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Daimon

It was an agonizing walk to the throne room, each step like striding over hot coals. Daimon stalked in with Willow beside him. Carwyn was standing at the back of the room, where a large, imposing tree rose from the floor and bent across the ceiling. The two thrones made of its woven branches and roots were empty. Senna and Keir sat at the rectangular oak table, already discussing strategy. Daimon took his seat next to Keir.

Eventually the council filed in, along with Annora, and sat at the table.

He tried to avoid looking at Annora, who came in with her parents. Annora was Evelina’s closest friend. Seeing Annora’s grief so clearly displayed on her face would make it feel more real. Would make him remember the way her eyes would brighten when he caught glimpses of her in the healer’s cabin. Would bring the painful memories of how curious and wild she was—too untamed and bright for this war-stricken world.

It would be hard to find a person that Evelina hadn’t touched in some way. Even now he felt taunted by each painting that reminded him of her, each person in this room who loved and admired her in their own way. This was her home; it was as if her ghost already filled the palace .

Daimon cleared his throat, emotion so thick that he felt trapped. Stifled. As if the walls were closing in on him.

He should’ve come back sooner. Should’ve returned years ago and told her the truth. She had grown to become as brave as any Rider, and more beautiful than the stars. Even with it being so long since he had last seen her, he knew the moment his eyes landed on her during that meeting.

His thoughts spiraled into memories of her, into all the things he couldn’t help but notice the last few weeks. She still had the little crinkle between her brows, and her eyes… Blessed Divine, her eyes. Bright, curious, and the perfect mix of green and brown. That perfect hue he might never get to see again.

He never should’ve stayed away as long as he had. He should’ve pushed his shame aside and told her what happened with Nyx the day it happened.

He should’ve been here for her.

Carwyn stood with her back rigid. Her face remained as cold as stone. The only evidence of pain were the tears still falling down her cheeks. It wasn’t until the doors to the throne room opened and the rest of her siblings filtered in that she started to shake.

Seretha slowly rose to her feet.

“What’s going on?” Ren demanded. His eyes flicked to Daimon briefly.

“Baile was attacked by the rebels,” Carwyn said slowly.

Shock rippled through the room. Ren stepped forward. Daimon could practically see the wheels turning in his mind—he knew there was something Carwyn wasn’t saying.

“Blessed Divine,” Lyria gasped. “Another attack?”

Seretha stepped forward. “The tides are changing. Safety behind the borders is no longer guaranteed to us.”

“That is not all,” said Carwyn. Her voice broke and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Word has come that Evelina was there at the time of the attack.”

Daimon watched as Maliena laid a hand across Annora’s chest, as if stilling her from running out. Annora’s eyes were already full of tears, anticipating the worst.

“Evelina?” echoed Neve hollowly, looking to Daimon. “Was she harmed?”

Carwyn braced herself, then said, “She did not make it out, but she saved the village.”

A wave of disbelief rolled through the room, then a cascade of emotions. Lyria fell to her knees, her gentle face scrunched in despair. Ren quickly dropped beside her, holding her in his arms. Maliena was staring at Daimon with an inscrutable look as Neve turned all his attention to Annora, stunned and rigid at his side. Seretha hissed with a contempt so terrible the guards trembled by the door.

“May Eurydice smite the rebels who did this,” Seretha cursed. “May she lay waste to every one of them.”

Keir and Senna raised their fists to their chests as they bowed their heads in respect to this wish.

Carwyn’s tearful eyes blazed. She clenched her fists. “May it be done,” she rasped, her voice raw, “in honor of my sister.”

The words struck Daimon in his heart. His shadows writhed just beneath the surface of his soul, begging to be let out, to taste the sweetness of death as they rained darkness onto the rebels. He had no mercy left to give.

Daimon cleared his throat, clinging desperately to any shred of strength that remained in him as he said, “We should still search?—”

The doors to the throne room burst open, nearly torn from their hinges. His shadows felt the light surging close. His entire body froze—terrified that his hope was a figment of his imagination.

The sight of her bright hazel eyes nearly knocked him over. Their gazes met, and he briefly wondered if he had died and passed into Caelum. Or perhaps he was hallucinating, seeing what he so desperately wanted to see.

Lyria’s gasp echoed through the room as everyone else froze in place.

“I’m here,” the figure said breathlessly.