

“We don’t have private?—”

“For her you do,” he said, shoving past the woman. He dragged Araya with him, his grip on her arm the only thing keeping her upright.

They ended up in the cramped storeroom where Serafina kept supplies. The space was cluttered—boxes stacked high, jars and bundles crowding the shelves—but there was a spare cot in the corner. The apprentice shoved the boxes off it in a hurry, clearing just enough space for Araya to collapse onto the thin mattress with a pained groan.

“What happened—” the Healer tried to ask, but the guard shook his head brusquely.

“Master Shaw said only Serafina Hart is to treat her,” he said, scowling at the woman.

The Healer hesitated, but then her eyes darted to Araya—bruised, trembling, barely upright—and whatever protest she might have made died before it reached her lips. With a final glance, she turned and hurried down the hall.

Araya barely noticed. The room swayed, nausea churning beneath her ribs. She dropped her head back against the thin mattress, her breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. Was Serafina even here? Or would they have to send for her?—

The door slammed open.

Serafina stormed in, her cheeks flushed from cold and fury. “Get out,” she ordered the guard.

He didn’t budge. “Master Shaw said she wasn’t to be left alone.”

“Does it look like she’s alone?” Serafina snapped. “And I don’t give a damn what Jaxon wants—this is my clinic and if she’s here she’s my patient.”

“He gave me a direct order?—”

“I don’t care,” Serafina said, her voice deadly. “Wait outside. And I don’t mean outside this room—get out of my clinic, or so help me, I’ll drag you into the street myself and you can explain to Jaxon that she didn’t get the care she so desperately needs because you were busy arguing with me.”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment, Araya thought he might refuse. But Serafina stared him down, her green eyes blazing as she crossed her arms and set her feet, making it clear she would do nothing until she got her way.

“It’s your head if anything happens,” he said finally.

The moment the door slammed behind him, Serafina dropped to her knees beside the cot. Her cool fingers cradled Araya’s wrist, taking her pulse before gently brushing her hair back from the cut on her head.

“Araya,” she said, her voice wavering. “Look at me. Was he the one who did this?”

Serafina wasn’t talking about the guard. Araya forced her eyes open, her vision still unfocused, her body too weak to do much more than nod.

“Gods.” Serafina’s expression cracked. She stood, turning to the hovering apprentice. “Bring warm water. Compresses. Get me the tonic for magic depletion—the concentrated one.” A pause. “Yes I’m sure. And bring the numbing salve too.”

Footsteps hurried out of the room.

Araya tried to focus on Serafina, struggling against the pull of exhaustion. She had so many questions—and this might be her only chance to ask. She needed to know why she kept finding herself in Loren’s dreams, why he was so insistent that she stay away from him. But she couldn’t make her mouth move, her tongue too heavy to form the words she needed as the room blurred around her.

“Araya—” Serafina leaned forward, her brow furrowing. “I need you to stay awake?—”

But Araya was already slipping under, Loren’s name the last thing echoing through her mind.

Araya woke to the sharp scent of herbs and antiseptic, her mouth dry and her head pounding. But at least she could think again. Her fingers twitched against the rough sheets, brushing against something solid and warm—Serafina’s hand. Her friend sat beside her, silent and still. A deep furrow lined her brow, worry etched into every tense muscle of her face as she cradled Araya’s hand in hers, staring at nothing.

Araya swallowed past the tightness in her throat, embarrassment warring with gratitude. She hated being seen like this—but even at her worst, Serafina had always cared for her. Had sat beside her and held her hand, even when they’d barely known each other.

Araya squeezed her fingers gently.

Serafina startled, her lips parting as relief flooded her face. “How do you feel?”

Araya licked her cracked lips. “Terrible.”

Serafina huffed softly, but her face—always so composed and calm—was still tight with worry. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Araya said, her voice raw. “I questioned him—he slammed me into a desk.”

Serafina’s breath hitched. Her grip on Araya’s hand turned vice-like before she forced it to loosen again, her nostrils flaring. But when she spoke, it was with the familiar edge of clinical detachment she used with all of her patients.

“You had a concussion. A sprained wrist—numerous contusions.” But her clipped, professional tone wavered, her mask cracking as she asked, “Are you hurt anywhere…else?”

“No—” Araya shook her head, wincing as the movement pulled at stitches they must have put in while she slept. “He didn’t. He siphoned my magic and left right after—I don’t think he came back to the apartment until he woke me up this morning. Then he had the guard bring me straight here.”

“He siphoned your magic and then left you to sleep all night unsupervised with a head injury?” Serafina’s lips thinned as she lost the fight to keep her expression neutral. “You don’t have enough aether left to blow out a candle—he could have killed you.”

Araya looked down, unable to hold Serafina’s gaze. “I know.”

Serafina exhaled slowly. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“I treated the physical injuries,” she said at last. “But there’s no quick cure for being drained that completely. You’re going to struggle—mind and body. But I can’t keep you sedated with the head injury—it’s too dangerous.”

“Is that what you’re doing to Loren? Sedating him?”

Serafina stiffened, all but confirming it.

“Your dosage was off last time,” Araya said, pulling her hand away. “Because I saw him last night.”

“That was more likely a reaction to your pain and fear than an issue with my dosage,” Serafina said. This time, she was the one who couldn’t meet Araya’s eyes.

Araya pushed herself upright—and instantly regretted it. White-hot pain flared through her joints, radiating like fire with every breath. Her vision swam, black spots creeping in at the edges, but she clenched her jaw and forced herself to focus.

“I want to know what the two of you are hiding from me,” she said. “I deserve to know instead of being forced to blunder around in the dark.”

Serafina’s shoulders tensed, but she said nothing, her expression hardening into an unreadable mask.

“Jaxon is already digging,” Araya pushed. “Loren might think I can distract him, but you know Jaxon, Serafina. He never lets go of a puzzle. Give me the chance to figure it out first so I can control the damage— please .”

Serafina bit her lip, staring at Araya for a long moment.

"You're right." She sighed, her hands twisting in her lap. “You do deserve to know—but I’m not the one who should tell you.” She stood, smoothing her robes. “Can you walk?”

“Walk?” Araya blinked, frowning. “To go where? The guard?—”

“They’re watching the front and back,” Serafina confirmed. “But we forced them to wait outside—they won’t even know you’re gone.” She held Araya’s gaze. “If you’re willing to take the risk...I can get you your answers.”

Araya hesitated. If Jaxon found out she left, Gods only knew what he’d do to her. Were answers worth risking that?

“I need to be back before they check,” Araya said finally, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot. Her head swam as she pushed to her feet with more determination than caution, but Serafina steadied her, gripping her hand until it passed. “If they realize?—”

“My apprentices can handle them,” Serafina said, with a faint, knowing smile. “It’s not the first time.”

Before Araya could question what that meant, Serafina shoved the cot aside, dropping to her knees. She ran her hands over the floor, pressing her fingers into a rune Araya would never have seen. Magic flared at her fingertips, the hidden trap door springing open to reveal a dark, narrow passage. Cool air wafted up from it, carrying the stale scent of damp stone.

"We don’t have much time," Serafina said, swinging her legs over the edge of the door. She glanced back at Araya, a spark of challenge burning in her green eyes. “Are you coming?”

Araya stared at her best friend, her heart twisting in her chest. How much of her life had Serafina hidden behind a steady voice and kind hands?

But she straightened, lifting her chin. Whatever secrets Serafina had kept, however much this felt like stepping off a ledge blindfolded—Araya couldn’t turn back now. Not when this might be her only chance to understand what kept pulling her toward Loren.

“Then let’s go.”