Page 32

Chapter

Thirty-One

Araya stormed across the cabin, pacing the tiny room like a caged animal. She’d made at least a dozen loops since Thorne had shut the door in her face with an infuriatingly apologetic grimace. But it wasn’t Thorne she was going to tear into when they finally let her out of here.

It was Loren. The male who’d given the order to lock her up like a disobedient child.

Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She could have ripped the door off its hinges with the trickle of magic that had returned to her—but where would that get her? Back on deck with an irritated Loren? Better to save it for when it could really make a difference.

The door rattled as someone knocked, turning a key in the lock. Araya spun, scowling at Thorne as he stepped inside, his broad frame filling the cramped space.

“We’ve arrived,” he said, his voice touched with forced cheer. “I can take you up to your room?—”

“No, thank you.” Araya dropped onto the edge of the cot, crossing her arms. “I’ll wait here for the return journey. ”

Thorne sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You have every right to be angry at him?—”

“You said that before.” She inclined her head, glancing pointedly at the door. “You can leave now.”

But Thorne didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe instead, arms crossed, his amber gaze steady and far too knowing.

“The boat was damaged in the crossing,” he said. “Nyra can’t leave until she makes repairs, which will take at least a few days. And she won’t take you anyway—not against Loren’s wishes.”

"So, what, then?” Araya let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Am I his prisoner, now?”

“I can see why you might feel that way,” Thorne said quietly, his jaw tightening. “But no. You’re not a prisoner, Araya. I’m sure—or at least, I hope—Loren will explain everything soon. Now—” he straightened, his voice turning firm. “Put on your boots. Because I’m not spending the night on Nyra’s leaky boat when there’s an entire castle full of beds waiting up there.”

Grumbling, Araya yanked on her damp socks, muttering curses as she jammed her feet into cold, stiff boots. They squelched with every step as she followed Thorne across the narrow gangplank. Mist swallowed the dock, reducing the world to vague, shapeless forms. She squinted into it, searching for any sign of this castle.

“So where is it?”

Thorne, looking far too pleased with himself, pointed.

She followed his gesture, freezing as she caught a glimpse of the castle perched precariously at the top of the cliffs. The mist clung to its towers like a shroud, obscuring the full shape and making the whole structure look half-formed—like if she blinked it might vanish before her eyes.

“That’s Ithralis,” Thorne said. “The residence of the fae monarchy on Eluneth—or it was.”

“Was?” Araya tore her gaze away from the castle, unease crawling under her skin. Something about the way the mist swallowed the towers made her feel like the whole place was holding its breath, waiting. “It’s not now?”

“The fae haven’t lived here since King Corwin fell,” Thorne said, his voice quiet. “Once the Veil formed—well, it was easier for Eloria to move things to Lumaria. But the castle is maintained, in case any of our people who brave the Shadowed Veil need shelter before moving on to Lumaria.”

Araya shivered, tracing her gaze along the jagged cliffs. Eluneth—the last home of the free fae. Gods, what would Jaxon do when he found out she was here? Bile rose in the back of her throat. She hadn’t escaped him, not really. And she couldn’t afford to stay here.

“How do we get up there?”

Thorne pointed.

Araya followed his gesture, her breath catching as she spotted the narrow, twisting steps carved directly into the cliffside. They had to be ancient—slick with mist and half crumbling in places. One wrong step and she’d tumble into the sea—if she was lucky enough not to hit the rocks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s the only way up from here,” Thorne replied smoothly, though his lips twitched like he was hiding a smile. “Didn’t you work at the Aetherium? They have a lot of steps there too.”

“Inside steps,” she retorted. “Well maintained, with bannisters—and walls.”

“You’ll be fine,” Thorne said, his tone maddeningly dismissive. He turned and strode down the dock, leaving Araya no choice but to scramble after him.

"If I slip, I’m dragging you down with me," she warned.

He shot her a grin over one shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The climb was as treacherous as it looked—slick, uneven, and steep enough that one wrong step would send her plunging to her death. Araya kept her gaze glued to her boots, blocking out the churn of water far below. Even years of climbing the Aetherium’s endless staircases hadn’t prepared her for this. By the time they reached the top, Araya was gasping for breath, her already bad mood turned venomous.

Araya stared out over the ocean, trying to gauge how far they had come—but the mist churned over the waves and the Shadowed Veil loomed on the horizon, leaving her without a single landmark. She might as well have been standing in another world—cut off not just from Aetheris, but from everything she’d ever been allowed to be.

“How far from the mainland are we?”

“Too far to swim,” Thorne said cheerfully. “Come on—let’s get inside before we freeze.”

Araya narrowed her eyes at him, swiping a damp strand of hair off her face. “I wouldn’t be upset if you tripped on the way back down.”

Thorne just laughed and pushed open the gates, leading her into the courtyard.

The castle looked abandoned—its gardens dead and its weathered stone walls crawling with barren vines. The inside was no better, their footsteps echoing in the stale air as the heavy door slammed behind them.

“I thought you said this place was maintained.” Araya skimmed her fingers along a windowsill as they passed, dust coating her fingertips. “This looks abandoned.”

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Thorne sighed, leading her through the labyrinth of halls. “It wasn’t always like this.”

She raised an eyebrow at his back. “Did you spend a lot of time here?”

“I did. My mother was a Healer for the royal family—good friends with his mother. And my father was one of King Corwin’s generals. Loren and I grew up together.” Thorne paused, his gaze flicking briefly to one of the threadbare tapestries that lined the walls without seeming to really see it. “He’s some of the only family I have left.”

Araya looked away, a strange weight settling in her chest. She hadn’t asked to be part of any of this—they were the ones that had dragged her into it.

“So...are we heading to Lumaria then? After Nyra fixes her boat?”

Thorne shook his head. “No—we’re staying here. At least until Loren and Eloria decide what happens next.”

“What happens next?” Araya scoffed. “You mean what you’re going to do with me?”

Thorne didn’t have an answer to that.

“Of course.” Araya crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I guess it’s easier to keep me locked up here.”

“It’s also safer,” Thorne said quietly. “There are a lot of fae with a very real, personal hatred of your bond. And you haven’t exactly been discreet about his identity.”

He paused, his voice softening when she had no retort. “None of us expected this to happen. There’s no grand plan to keep you confined—all any of us are trying to do is keep you safe.”

“That’s what Jaxon said too.”

Thorne’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t answer—didn’t defend Loren. Neither of them spoke again, the only sound in the deserted halls the rhythmic tread of their boots on the dust-covered stone.

“Here we go,” Thorne said finally. He stopped in front of a wooden door, pushing it open. “This is you.”

Araya wrinkled her nose, sneezing as a rush of stale air and dust hit her. A four-poster bed loomed against the far wall, its once-fine drapes and linens gray and stiff with age. A thick layer of dust coated the wardrobe and the small table and chairs in front of the cold, empty hearth.

“I’ll sleep on the boat,” she said, falling back a step.

Thorne just laughed, stepping into the room.

Magic stirred in the air, plumes of dust lifting in slow, swirling streams only to vanish like smoke. The bedsheets stretched and smoothed themselves, the fabric darkening to a deep, rich green. In the hearth, flames leapt to life without kindling, feeding on nothing but the shimmer of power in the air.

All without a single rune or sigil—gods, he hadn’t even spoken or gestured. Just like how Nyra had heated the water with nothing but her will.

Araya’s mind buzzed with questions. How ? Could anyone do it? Did it require training, or just… desire? But she clenched her jaw, swallowing the questions back. She refused to be impressed—not by them.

“So,” she said instead, stepping warily inside. “This is my cell?”

Thorne watched her, his amber eyes unreadable. “It’s your room.”

“Do I get a key?” Araya asked sweetly. “Or should I assume the door will be locked from the outside?”

Thorne’s jaw ticked. “It will be locked.”

“Because I’m a prisoner?”

“No.” He exhaled sharply. “Because this island is dangerous, and Loren wants you safe. We all do. If you need anything, knock. Someone will hear you.”

“And unlock my cell?”

“If that’s what you insist on calling it,” Thorne said flatly. “But you’re safer here than anywhere else, whether you want to admit it or not. And I have to say, Araya—” he held her gaze, his eyes blazing. “You seem like a very lucky prisoner. I don’t know where the Arcanum kept Loren for the past twenty-five years, but I imagine it wasn’t half as nice as this.”

Araya glared at him, shoving away the hollow pang of guilt that echoed in her chest. They had drugged her.

“And where, exactly, is his Royal Highness?”

“He’s busy.”

Araya scoffed. “I’m sure he is,” she said, her voice dripping venom. “Does he intend to show his face? Or was he planning to kidnap me and then just… pretend I don’t exist?”

Thorne’s jaw tightened again, but this time, he didn’t rise to her bait. “I’ll let him know you’d like to speak with him. Enjoy the room, Araya.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, he turned and stepped into the hall, closing the door with a soft click . The sound of the lock sliding into place was louder, echoing like a thunderclap in the silence that followed.

Araya stared at the door for a moment. Then, with a growl, she stalked to the window and threw herself down on the bench, glaring down at the dead garden. The statues and hedges were strangled by vines, their beauty choked by neglect. Beyond the garden, the dark waters of the Shadowed Sea churned violently, the horizon oddly shortened by the wall of towering shadows between her and everything she’d ever known.

They thought she was safe here—locked in this room, hidden behind the Veil. But she’d never been in more danger—because by now, Jaxon had to know she was gone.

She didn’t doubt he was already leveraging every ounce of his father’s formidable power to track her down. Araya could picture him even now—his jaw clenched as he paced his office, the sharp line of it flexing with every barked command.

Jaxon didn’t lose. He didn’t let go of things that belonged to him—especially not her .

Did he know she’d crossed the Shadowed Veil? The Arcanum patrol hadn’t survived the crossing—but that didn’t mean no one had seen. All it would take was a single report, a whisper of her presence near the Veil, and he’d put the pieces together. Even if he didn’t have confirmation, he’d suspect. Jaxon was relentless, his mind a sharp, calculating force that worked as tirelessly as his ambition. He didn’t need much to go on.

She shivered despite herself, standing and taking the blanket off the back of the chair in front of the hearth to wrap around her shoulders. She stared into the flames, forcing herself to breathe and think clearly. Fear wasn’t going to help her now.

Thorne had called this an island, which meant no escape without a boat.

Even if she managed to get out of her room, slip past Thorne and Loren and steal a boat—then what? She didn’t know where they were, didn’t know how to sail, and doubted she could talk her way past the Shadowed Veil a second time.

Araya gritted her teeth, flopping into one of the chairs. There was nothing she could do—nothing but wait, and hope Loren and Thorne would listen to her when they finally decided to tell her what the hell they were thinking.

She sank back into the plush chair, letting herself relax for the first time since she’d found Loren bleeding out in his cell.

Gods, she was tired.

All she wanted was to close her eyes and wake up in her own bed—discover that the past few weeks had been nothing more than a strange, tangled dream. Because if none of this had happened—if Jaxon had never taken her down to Loren’s cell, never pinned her down and ripped her power from her—Araya could still pretend she was safe.

She could still pretend he loved her.

The fire snapped in the hearth, startling her. Araya flinched, a hand flying to her chest to still the sudden, hollow ache blooming there.

And then the shadows moved.

Araya shot to her feet, her heart pounding as she stared at the twisting streams of darkness slinking out of the corners of the room. The fire guttered, the temperature plummeting and her breath fogging in the air. She stumbled back a step, starting to reach for the door—but even if it hadn’t been locked, where would she go? The Shadowed Veil had dragged an entire ship into oblivion. What could it do to her ?

But these shadows didn’t move to attack her .

Araya narrowed her eyes, studying the shifting shapes. They weren’t feral or all-consuming like the shadows from the Veil. These moved like the ones that had curled around Loren in his cell—watching, waiting… almost curious.

Of course, those shadows had killed Aeron—but Araya had never feared they would hurt her. “What the hell are you?” she murmured.

That got a reaction—the shadows shuddered in unison, rearing back. They looked almost…offended.

“What?” Araya sank back into the chair, staring at them. The way they curled into the corners of the room…it really did look like they were sulking. “Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings.”

The shadows hesitated, their movements stilling before they rippled again—slower this time, almost… tentative. They clung to the corners of the room, their tendrils curling in on themselves like they were reconsidering their approach.

“Fine.” Araya laughed, shaking her head. “If you’re so interested in me, do something useful. Take me to Loren. Let me tell him myself just how much of a bastard he’s been.”

The shadows paused, as if considering her words. Then, without warning, they vanished, melting into the walls like ink on old parchment. In seconds, Araya was alone in her room again, with only the very normal shadows for company and nothing to do but wait.