“So it seems.” The prince rubbed his temples in a way that seemed to say, But haven’t we been all this time? “Do you have anything to report from our prisoners?” Vesryn asked, focusing on Jassyn.
Pulling his fidgeting fingers away from his plated earcuffs, Jassyn relayed the information he’d been waiting to divulge. “Magister Thalaesyn and I were able to confirm that the wraith are compelled.” Vesryn’s nostrils flared at the validation of their assumptions, but he didn’t look surprised. “We were able to remove a layer of coercion,” Jassyn continued. “And…” he trailed off, eyes darting between the pair of warriors. “The wraith are mute, but they aren’t aggressive anymore—you should see for yourself.”
The prince left Zaeryn in the command room with instructions to organize the flight squads. Jassyn hesitantly led Vesryn back down the stall-lined corridor to the captive wraith. Stable hands hurried by, starting their morning chores. A handful of dracovae roused, leaning over their doors, curious eyes watching them pass.
Vesryn mumbled something about thinking he’d sensed Serenna’s presence flicker in his mind once more when they’d been in the war room.
While it may have been a figment of Vesryn’s exhaustion, Jassyn clutched onto the shred of optimism for his cousin’s sake. She’s alive, he assured himself. Vesryn would know if the bond shattered—he’s felt it before.
Entering the wraith’s stall, Jassyn held his breath, waiting for Vesryn’s reaction. Eyes stinging, he struggled to swallow past the stench of unwashed bodies. Dust from the straw glowed in the streams of sunlight squeezing in through the open windows.
With the night’s work finished, Thalaesyn had unraveled the rending binds he’d previously placed on the wraith. All three sat slumped on the floor, their ragged clothing torn and hanging off their gaunt limbs. Two were still weeping as Thalaesyn stood among them.
“What the bleeding stars is this?” Vesryn demanded, Essence igniting around him. His eyes ricocheted between the loose wraith and the magister.
“Like I said,” Jassyn reiterated, ready to intervene—somehow—if the prince failed to remain calm. “We removed a layer of coercion that apparently made them aggressive. As you can see, they’re…” He glanced at the wraith. “Subdued.”
“I was able to untangle a few more knots of magic that restricted their speech,” Thalaesyn said, kneeling next to a female who was staring at the ground. He cast healing light over her talons, mending the bed of nails she’d injured in her mindless state. “They have awareness of their surroundings now.”
“They can talk?” Jassyn asked as confusion wrestled through him. Thalaesyn made more progress than I anticipated.
Not giving the magister time to answer, Vesryn stalked to the middle of the stall. “I want to question them.” The heat in his voice nearly singed the air. “Now.”
“That’s not necessary,” Thalaesyn said. Rising, he skimmed his fingers through his golden hair. “Velinya here—”
“What?” Jassyn and the prince both snapped in unison. Jassyn’s attention flew to the female wraith.
She glanced up at the sound of their voices. Her scarlet eyes widened, meeting his. Faster than Jassyn could blink, she shot to her feet and dashed across the room in a blur, ramming into him. Losing his balance, Jassyn stumbled from the collision, her swift movement stealing time for him to process any alarm.
Vesryn was the first to react, shadows spinning out from his fist. Another pulse of magic rippled across the room. Thalaesyn threw a current of darkness to intercept the prince’s power, slicing through the rending before Essence reached the wraith sobbing against Jassyn’s chest.
Vesryn snarled, rounding on the magister. “Explain.”
“They won’t harm us and there’s no need to harm them.” Shadows churned around Thalaesyn as he combated the prince’s rage with a stoic calm. “I fear these three won’t be the only recruits your rangers collect from the realms.”
Recruits? A beat of silence passed as Jassyn reeled from the named wraith. If she really was Serenna’s curly-haired friend, all trace of her was gone. Pulse droning in his ears, Jassyn’s thoughts spiraled.
Drawing away, the female sniffed, wiping the back of her claw across damp cheeks. Her crimson eyes searched his, silently begging him to see.
Stomach pitching like he’d toppled forward into empty air, Jassyn loosened the breath barricaded behind his ribs. His voice broke into a hoarse whisper. “Velinya?”
She nodded frantically before bursting into a fresh wave of tears. Grabbing him again in an embrace, she wept into his shoulder.
Shock careened through Jassyn, his reality unraveling as he processed the impossible. Something that went against everything he knew, the inconceivable calcifying into a horrifying dream.
“The wraith were created,” he whispered, “with our own people.”
Vesryn hit the floor. He leaned against the wall, drawing both palms over his face, his dread a mirror to Jassyn’s. The prince didn’t even have to ask the question as his eyes flicked to Thalaesyn’s.
Nodding, the magister’s gaze fell as he dropped down to mend another despondent wraith. He’d been aware the entire time—a prisoner to the knowledge for a century.
The prince’s hands muffled his words.
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER 30
SERENNA
Serenna’s eyes snapped open.
A door had slammed somewhere in the Aerie’s lower level. Curled up on a plush sofa in Lykor’s sitting room, she turned over, dismissing the commotion.
Long before the sun had faded from the sky, Serenna had been quickly lulled to sleep by the soft hum emanating from the voids set at intervals along the walls. Fenn had explained the vents in excruciating detail. Warm air pleasantly toasted the chamber, collected by a maze of pipes that distributed heat from a fiery lake in the volcano’s heart.
Cringing, Serenna scratched her shoulder under her crusty leathers, somewhat regretting that she hadn’t hunted down the bathing chambers and a bed on the uppermost floor. All she’d accomplished before sleep had claimed her was gobbling down what Fenn had called “grotto stew.”
Serenna hadn’t dared to ask what was in it, but unfortunately received an answer while her guard ensured she was stuffed twice over. The proclaimed “staple of every meal” contained anything from morels to lichens to some creature she suspected had too many legs. Serenna would never admit it, but she’d been so famished that she wouldn’t have complained if Fenn had prepared and peppered that scorpion dangling from his waist and plopped it on the table.
Despite the extinguished torches and her now-faded mushroom, the frosty stars and the moons slipped in enough light through the windows to see. More than half of the circular chamber was glass, unfolding to the horizon and sky. Tapestries depicting strange winged beings—druids, according to Fenn—adorned the smooth black marble walls. The foreign furnishings could’ve been crafted from living wood, like roots twisted in on themselves to form tables, chairs, and shelves.
Heavy footsteps clanged against the iron staircase that wound up the center of the tower. Serenna doubted the stomping was from one of Fenn’s willowy sisters. He had assigned two of them as her nightly sentinels before sauntering to the Lagoon to unwind.
Startling, Serenna concluded the pounding boots most likely belonged to her captor. Her eyes flew to the entryway as the door opened.
Lykor emerged, stalking past Fenn’s sisters in the hallway before flicking the door shut with a pulse of force. He was wrapped in a fur-lined cloak and still shrouded in a dark mood—if that permanent ridge between his brows was any sign. He crossed through the sitting room, halting to loom above her.
Curtly motioning to the snow-engulfed balcony, Lykor ordered, “Get outside.”
“What?” Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Serenna sat up and scowled at the rude awakening. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Lykor seized her arm, hauling her to her feet.
“I’m getting tired of everyone dragging me everywhere,” Serenna seethed, pointlessly struggling against him as he ignored her.
Not giving Serenna the option of putting on her boots, Lykor lugged her across the chamber and yanked open the door. A frigid gust howled in, her hair whipped by the blizzard’s bite.
Blasting out a wave of force, Lykor cleared the snowy drifts from the terrace. The explosion of frosty powder rained down the mountainside like diamonds shattering to dust.
Lykor shoved her outside, past fanged icicles stretching down from the overhanging roof. Stolen from the sitting room’s warmth, Serenna gasped against the sharp air lacerating her lungs. She threw out her arms, stockinged feet sliding over an icy film.
Snatching one of her wheeling wrists, Lykor unlocked the manacle and stowed the restraining metal in a cloak pocket. “Replenish your Well,” he growled, breath expelling in an agitated wisp.
Before Serenna could object, the sudden impact of his presence crashed into her mind, momentarily making her forget the glacial cold. Lykor’s exhaustion and annoyance—with her—rampaged down the bridge of the bond.
Stalking to the parapet, Essence shimmered around Lykor as he planted his palms against the ledge, glaring up at the web of stars. Serenna stared at his stoic profile as he regenerated, skin even paler under the reflection of the moons. The magnitude of his magic churned with the weight of an endless ocean, one that would surely crush her if she tried to channel that amount of power.
Shivering, Serenna shrank back, wrapping her arms across her chest. She’d thought the extent of Vesryn’s Well was vast, but the Essence at the prince’s disposal was a lake compared to Lykor’s sea.
