Just as she began to feel like the walls might close in and crush them both, the passage gave way—opening into a vast, echoing chamber. Araya blinked in the dim light, staring at the strange room. It was a temple—or what remained of one. The shattered remnants of idols crunched under her feet as she moved forward, and great chunks had been torn from the walls. A devastating crack split the altar into two, but Araya could still feel the hum of residual power in the room.
Detailed paintings decorated the wall behind it, portraying a history she didn’t recognize. Araya stepped back, craning her neck to take in the entirety of it, and her breath caught in her throat.
There, in the very center of the ceiling, was the Valendri Goddess. Araya recognized her from the small portrait her mother had once displayed—a delicate, otherworldly figure surrounded by a halo of ethereal light. Surrounding her, a vivid tableau captured the essence of lost Valendri history and culture in every brushstroke.
“How is this here?” Araya breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she took in the scene.
“They blocked off the main staircase,” Jaxon said, stepping up beside her. “They emptied the graves?—”
Araya’s stomach turned as she glanced back at the cracked alcoves along the walls. It was one thing to work with processed fae bone—but to see where it came from? That was different.
“—but the temple itself wasn’t worth the effort of tearing down.”
Araya shivered and tugged her cloak tighter, following Jaxon past the cracked altar. Aetherlamps gave way to rune-inscribed sconces, their thin, sickly light barely illuminating the corridor that stretched ahead of them. Iron doors loomed along both sides, the runes scarring their pitted surfaces long dead—just like the fae they once imprisoned.
“The Arcanum kept their high-value prisoners down here afterthe Ascendancy,” Jaxon said, setting a brisk pace down the hall. “They’re down to one at this point, though.”
“Master Shaw—” a guard jumped to his feet as they approached the familiar iron-barred door, its surface covered in a labyrinth of runes. “I wasn’t expecting?—”
“Aeron,” Jaxon greeted the guard with an easy smile. “This wasn’t planned. We have a theory we need to test.”
The guard’s eyes flitted to Araya, his gaze lingering on her ears and hair. “Does she have clearance?”
“She’s my bond,” Jaxon said firmly, his tone leaving no room for protest. “I vouch for her—my father will too, if you make me climb all the way back up there and get him. He hates doing those steps though.”
“No need,” Aeron said quickly, pulling out a large brass key. “Do you have your key—good.”
Araya hardly dared breathe as they turned their keys in unison, magic flaring bright across the blackened door as tumblers clicked. The door cracked open with a low, grinding groan—thick air spilling out like breath from a long-sealed tomb.
“Go ahead, then,” Jaxon said, nodding for her to enter first.
She stepped forward, every muscle tense, already knowing what she would see. He looked exactly like he did in her dreams—from the dark fall of his hair to the harsh lines of his too-thin face, and the way his hands rested on his knees, deceptively still. She took another step before she even realized she was moving, dragged forward by that strange tug behind her breastbone.
This had to be another dream. She was asleep—trapped in one of those dreams again, and this time her mind had pulled Jaxon in too, twisting it into something stranger.
Then those emerald eyes snapped open, locking onto hers with such fierce recognition that she gasped aloud, stumbling back into Jaxon’s solid chest.
“Easy,” Jaxon murmured, laughing as he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. He flicked his hand, kindling an aetherlampas the door groaned shut behind them, locking them inside. “Don’t worry, Starling. He hasn’t attacked a guard in over a decade.”
“Who is he?” Araya’s voice wavered as the male’s gaze snapped to where Jaxon touched her, his lips curling to reveal a flash of sharp, white teeth.
“Araya Starwind,” Jaxon purred, smug satisfaction lacing his voice. “Meet Prince Loren of Valendral—heir to the fae throne.”
He dragged his hand down her back, fingertips ghosting over her spine in a silent claim. He met the furious male’s gaze, unbothered.
“Do you think his blood will do?”
Chapter
Nine
Someone was coming.
Two people—one of them was definitely Jaxon Shaw. Loren had quickly learned the sharp cadence of the young mage’s footsteps. His arrival always heralded some new torment, another demand for answers about this so-called Shadowed Veil the humans were so obsessed with.
But the other person—their steps were light, almost soundless. A new guard, maybe? Loren tipped his head back against the wall as keys grated in the lock, closing his eyes and deliberately relaxing his body. He would never give any of them the satisfaction of finding him waiting like a hound straining at its leash.
The door groaned open, iron dragging across stone. The newcomer entered first, the wild pounding of their heart betraying them. Loren stifled a humorless smile. Whoever Jaxon had brought down here, they were terrified.
