Page 7

Chapter

Six

Araya lazed in Jaxon’s ridiculously comfortable bed, cocooned in soft blankets and the warmth he’d left behind. The sheets smelled like him—his vanilla soap layered over something darker and unmistakably Jaxon .

She might have stayed there forever, tangled in the memory of his hands and the lingering heat of his skin—if her body hadn’t had other plans. The comfortable haze gave way to a dull ache low in her belly, and a hollow twist in her stomach that refused to be ignored.

Reluctantly, she slipped out of the bed, scooping Jaxon’s shirt off the floor as she ducked into the attached bathing chamber to relieve herself. She had to laugh when she caught sight of her reflection, her hair hanging in a wild, tangled halo of red and violet around her face, his shirt swallowing her frame.

Still chuckling, she dug through the drawers until she found Jaxon’s comb. She worked it through the worst of the tangles until she could wrestle it back into her customary braid, securing the end with a leather strip and tucking it into the collar of Jaxon’s shirt.

Jaxon loved her hair loose and wild—said it made her look like fire. But this made her feel like herself.

Araya wandered back into the chaos of the main living area, picking her way through the disarray as she made her way to the kitchen. A glance into the coldbox confirmed it was empty—no surprise there. In all the years she had known him, Araya had never seen Jaxon Shaw cook so much as an egg.

She did find a glass, marveling at the clear, cool water that flowed from the tap. Even at Serafina’s house, the water always ran brown and murky for a few moments before it cleared.

After months of fear and gnawing uncertainty, staring out at the quiet chaos of Jaxon’s living room felt almost surreal. He hadn’t abandoned her, despite how it looked at the time. And when she’d needed him, he had come before even talking to his father. To know that he had never stopped planning to ask for her bond—it was more than she’d ever expected.

Finishing her water, Araya continued to explore the apartment, making her way to Jaxon’s office. While the room was still cluttered with trunks and boxes, Jaxon had clearly started putting an order to the chaos here. Loose parchment was gathered into neat stacks, and rolled maps and diagrams leaned against the walls, waiting to be hung.

Araya ran her fingers over the spines of the books crowding the shelves, taking in the sheer volume of them. Jaxon had always had an impressive collection, but this… this was something else entirely. The sheer wealth of knowledge hoarded here was staggering.

Of course, she had seen the towering shelves of the Aetherium’s library, but like all fae she was only allowed into the front room, where the contents were carefully curated within acceptable limits. Only scholars and high-ranking officials were permitted beyond the locked doors. That was simply how it was.

But still, Araya had always wondered.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, drawing her attention past the shelves, beyond the heavy glass doors leading to the balcony. The city stretched beyond, gilded in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, and for a moment, the books were forgotten .

She drifted toward the doors, pushing them open as warm air brushed against her skin. Stepping outside, she let her gaze sweep over the black spires of the Aetherium. They loomed over the skyline, rising from a tangled maze of winding streets, a monument to power and control.

Trust Jaxon to secure lodging in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in Aetheris. He had everything—wealth, influence, and access to knowledge she could never even have dreamed of. And now, he had her too.

Araya slipped back inside, closing the doors behind her with a soft click. She paused by the desk, running her hand over the rich wood. One of Jaxon’s countless leather-bound journals lay open in the center, an uncapped inkwell beside it, as if he’d stood up and walked away mid-thought.

Araya capped the inkwell, unable to keep her eyes from wandering to the journal itself. What kinds of things had he learned and done in Elvanfal?

The temptation was too strong to resist. She flipped it open, revealing pages dense with Jaxon’s meticulous handwriting and detailed diagrams. It was a reflection of a mind that never stopped. Jaxon was always thinking, always calculating and analyzing the world around him.

He had been researching the Shadowed Veil.

Araya flipped curiously through page after page of cramped notes, packed full of documentation about interactions with the mists that towered over the Shadowed Sea, highlighting anything that pointed towards the mists being something more sinister than a natural occurrence. Every word drew her in deeper, until the rest of the world faded away.

Jaxon suspected the shadows were a curse. But that didn’t make sense—curses unraveled over time, their power eroded by the natural ebb and flow of aether. Even forbidden magic obeyed rules. And yet…

The Shadowed Veil wasn’t weakening. If anything, Jaxon’s research suggested that it was getting stronger—expanding, even.

Araya stared at the page, searching for another explanation. Maybe he had miscalculated. Maybe his sources were flawed. But Jaxon didn’t make mistakes like that.

In one margin, Jaxon had scribbled a reference to another book, “ The Chronicles of Valendral .” The title wasn’t familiar to her, but she recognized the shorthand Jaxon had used, indicating that he had this book in his possession.

Araya straightened, running her eyes over the packed shelves. But there were so many books still stacked and scattered everywhere. In the end, it was only by sheer chance that she found it, still tucked away in a trunk and still swaddled in a protective cloth. Only a piece of parchment tucked into the folds with the title scrawled across it in Jaxon’s handwriting tipped her off.

Araya unwrapped it eagerly, then nearly dropped it, her eyes widening at the sight of the curling script embossed in silver across the thick, dark leather cover.

This book was written in Valenya.

Her hands shook as she hastily rewrapped the book, nearly dropping it. A sick heat rose in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to shove it back in the trunk—to pretend she’d never even seen it.

Where had Jaxon even found it? These books were supposed to be gone —burned with their owners. She shouldn’t even be touching it. Not if she wanted to keep her hands?—

“Did you find something interesting, Starling?”

Araya gasped, clutching the book to her chest as she whirled around. Jaxon stood in the doorway, his voice light, his smirk familiar—but he wasn’t alone. Towering beside him in full regalia was his father, High Magister Garrick Shaw.

For a heartbeat, everything in her went still. The weight of the book in her arms turned molten, scalding her palms. She was going to die. They’d kill her for this, bond or no .

“I—” she stammered. “I’m sorry. The inkwell was uncapped. I didn’t?—”

“No need to apologize, Starling,” Jaxon said. He closed the space between them with easy strides, plucking the book from her hands and tucking it under his arm as if it were nothing more than an old journal.

"Now… were you looking for something? Or just exploring? The courier left your trunk in the hall—” his eyes roved over her, his grin widening into something more playful. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Araya glanced down, and the full horror of the situation hit her with mortifying clarity. Not only had she been caught holding a banned book by the most powerful man in the New Dominion, she was wearing his son’s shirt— only his shirt.

“Excuse me.” She darted past Jaxon and his father, racing to the bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Could fae die of mortification? She would have to ask Serafina. Or maybe she would just stay in the bedroom forever.

“Araya,” Jaxon’s voice came from the other side of the door, followed by a soft knock. “May I come in?”

Couldn’t he? This was his apartment, his bedroom. But he’d asked, so Araya stood slowly, pulling the door open. Jaxon didn’t push past her or grab her. He just leaned against the doorframe, staring at her with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“I brought your trunk in,” he said. “I’m sorry we surprised you.”

“Thank you.” Araya stepped back, making room for him drag the heavy trunk into the room. It wasn’t hers—Jaxon must have lent one of his to pack up her things. He rolled it into the middle of the room, the metal latches clicking softly as they settled.

“The courier confirmed he returned the dress to Serafina as well,” Jaxon added, closing the door behind him before untucking the forbidden book from under his arm and dropping it on the nightstand. “Everything is taken care of.”

Araya didn’t answer. All she could do was stare at the book, sitting innocuously on the nightstand like it didn’t carry a death sentence.

“You aren’t in trouble, Starling,” Jaxon said, following her gaze.

“Why do you even have that book?” Araya demanded, unable to keep the edge of panic from her voice.

“Research.” Jaxon grinned at her, all easy charm. “Can you read it?”

“Of course not,” Araya scoffed. “Can you ?”

“It takes me a while,” Jaxon admitted, shrugging.

Araya gaped at him, but he waved off her shock, as if reading a banned language was just another challenge to overcome. “I promise, Starling, I’ll explain everything. But for now, just get dressed and come out—Father was looking forward to dinner with you.”

That sounded…stressful. Araya forced herself to nod, but she must not have done a good job hiding her anxiety because Jaxon stepped closer, cupping her face with gentle hands and brushing a chaste kiss over her lips.

“You’re allowed to touch anything here, Starling,” he said. “Even banned books. Now get dressed and come out and eat something. I know you must be starving, and we have a few logistics to go over—but after that, you’ll have the rest of the week to snoop through my things to your heart’s content.”

By the time Araya emerged from the bedroom wearing one of her sensible dresses, Jaxon and his father had cleared the table of Jaxon’s clutter and set out a spread of dishes piled high with food. Despite her nerves, the rich scent of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables made Araya’s stomach rumble.

“... and then she actually tried to argue with me,” the High Magister said, shaking his head as he carved thick slices from the meat. “I had to remind her that mirrors simply reflect the chaos we create. ”

Jaxon laughed. “I can just picture the look on your face.”

The High Magister chuckled, shaking his head as he passed Jaxon a dish of glazed carrots. “You know me, I’ve never been one for theatrics. But sometimes, it’s the only way they’ll listen?—”

Araya hovered at the edge of the room, feeling like an intruder on this warm familial scene. But Jaxon seemed to sense her there, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

“Araya, come join us.” He set a full plate down at the empty place next to his. “I hope you’re hungry.”

His hand skimmed her leg as she sat, and Araya ached to lean into the barely there touch—but the High Magister’s gaze kept her spine rigid. She had embarrassed herself once in front of him today—she wouldn't do it again.

“Sir,” she murmured, inclining her head respectfully. “I apologize for earlier. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“This is your home now,” the High Magister said, arching an eyebrow. “I should be the one apologizing to you, Araya.”

“Please don’t,” Araya laughed weakly. Home —the word snagged in her chest, unexpected and too large for her to wrap her head around. She stared down at the table instead, wonderingly taking in the lavish spread.

“Where did all this come from?” she asked. “It looks delicious.”

“The Hearth.” Jaxon scooped up a bite of meat and potatoes. “We picked it up on our way back from the Aetherium. I don’t have any food here.”

“I noticed,” Araya said, smiling slightly despite her nerves.

“That would be my fault,” the High Magister sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “It never occurred to me that the domestic arts would be Jaxon’s weakness?—”

Jaxon snorted. “I’m perfectly happy with this.” He stabbed another piece of meat. “What I don’t like is camp food. You should see what they’re serving the mages at Elvanfal?—”

The conversation flowed on around her until Araya finally relaxed enough to eat. The food was excellent—perfectly seasoned, juicy meat and crisp roasted vegetables. There was even a basket of fresh fruit—juicy and plump without a single bruise.

After a while, Jaxon set down his fork, groaning as he leaned back in his chair. “Gods, I’ve missed the Hearth.” He chuckled, slinging an arm across Araya’s shoulders. He stroked the skin along the collar of her dress, grinning when she blushed.

“Father and I had a long talk about what your role would be moving forward,” he said. “It’s clear to anyone who knows you that you’ve earned the freedom to expand your work—under my guidance, of course. You’ll have your own workshop, right alongside mine. No limitations.”

Araya’s hand paused over her plate, her fork hovering in midair as she stared at Jaxon. “That sounds… generous.”

Jaxon grinned—that familiar, wicked edge flashing just long enough to send a shiver down her spine. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, intricately carved amulet. He placed it gently in her palm, his fingers brushing against hers.

“Have you ever seen one of these before?” he asked.

Araya stared down at the Arcanum’s Eye amulet in her hand, wide-eyed. The black disk gleamed, the eye set into its surface shining gold. It buzzed in her hand, charged with magic that would give her access to—well, just about everything.

“Not in person,” she breathed.

The only fae she’d ever heard of carrying one of these were half-fae who allied with the Arcanum during the overthrow of the fae monarchy. For her to receive one as a three-quarters fae…it simply wasn’t done.

Araya swallowed back tears. “Thank you, Jaxon—and thank you, sir.”

Jaxon lifted the pendant from her palm. The delicate golden chain slithered through his fingers, gleaming in the firelight.

“Let me,” he said.

Araya’s breath caught as he gently brushed her braid to the side, the weight of the pendant settling against her collarbone as he fastened it around her neck. It settled against her skin, charged not only with magic, but with meaning.

There was no taking this back. No undoing it. She belonged here now.

“Perfect,” Jaxon whispered.

The High Magister smiled slightly, but there was something pointed in his tone when he said, “Jaxon has worked tirelessly to convince me and the Arcanum that you are a valuable asset. He’s sacrificed a very promising career to acquire your bond, Araya.”

Jaxon’s smile didn’t falter. But his fingers tightened, just for a fraction of a second—a slight, instinctive response before smoothing back into a deliberate, measured squeeze.

“Sacrifice?” He echoed, raising his eyebrows. “I’d call it an investment.”

The High Magister smiled slightly. “Jaxon did make a compelling case. And his work on the Shadowed Veil is very important to the Arcanum. Have you heard of it?”

Araya choked on her next breath. But Jaxon just rolled his eyes. “Father, really. Don’t tease her.” His hand found hers under the table, squeezing reassuringly.

“Consider me properly chastised.” The High Magister leaned back, hands lifted in mock surrender. “Truly—I meant no offense. Jaxon speaks very highly of your insight—and you certainly seemed engrossed in his notes earlier. I’d be interested to hear what you saw in his findings.”

“Oh—” Araya cleared her throat, squirming in her seat under the High Magister’s scrutiny. “Well—Jaxon’s theory is…intriguing.”

Both men stared at her, waiting.

She flushed. “It’s just…” She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “There’s no precedent for a curse to behave like that. Curses decay. They weaken over time unless someone actively maintains them. But this one—” she hesitated, glancing between them. “It’s holding. Maybe even growing. So…who’s keeping it in place?”

For a beat, no one spoke .

Then Jaxon gave a quiet, almost smug laugh. “See! I told you she’d get there,” he said. “It took me a year to come to that conclusion. She did it in minutes.”

Araya’s breath caught. That had been a test. And she’d walked right into it.

“She did.” The High Magister gave a slow nod. “She’s as impressive as you said she was, Jaxon.”

“Of course she is,” Jaxon said, spinning his knife between two fingers. “And she’s exactly right—” he grinned at her, his eyes burning with pride and heat. “The Shadowed Veil is more than some cursed fog. It’s intelligent. Civilian boats skirt the edges without incident—but send a patrol, and they vanish. No debris. No survivors. Whoever is controlling it, they’re shielding something—or someone.”

Araya shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed. “But who could even do that?” she asked quietly. “I don’t know of any mage who could hold a spell like that in place for decades. It would take immense, constant power.”

“You’re right.” Garrick leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious. “We’re considering the possibility of it being the fae king.”

“The fae king?” Araya echoed, her gaze flicking between the two men. “But…he’s dead—isn’t he?”

“Well—” Garrick steepled his fingers, watching her intently. “The shadows were first observed behaving in this manner during the Battle of Eluneth. It seems likely that the Shadowed Veil was Corwin’s last, desperate act to protect the fae—but no one actually saw him fall.”

Araya stared at him, his words crashing over her like a wave. Everyone knew the fae king had died at Eluneth—everyone. That was the foundation of everything that came after.

If he was still alive…

“It still doesn’t make sense,” she said. “If it is the fae king, why would the fae be the ones worst affected by it?”

Both men looked at her blankly .

“We—they…the fae in the districts—” Araya glanced between them, stumbling over her words. “It’s probably just superstition, but they blame the mists that blow off the Shadowed Veil whenever people get sick…or disappear.”

The High Magister tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. “And they’ve never reported this to the Arcanum?”

Araya shrugged uneasily. “I’ve never seen any proof of it. The fae there…they don’t have a lot of reasons to trust the Arcanum.”

Jaxon’s eyebrows lifted slightly—not offended, but clearly surprised.

Garrick merely smiled. “A reasonable response,” he admitted. “Jaxon—have you spoken with anyone from the districts?”

Jaxon leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. “I haven’t… but maybe I should.” He glanced at her. “Do you have a recommendation on where to start?”

Araya hesitated, searching for a way to phrase her response without offending him. She wanted to give him a helpful answer, but the thought of Jaxon in the fae districts—it almost made her laugh out loud. The fae of Ravonfar wouldn’t speak to him. Most wouldn’t even let him see them.

A knock on the door saved her, pulling Jaxon’s attention away.

“Ah—that will be Kai,” he said, squeezing Araya’s leg one more time before standing. “Excuse me.”

“They won’t talk to Jaxon, will they?” Garrick asked when they were alone, his tone giving her no hint of what kind of answer he wanted or expected.

Araya chose her next words carefully. “Some of them don’t even talk to Serafina.

A door opened and closed in the next room, laughter echoing as Jaxon’s voice rose in greeting.

“A lot of those females grew up in the camps,” she added. “It doesn’t make you trusting.”

“You grew up Kaldrath,” the High Magister observed, his gaze lingering on her scarred ears .

Araya’s skin prickled, her mouth going dry—but she was saved having to answer by Kai.

The boisterous human mage practically bounded into the room, the half bow he offered Garrick entirely at odds with his wide grin.

“Sir—always a pleasure to see you,” he said. Then, to Araya’s shock, he inclined his head to her as well.

“I’m glad you survived us last night,” he said warmly. “We’ll be able to get your runes settled tonight—sometimes it pays to know people in high places.”

Garrick chuckled. “I imagine Araya is already quite familiar with the advantages of having powerful friends.”

Araya’s ears burned, and even Kai’s easy smile faltered as he glanced between them.

“Right—well.” He cleared his throat, glancing up as Jaxon walked in with two more glasses of amber liquor. “I just need to talk to Jaxon first and then we can get things sorted out.”

“We can use my office,” Jaxon offered, handing over one of the glasses. His hand brushed over her shoulders as he passed, and for a heartbeat Araya thought about reaching out to stop him—but he was already gone. “It’s a mess in here, but?—”

The door clicked shut behind them, cutting Jaxon’s voice off abruptly. Now that she was looking for it, Araya caught the faint gleam of thyn worked into the ornate scrollwork on the door.

A silencing rune—no wonder she hadn’t heard Jaxon and his father come in. They wouldn’t hear anything Garrick had to say to her, either.

“I imagine you’ve guessed that I was not initially in favor of your relationship with my son,” Garrick said, swirling his glass. “But Jaxon can be frustratingly persistent—he’s convinced you offer a perspective the Arcanum is lacking.”

Araya swallowed hard. “I hope I can prove useful, sir.”

“I’m sure you do.” His gaze didn’t waver, pinning her in place with that unwavering authority. “But I want to make sure you understand what it meant—Jaxon coming back here. ”

“Requesting a transfer back to Aetheris, solely to bond with you—” the High Magister shook his head, sighing. “That wasn’t an insignificant decision. He cares for you. Deeply.”

Araya watched him warily, waiting for him to continue.

“I won’t insult you by asking if you love him.” Garrick set his glass down with a soft clink. “But do you trust him? After all, you grew up at Kaldrath.” His gaze flicked to her ears again, his expression stern. “Do you still believe he will make the right choices for you—about your magic, your future, your family?”

Araya flushed to the scarred tips of her ears, but this time there was no interruption to save her.

“No offense, sir,” she said quietly. “But after Kaldrath? I trust Jaxon far more with those decisions than I trust the Arcanum.”

Her heart pounded as silence stretched between them, the High Magister studying her with an expression that betrayed nothing. But finally, the corners of his lips tugged into something almost like a smile.

“I understand.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling at her over the rim of his glass. “Let me put you at ease, Araya—you’re here with my full support. Everything Jaxon asked for, I approved. I just have one thing to ask from you.”

Araya tensed as he took a slow sip from his glass, then set it back down with deliberate care. His gaze lingered on her, steady and unreadable.

“A second chance,” he said. “You matter to Jaxon—and he matters to me. I’d rather not be at odds with someone so important to my son.”

Araya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A second chance—she could do that.

“Of course sir,” she said, willing her pulse to slow. “I’d like that. Truly.”

“Good.” His smile widened slightly. “And please, call me Garrick.”

“Well, that sounds promising. ”

Araya twisted as Jaxon crossed the room to squeeze her shoulders, smiling down at her. “Starling, can you go in and get started with Kai while I talk to my father? I’ll be right behind you.”

“Of course,” Araya stood, glancing back at the High Magister— Garrick . “Thank you for the conversation, sir—and the opportunity.”

“Goodbye, Araya. It was a pleasure speaking with you,” Garrick said warmly. “Jaxon will accomplish great things here. I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table.”