Solena hesitates, still working on my hand, but now more attentive. “Yes. Some High Fae have the power to glamor.”
“And what would something glamored look like to someone on the outside?”
She exhales, clearly exasperated. “It would look completely normal, Amara. That’s the point of a glamor. It’s meant to disguise. What good would it do if you could tell it was glamored?”
“But,” I press, my voice low, “what if someonecouldsee through it?”
Her hands still, her expression shifting from mild irritation to something more serious, more guarded. “If you could see through a glamor,” she says slowly, almost as if testing the thought, “that would mean you are awakened.” There’s a long pause before she adds, her voice just above a whisper, “But awakened beings are very…rare.”
We lock eyes, the weight of my words hanging between us like a fragile thread. I gulp, feeling the tension coil tighter. “There’s a shimmer,” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. “It surrounds them, like a veil. I’ve seen it almost every day since coming to Baev’kalath—on people, and on things.”
“Things?” Solena echoes, her voice hesitant, almost fearful of where this conversation is headed.
I nod, leaning closer to her, my heart pounding in my chest as though the very walls could be listening. “Stairs that don’t belong. That lead to rooms that shouldn’t exist.”
“And people?” Solena’s voice drops lower, barely audible now, a whisper carried on the air.
“Lanneth,” I murmur, my breath catching in my throat. “The Archdruid... and when I saw the Father Below—” I correct myself quickly, my voice faltering, “Gygarth… it was after the wedding, when my hand was cut.” My eyes drop to my hand, now bandaged and bound. “When it healed, the shimmer was gone. But I think... I think the wounds open my eyes to it. Is that even possible?”
Solena’s expression softens, a deep sadness crossing her features. She reaches out, her fingers gently curling over mine, offering comfort I wasn’t expecting. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice heavy with empathy. “But what a terrible burden for you to bear.”
“There’s something happening to me,” I say, my voice trembling as the fear tightens in my chest. The words feel too big, too real now that they’re out. “I’m afraid... everything I’vetried to convince myself was just in my mind might actually be real. I need to speak with Daed.”
Solena’s expression softens, her understanding immediate and wordless. “Do you know when he’ll return?” she asks gently.
“He said two days,” I whisper, my mind spinning. “He should be back tonight.”
Solena offers a small, reassuring smile. “In the meantime, you need rest. Let me make you some tea.”
I nod, but only because I don’t know what else to do. My thoughts are such a tangled mess that I can’t separate one fear from another, each one screaming for attention in the chaos of my mind. Maybe if I lie down, I’ll find some clarity, or at least a moment of peace.
When Solena returns with the tea, I take a tentative sip. Its warmth seeps through me, but it barely scratches the surface of the conflict raging inside. My body, worn down by exhaustion and the weight of everything, gives in, sinking into the bed. Solena’s gentle hand strokes my hair, each pass soft and soothing, like a distant lullaby. My eyes close, though sleep doesn’t claim me. My mind is too frantic, tangled in fears and unanswered questions. But for a brief moment, the tension eases, the relentless ache softening as her touch grounds me, and the shadows seem a little less sharp.
That is, until night falls and the unmistakable sound of wings slicing through the air jolts me from my rest. My heart quickens, every nerve alive, pulling me toward the window before I even realize I’m moving.
Chapter 26
Irush to the balcony, my heart racing, and when I see black wings blotting out the moon, hope blooms in my chest. For once, I’m relieved that Daed didn’t bother with the door. I step into the rain, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the blinding moonlight. But as the boots touch down on the stone and the glow fades, disappointment hits me hard. The familiar ivory hair, streaked with gray, and the rough-hewn face that’s seen too many battles come into focus.
“Arax,” I murmur, unable to hide the sinking feeling. My gaze shifts past him, searching the night sky for another set of wings, for the one set that truly matters. But the sky remains empty.
“Where is the prince?” I ask, my voice tight.
“He is delayed,” Arax replies solemnly, as if he knows how much I didn’t want to hear those words.
I bite back my frustration, but it churns inside me, twisting into something raw. “Why?”
“Negotiations go poorly, Your Highness. Modok…” he begins, his tone cautious.
“Of course, Modok,” I snap, turning sharply on my heel and storming into my chambers, the rain still clinging to my skin.
Solena stands in the archway, draping a robe over my shoulders, the soft fabric absorbing the wetness from my skin. The gesture is comforting, but it does nothing to ease the ache settling in my chest.
“How long until he returns to Baev’kalath?” I demand.
Arax hesitates, and the silence only stirs my anger. I whirl on him, my frustration visible in the hard line of my jaw.
“Your Highness,” Arax starts carefully, wringing the rain from his beard before stepping fully inside. “If we are to defend the Sundered Kingdoms from the Legion, we need the full strength of the houses. Without their swords, The Grove will never be safe.”
