Loren watched the fog writhe over the rocks, smothering the tiny flame of hope Thorne’s words had sparked before it could catch fire. Araya had never had a chance to be free—not really. Not in any life that had been hers alone. She deserved more than to be shackled to him by magic and duty.
“Take her up to Ithralis,” he said. “Get her settled in one of the guest rooms—make sure she has everything she needs. But don’t let her wander.”
“You’ll take her up yourself,” Thorne snapped. “And explain things to her. Maybe consider apologizing?—”
Loren shook his head. “I’m not coming.”
Thorne’s jaw tightened. “Where else would you go? Eloria isgoing to drop everything and come running as soon as we contact her?—”
“Then tell her I’m going to see our parents.” Loren vaulted over the rail, landing lightly on the dock.
“You can’t.” For a moment, Thorne looked ready to climb over the rail after him. “This isn’t the Eluneth you remember. There are creatures—twisted by the shadows. They’ll tear you apart before you get anywhere near the temple?—”
“I’ll take my chances,” Loren called back over his shoulder. Wood creaked under his too-small boots, giving way to slick stone as he headed for the narrow steps carved into the cliffside.
“And what if you don’t come back?” Thorne shouted after him.
“Then I’ll have solved everyone’s problems.”
Thorne shouted something after him, but Loren didn’t look back, putting all his focus on climbing the treacherous stairs. Araya had said her piece to the shadows, saving their lives. Now, it was his turn.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Araya stormed across the cabin,pacing the tiny room like a caged animal. She’d made at least a dozen loops since Thorne had shut the door in her face with an infuriatingly apologetic grimace. But it wasn’t Thorne she was going to tear into when they finally let her out of here.
It was Loren. The male who’d given the order to lock her up like a disobedient child.
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She could have ripped the door off its hinges with the trickle of magic that had returned to her—but where would that get her? Back on deck with an irritated Loren? Better to save it for when it could really make a difference.
The door rattled as someone knocked, turning a key in the lock. Araya spun, scowling at Thorne as he stepped inside, his broad frame filling the cramped space.
“We’ve arrived,” he said, his voice touched with forced cheer. “I can take you up to your room?—”
“No, thank you.” Araya dropped onto the edge of the cot, crossing her arms. “I’ll wait here for the return journey.”
Thorne sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You have every right to be angry at him?—”
“You said that before.” She inclined her head, glancing pointedly at the door. “You can leave now.”
But Thorne didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe instead, arms crossed, his amber gaze steady and far too knowing.
“The boat was damaged in the crossing,” he said. “Nyra can’t leave until she makes repairs, which will take at least a few days. And she won’t take you anyway—not against Loren’s wishes.”
"So, what, then?” Araya let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Am Ihisprisoner, now?”
“I can see why you might feel that way,” Thorne said quietly, his jaw tightening. “But no. You’re not a prisoner, Araya. I’m sure—or at least, I hope—Loren will explain everything soon. Now—” he straightened, his voice turning firm. “Put on your boots. Because I’m not spending the night on Nyra’s leaky boat when there’s an entire castle full of beds waiting up there.”
Grumbling, Araya yanked on her damp socks, muttering curses as she jammed her feet into cold, stiff boots. They squelched with every step as she followed Thorne across the narrow gangplank. Mist swallowed the dock, reducing the world to vague, shapeless forms. She squinted into it, searching for any sign of this castle.
“So where is it?”
Thorne, looking far too pleased with himself, pointed.
She followed his gesture, freezing as she caught a glimpse of the castle perched precariously at the top of the cliffs. The mist clung to its towers like a shroud, obscuring the full shape and making the whole structure look half-formed—like if she blinked it might vanish before her eyes.
“That’s Ithralis,” Thorne said. “The residence of the fae monarchy on Eluneth—or it was.”
