Page 44

Laurel

Dual channelers are rare. They typically only occur when two powerful family lines with different magics intentionally ally themselves through marriage, with the explicit purpose of producing strong heirs. Common births of dual channelers are nearly unheard of, and as such, most dual channelers are well-known across the realms.

The Unabridged History of Magical Orders, Volume I

Thorne continues to court me, even as we prepare for an offensive attack on the rebels. We train together. We have meals together. We go on walks just to have an excuse to talk to one another. I feel myself letting him in more and more, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. He told me that all I had to do was keep letting down walls for him, one brick at a time—asked me to promise to try. But what I didn’t say, what I desperately wanted to admit, is that I’m exhausted from the effort of keeping those walls up for three centuries. I fear that once I crack one stone, the whole fortress will collapse, and I’m not sure if he’s ready for that outpouring of emotion from me.

One night, he insisted on bringing me to a tavern for a pint of Thayarian ale. The patrons were nervous around me at first, but after a joke from Thorne and his announcement that the next round of drinks would be on me, the mood lightened. I envy his ability to charm any room he walks into, to light up whatever he touches. And when that light focuses wholly on me, I forget everything else around me.

After Thorne extracted himself from the dozens of fae who wanted to speak to the charismatic Shining Prince , we drank in a corner with Fionn and Silene, playing Skran and talking till early in the morning. Thorne’s intolerance for Thayarian ale had him stumbling to the castle, insisting I was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. I feigned smirking disinterest, but the raw compliments lit me up from the inside out.

Today, the rebels will attack the palace. Fionn and Silene are helping them sneak in and will tell them I’m in the throne room with some advisors. While they make their way to my trap, a small group of trusted soldiers led by Carex will storm the rebel stronghold in Oakton. Unfortunately, none of the planted information we strategically leaked to the Council seems to have made its way to the rebels, signaling either Nemesia was working alone, or her counterpart has been too smart to share anything more.

Standing in my closet, I consider my appearance for the attack. I have a part to play, so I don the dark makeup and even darker clothing of the Witch Queen. The dress I select is a two-piece black velvet number. The top is long-sleeved, with a square neckline and hem that stops just below my bust. The skirt rests at my natural waist, with a sleek line that hugs my curves before flaring out. Several inches of my stomach are on display, and I’ve braided my hair in an intricate design that circles my head.

Thayar and laurel crown resting on my head, I survey myself in the mirror. The female staring back—the Witch Queen—is becoming unfamiliar to me after the months spent with Thorne, Silene, and Fionn. Lunaria rubs against my legs, startling me from my observation. I scratch her head until she purrs deeply, then aerstep both of us to the throne room antechamber, where Thorne awaits us.

The moment he sees me, his eyes hungrily track up and down my body, lust instantly darkening his eyes.

“Aethers, Laurel. You’re going to be the death of me. The Shining Prince will be taken down by the Witch Queen after all, through tight dresses and crimson lips.” He gives me a sly smirk. I bare my teeth in mock ferociousness, and his smirk turns to a full out grin. “You look similar to the first time I met you,” he adds softly, threading his fingers through mine and bringing our foreheads together. The irony of the moment isn’t lost on me. “Are you going to bewitch the throne room in the same way?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, and the word sounds more seductive than I intend. He squeezes my hands, then releases me and pulls away.

“Don’t make it too dark, or I’ll lose the ability to stay hidden,” he reminds me as he cloaks himself with light.

I nod, then will the room beyond us to dim. I gather the water in the air in an eerie mist, then stretch the plants across the tile so that they slither in serpentine spirals. Even though Thorne hides himself with his magic, I can see him clearly. A muscle in his jaw tightens, and his hands clench and unclench. We walk through the door of the antechamber together, Lunaria close behind. Thorne stands just beside me as I sit on the throne, body angled toward me in an athletic stance, as if he’s ready to jump in front of the throne at any moment. Lunaria lays at my feet, tail swishing with interest and eyes glowing.

We wait several minutes, the anticipation building. I know that the longer they take to arrive, the more time Carex and his team will have to search the Oakton manor, but I’m anxious for the meeting to begin. Despite Thorne’s protests, there are no Royal Guards here, so the silence in the room is oppressive. While we wait, I take deep calming breaths to center myself within the aether. I need to stay in control during the attack—I cannot slip and use too much aether. After another ten minutes, Lunaria yowls, alerting us to their approach, and I subtly put up a strong shield of light magic around Thorne to keep him safe.

The rebels blow the doors open with a magical explosion, then barge in. Their leader, who I now know as Krantz, stands in the middle of the group of three dozen fae, protected by those in front of him. Coward . Several others have his bright red hair—it’s a family affair, apparently. I wait for their dust to settle before sealing the doors closed behind them with a strong gale, winding plants through the handles so they cannot escape. All at once, the group tenses, noticing that I’m here alone and there’s no exit for them. Krantz only snarls.

“Now, now, there was no need for that,” I coo. “The doors were unlocked, and I was waiting here to greet you.” Three dozen apprehensive eyes glance around the room, though Krantz only pulls back his shoulders in arrogance. “Did you think I wouldn’t know when you breached my palace?” I ask, mock pity in my voice. “Oh, you did. How unfortunate for you.” I smile, wide and feral, as I let loose a wave of energy that shakes the room. Bits of rock and debris fall from the ceiling, not enough to hurt them but enough to make them duck out of the way and break their tight formation.

Krantz snarls, stepping to the front of the group. “It doesn’t matter. There are dozens of us and you’re alone,” he spits, clearly trying to rally his team after my magic rattled them. He takes another step toward me, and Lunaria hisses.

“I’d be careful not to get too close to the cat. She’s got a temper. And very big claws,” I mock. Krantz sends at least a dozen hidden daggers whipping toward me, and I will them to break apart into tiny pieces. “I believe that is now the third time you’ve tried that on me. Hopefully third time’s the charm, and you’ve finally learned you won’t get a blow in that way.” Krantz’s eyes widen, and his jaw opens slightly, realization dawning across his features. “Ah, yes, I see you’re realizing that the Prince did not hide you as well as you thought during that little attack on the thayar tower. If only he were as powerful as me, but alas, you allied yourself with someone whose magic is as apparent to me as your fear.” I hate mocking Thorne’s incredible magical strength like this, but I need to keep his cover in case we need to use him with the rebels again.

Krantz bares his teeth at me, and the other rebels with him fan out in a semicircle around me with practiced movements, like they’ve drilled this repeatedly. From the corner of my eye, I notice Thorne’s body tense as he watches Krantz with predatory intent. The posture matches Lunaria, who now stands, her graceful body angled and on alert.

“It’s only fair that I trick you,” I continue, “after you put on such a good performance when I had you in my cells. Here I thought you were a farmer, just trying to protect his family. I won’t let you out of my clutches again.”

“I am trying to protect my family, and all of Thayaria, from your wicked blood magic, ” he jeers. “Witch!” He spits at my feet, but the ire in his voice doesn’t match his eyes, confirming my suspicion that he’s using a convenient narrative rather than possessing any real belief that I’m a witch. All the rebels with him spit at my feet and hiss, raising swords over their heads in a pitiful semblance of a battle cry.

I only smirk, then will all of their swords to fly out of their hands in an instant. All but Krantz cower back in fear. When I stand, they back up, inching farther away with every lazy step I take down the dais. I’m eager for a fight with the bastard who’s slipped from my clutches not once, but twice. Vines inch along the ground with me as I delicately make my way across the marble floor, my steps echoing loudly. A foot away from Krantz, I stop, though he doesn’t flinch when my vines reach him and crawl up his legs.

“Your arrogance will be what brings you down,” Krantz says with a quiet fury. With those words, the rebels snap into action, despite their fear, and magic of all kinds whips around me. The swords were clearly a distraction, and this is their code phrase, but my surprise only lasts for a beat before I spring into action, blocking their attacks with light shields that Thorne taught me to use.

Water honed into blades whip toward me, guided by currents of air. Daggers pulled from hidden locations spin end over end, guided by magic that ensures they’ll hit their mark—me. I could halt the rebels where they stand, make them unable to move. I could make their hearts stop beating in their chests, but I don’t. Centuries of keeping my magic secret prevents me from taking the easy way out, not to mention my fear that any large expenditures of aether will disrupt the balance of magic in Thayaria.

Instead, I block and dodge, sending elemental, conduit-based magic hurling toward them. Tiny discs of light, water blades, and reclaimed daggers fly from my hands. Thirty plus fae fight me alone, and I hate to admit it, but I might not have been able to keep up had it not been for Thorne’s training. I move easily between shields and weapons of light, adding in other elemental magic as I dance across the throne room. Vines catch five of the attackers unaware, stealthily wrapping up their legs and bringing them down. Their screams fade to muffled cries as the sprigs lock them in place and wrap around their mouths.

When a large, hook-nosed male nearly the size of Fionn gets too close, I’m forced to turn my back on him to get away, and a small female uses the opportunity to trip me. I fall to the ground but jump back up quickly, cursing my long velvet skirt. The hook-nosed fae pulls me into a headlock. I slam my elbow into his groin, then spin when his grip loosens. I kick him in the chest into Lunaria, who pounces on him, gouging his eyes out with a single swipe.

The closeness of the encounter rattles me. I use the brief respite to rip off my skirt at my knees, giving me more freedom of movement. When another fae nearly pulls me into his grip, I unleash the ruthlessness lurking just below my skin. I choke those trapped by plants by sending vines down their throats and up their noses. I rip air from the lungs of the three fae closest to me, but one of them is an air channeler and reverses my magic quickly. In normal circumstances, they wouldn’t be able to overpower me, but between maintaining the shield protecting Thorne, the vines pinning down a dozen rebels, and the magic I’m using for hand-to-hand fighting, my magic is being pulled in too many directions.

Only two dozen fae remain, though I can’t be sure. Magic continues to batter my shields from all angles, and Lunaria can’t keep herself from the fight, her protective instincts making her absolutely feral. She swipes fae across the chest with her claws. The deep gouges slow them down but don’t stop them entirely. Thorne stands anxiously next to the throne, desire to intervene written clearly across his expression. Several times he steps toward the fight with light gathered in his hands, only to step back. I need to focus, keep my attention away from him, but he’s like a beacon to my magic with all that aether gathered around him.

A blonde female uses her speed to slice Lunaria’s side. It doesn’t bother the cat at all, likely a shallow cut, but I scream in fury, the room shaking with my ire. My eyes lock on Thorne’s, communicating my desire to him instantly with no words. He nods. I see a subtle ray of light appear at Lunaria’s side, lapping against the wound gently until it’s healed.

My brief focus on Lunaria and Thorne costs me, and Krantz has moved in closer, a dagger in each hand. I will them to crumble, but they don’t. Surprise crosses my features, and Krantz smirks. “Some of us have our own secrets, witch ,” he hisses before swiping the blade toward my stomach. I block the blow, but just barely. Krantz whips around me, slicing my arm. It’s the first time anyone other than Thorne has spilled my blood in a very long time, and I erupt in fury.

“Get on your knees,” I bellow with the aether-voice, this time with no guilt at using the magic. Krantz hesitates for a moment, like he’s somehow immune to the voice, before dropping to his knees. Something about the movement looks voluntarily, unlike the stilted movements of those around him. About a dozen pairs of hate-filled eyes stare up at me from the ground as I walk slowly toward the group.

“This isn’t the last time you will see us,” Krantz hisses.

I’m about to command them to turn on one another, compel them to slit each other’s throats, my loathing of using the aether-voice in that way be damned. I hesitate for barely a breath, calculating the benefit of keeping them alive for questioning or killing them now. Before I can act, those left alive disappear. They’ve aerstepped out of the palace.

I roar with rage. Thorne appears at my side, magic burned away.

“I hesitated,” I scream, hating myself. “I could have killed them in an instant , could have ordered them to turn on one another, ordered them to stop breathing. But I hesitated to plan , to determine the perfect course of action, and they got away.” I sink to my knees in anguish, my failure closing in on me. A too familiar weight settles on my chest, restricting my breathing. Thorne sinks to his knees beside me as I try to catch my breath through the panic-induced shortness of breath.

“You can’t blame yourself,” he says gently, rubbing my back. “They brought enough air channelers today that their plan was clearly to leave if they lost.” Lunaria nuzzles her nose into my thigh, and I frantically check the spot where she was cut, but she’s fully healed. Relief makes me breathe out deeply.

“Thank you for helping Lunaria.” I rest my head against her side, letting her intense purring soothe my nerves. “And thank you—thank you for staying out of the fight. I can’t imagine that was easy for you.”

His hands clench, and his eyes harden. “No, it wasn’t.”

The room is littered with dozens of bodies, blood spewed across the floor and dripping from all the water left behind from the fight. “We should get help to clean this up,” I say with a sigh, standing.

“Can’t you just do your poofing trick?” he asks, and I can’t help the small laugh that I let out.

“No. It’s a long story, but once a fae has died, the aether leaves their body. My magic only works when aether is present.” It’s too much information, practically a confession about my magic. But Thorne doesn’t pry, and I’m not panicked about the slip.

“Maybe you should get cleaned up first?” he suggests. “You’re covered in blood, like literally every inch of your body. And you ripped off your skirt, which makes you look a bit unhinged. The smeared red lipstick and smudged kohl doesn’t help with that either. It’s sexy as fuck , but a little scary.” He smirks, and I howl with laughter, clutching my side from the stitches.

“I don’t think anyone has ever told me I looked unhinged,” I say between gulps of air.

“That’s what mates are for, witchling.” He shoves my shoulder with his in a gesture that feels so natural, like we’ve been doing it for centuries.

Rolling my eyes, my magic gathers to aerstep us to my rooms, when I realize the rebels may have gone to the manor, where Carex and his team are sitting targets. “Oakton,” I whisper. “We need to help them.” Thorne’s eyes widen in realization, and I aerstep us to the manor in Oakton, not worried about blowing Thorne’s cover this time. My focus is singular—catch the rebels who got away.

Confused expressions line the faces of Carex and his dozen guards as they stare at the manor when we arrive, though they jump when they notice me.

“What’s going on?” I demand, walking up to Carex. His gray eyes scan up and down my body in shock, and he takes a step back when I reach him. Beside me, Thorne makes a low noise in his throat. Carex bows, but keeps his narrowed eyes locked on Thorne.

“Your Majesty,” Carex says tightly. “You should step away from the Prince.” Now Thorne’s low noise turns into a full out hiss.

“Tell me what’s going on. Now,” I command. Carex swallows and adjusts his grip on his sword.

“The manor is abandoned, Your Majesty. There is no one inside. There are also no signs that anyone has been here recently. No furniture, no paperwork, no signs of life at all. The information that this was a rebellion headquarters appears incorrect.” Carex settles his hardened gaze onto Thorne, and I can see the mistrust bubbling in Carex again. The two males stare one another down, tension buzzing between them so thick I can almost see it. I step in before they come to blows.

“Did you check every room?”

“We did, Your Majesty. They either knew we were coming and cleared out very quickly …” He says the words mockingly, implying it’s an impossibility. “Or—were never here in the first place.”

“Say what you mean, Captain ,” Thorne growls with princely haughtiness, eyes narrowed. I turn on him.

“You’re not helping,” I hiss. “Go take a walk.” He does, finding a group of three guards to converse with. The moment he’s gone, Carex relaxes his tense shoulders and steps closer to me.

“Laurel, there were no signs of any activity in that manor. You must know what this means,” Carex murmurs. I ignore his implication.

“Burn it down,” is all I say before walking away from Carex. I won’t entertain his prejudice toward the Velmarans. He tries to protest, but I hold up my hand to silence him and don’t say a word. Blanching, Carex gathers several guards, and together they throw flaming torches into the windows of the manor. Air channelers provide encouragement for the flames, and soon the entire estate is blazing.

“What’s going on here?” a human woman asks behind me. She’s come from the village, and four others stand grouped behind her, likely sent to investigate the glowing flames that appeared in the sky. Her face lights up in fear when I turn toward her, and she takes several steps back. I realize I look like a nightmare, covered in blood and clothing ripped. Thorne returns to my side, placing a hand on my lower back in silent support. “Your… Your Majesty,” she says, bowing quickly. The others around her drop into deep bows.

“This manor is a known location of rebel activity,” I announce in a loud voice. Their eyes don’t widen in shock—they knew about the rebels here. “They planned the attack on Arberly’s merchant district in this very manor. Planned the attack on Rusthelm. Dozens of innocent citizens died because of their actions, not to mention the hundreds who were injured. They attacked children running in the streets looking for their parents. The Crown will not tolerate this.” Using the newfound power Thorne has taught me, I command the sky, and cracks of lightning spear the manor. It explodes in light, and the faces of the villagers illuminate with reverent trepidation. Thorne squeezes my hand and leans in close.

“Nicely done, witchling,” he whispers in my ear. I shiver at his closeness. Only a few feet away, Carex stares at us, eyes alight with ire.

“If you hear of any other rebel activity, please report it immediately. Oakton could be the next village the rebels go after,” I warn as I study their faces. Resolve crosses several expressions, and I feel confident we’ve made a difference here today, despite not being able to take out Krantz and his leaders. Turning away from the departing group of villagers, I find the Captain of my Royal Guard.

“Carex, leave a few guards here to monitor the fire to ensure it doesn’t spread,” I order. He nods before jumping into command. When everything is settled, I aerstep Carex, Thorne, and the remaining guards to a small receiving room on the bottom floor of the palace. The guards immediately return to their posts, leaving Thorne and I alone with Carex.

“Laurel,” Carex starts, still staring daggers at Thorne. I interrupt.

“I’m going to go clean up. Meet me in the Council chambers with the rest of the rebellion sub-committee,” I order. Carex only nods, his face white as a sheet, as Thorne takes my hand, and I aerstep us away.

Twenty minutes and a quick bath later, Thorne and I sit in the Council chamber, awaiting the other advisors to debrief today’s events. He disappears behind me, then reappears with a steaming cup of tea for me. I nearly groan at the aroma wafting up toward me.

“You’re perfect, princeling,” I moan with exaggerated sarcasm, even though I mean the words. He only winks, and I take a sip. It instantly soothes the nerves of the last several hours. Thorne grabs my hand under the table, absentmindedly threading his fingers through mine, stroking my thumb in gentle circles.

We sit like that in an easy silence for another twenty minutes. When I finish my first cup of tea, he simply asks, “Another?” When I nod, he stands and makes a second cup before returning to his seat and grabbing my hand again.

Fionn, Silene, and Admon enter the chambers, followed by Carex, Aria, Margery, and the other advisors assigned to tackle the rebel problem. Carex is still tense, his eyes roiling with a building storm. Once everyone sits at the large circular table, I brief them on what we discovered at the manor, and Carex has barely let me finish before he’s spewing vitriol. His eyes don’t leave Thorne, and the hatred I see in them has taken on a new level.

“This was an excellent excuse to get your best soldiers and the Captain of your Royal Guard out of the palace while you were attacked, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll say it again, Captain. Say what you mean, ” Thorne growls, and I think I sense the barest hint of aether in his voice, but that can’t be true. Only sitting monarchs can use the aether-voice. I’m too distracted by the thought that I don’t step in before Carex makes his accusation.

“The Velmarans have betrayed you. This was a trap set by them. There’s no other explanation.”

The room erupts in chaos. Fionn stands abruptly, and Silene has to hold him back from Carex. Several of the guards draw their swords and point them towards Fionn, Silene, and Thorne, Carex included. Half of the advisors look like they’re frightened, and the other half have their own magic swirling in their hands, ready to attack. And Thorne—Thorne has subtly pushed my chair back from the table and behind him, cooly and effortlessly angling his body in front of mine while making it look like he’s only leaning back in his chair in nonchalance. Together we make the perfect picture of royal indifference, unbothered by the chaos of the room.

“Those blades are awfully close to being pointed at me,” I say coolly. Carex immediately lowers his weapon, and the guards follow his lead, their gazes dropping in shame. “I’ve stated numerous times to this Council, and to you specifically, that the Velmarans have my full trust. Sit,” I command. I stand and pace to the front of the room, taking control of the meeting, an unusual occurrence. “Did the rebels tell you anything that might explain this when you let them in?” I ask Fionn and Silene.

“No, nothing,” Silene says, and Fionn nods.

I continue my line of reasoning. “While it’s strange that the manor was abandoned, it could also be a coincidence that the rebels moved their stronghold before we attacked. It may also have been strategic on their part. They had a very clear escape plan today. I would not be surprised if they decided disappearing was in their best interest prior to launching an attack on me.” What I don’t say is that the rebels could also have been tipped off that we were coming by someone in this very room, or at least another councilor. Nemesia may not be working alone after all. Carex looks like he wants to protest, but Admon jumps in instead, ever the diligent supporter.

“What happened during the attack, Your Majesty?” His voice is soft, kind, and curious, and it makes the tension in the room dissipate slightly.

“It went as expected,” I explain. “They were very prepared. I killed about two-thirds of them, but the rest escaped by aerstepping away the instant it became clear they lost. I also revealed to them that Prince Hawthorne lied about concealing them from me during the heist on the thayar tower. We’ve likely spoiled the ruse with the Velmarans.”

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Silene says, her use of my title startling me. But she’s right to use it here, when tensions are so high. I nod. “They may have also discovered the letter we stole and made assumptions about what that meant about our intentions. I think they may have left the manor weeks ago, as soon as they suspected us, and used Fionn and me one more time to find a way in before revealing that they knew we weren’t on their side. Their preparation today also tells me this is a possibility. They probably knew they were walking into a trap but were willing to risk it for the opportunity.” I study Silene closely. Surely, she’s also put together the connection about the rebels being tipped off. She must have a reason for trying to make it appear like their disappearance from the manor was the result of the missing letter.

“Sound reasoning,” Admon praises. I sigh.

“For now, this is enough,” I say, despite my disappointment at letting Krantz get away a third time. “I’ll consider the situation carefully. We’ll meet again in a few days to plan our next move, if we have one.” Carex again tries to protest, but I shoot him a look that says I’m not in the mood, and he finally relents.

The group disperses, but Thorne stays at my side. Fionn places his massive body directly in the path Carex would need to take to reach me, arms crossed and staring daggers into Carex’s back as he leaves. Silene quickly steps to my side, concern in her eyes.

“Are you okay? After the attack? Were you or Thorne injured?” Her features are etched, and I soften at her genuine interest in my well-being.

“I’m fine, and so is Thorne. Lunaria took a very shallow cut, but Thorne healed it instantly. Other than frustration that the rebels got away, I’m well.” I look around the room to see if we’re alone. When I spot none but the Velmarans, I ask Silene about her strategy in a hushed voice. “You put the pieces together, right? About the rebels being tipped off?”

She gives me a triumphant smile. “Of course. It’s obvious there’s someone else on the Council feeding them information.”

“Then why did you bring up the letter?” I ask. Again, that sly and winning smile breaks across her features.

“Because I wanted to make whoever it is think we aren’t on to them. Clearly, they spotted our strategic leaks and didn’t spill those but still told the rebels we were coming. Let’s see what happens now that we pretend we believe the letter caused the relocation.” I nod, and I want to ask her who she suspects, want to ask her about Carex. My suspicion of him is only growing, but I’m not ready to make that accusation aloud. We’ll need to proceed carefully around him. I sigh involuntarily, rubbing my temples from the headache forming. Silene hugs me.

“Will you come have dinner with us tomorrow? We have something special planned,” she asks. Thorne’s eyes widen at her, but she keeps her focus trained on me.

“Of course.” She practically leaps with excitement before prancing away, hauling Fionn behind her as she leaves the room.

Hours later, Thorne and I are together in my sitting room, the late afternoon light spilling over us as he attempts to cheer me up by teaching me various small magic tricks—the kind that children learn to pass the time and show off for one another. My failure to take out the rebels made my chest tight, and as usual, Thorne immediately noticed and whisked us into my rooms to “hang out,” as he had so casually said.

He creates animal shapes with light, having them dance across the ceiling while I laugh in delight. He scoffs when I immediately master the ability to make light shoot out of my eyes in rounded beams. We end the session in stitches as we shoot huge balls of light at each other that do no damage. It’s friendly and normal, though I can’t shake my feeling of disappointment.

Thorne takes my hand when he senses my mood shift again. “What’s going through that mind of yours, witchling?” he asks, a familiar phrase at this point. I don’t know how to answer him, don’t know how to explain that sometimes it’s all just too much to process and think about. And lately, that too much feeling has only grown with the flower declining, then the rebels, then Nemesia. I say the only thing I know with certainty.

“I need to get out of this palace.” My voice cracks with emotion.

Thorne is instantly up, my hand in his. “Take me with you,” he implores. “Please.” Without answering, I aerstep us away.