My chest tightens until breathing becomes difficult as we reach the first open doorway.
The room is… warm. Low tables are scattered around the floor. Cushions are everywhere, large and comfortable-looking,colorful and bright. Shelves against the far wall are lined with beautifully, carefully carved wooden animals, cloth dolls and bundles of colored string. There’s chalk dust on part of the floor, where someone has drawn circles and stars, and I spot a row of impossibly small boots, lined up neatly by the right wall.
And in the center of the room—
Children.
Lyra
Acluster. Six of them, maybe eight, ranging from toddlers to perhaps eight years old.
One girl holds a stick, pretending it’s a sword and hopping around dramatically. A boy aged about five sits cross-legged, concentrating fiercely as he stacks pebbles into a tower.
My brain stalls.
I haven’t seen a single Darkwielder child since arriving here. Not in the training yards, nor in the halls. And after Valcor’s outburst at dinner, and Sera’s injuries…
“I didn’t think there were any children here.” My eyes prickle, and I don’t understand why.
But they are here. Carefully hidden and guarded beneath the protection of Umbraxis, hidden like a beating heart beneath the castle walls.
A woman stands near the hearth, stirring a pot and fending away the little hands that reach for her. Her hair grays at the temples, her face lined with years but her hands strong and capable. Dark, almost black eyes narrow instantly, assessing me.
Darian steps in, his posture wary but respectful. “Neela.”
“Darian.” Her tone is dry, but it’s not unkind. Her gaze flicks to my hair before traveling on to my eyes. “So, this is her.”
I swallow. “Lyra.”
Neela snorts softly. “I know whoyouare, well enough.” She sets the spoon down and wipes her hands on her apron. “I also know why you haven’t been brought down here until now.”
I glance at Darian, but he’s watching the children. There’s a peace in his face I haven’t seen since I’ve been here.
A little girl spots him and squeals. “Darian!”
She launches herself at him, arms flinging around his waist. Darian bends automatically, hands gentle as he lifts her.
“Rosen,” he murmurs, voice warm. “You’ve grown.”
She beams, then looks past him at me. Her eyes widen. “Who’sthat?”
Before Darian can answer, three more children have gathered, staring at me with open curiosity. One whispers. “It’s awitch.”
A pause. And then all of them scatter, screaming wildly with what I’m not sure is terror or delight. Rosen pushes against Darian until he lets her down so she can join in.
I stand stiffly, heat rising up my neck. A small hand tugs on mine, and I look down at Rosen's face.
“You have to chase us,” she whispers loudly. “And makenoises.”
My eyes flicker to Darian. He looks as if he’s trying not to laugh. Neela watches us like a hawk.
“We don’t have time for gawking,” she says sharply, but there’s no real bite in her tone. “If you’re bringing her, Darian, you’re responsible.”
My stomach twists. “Darian… why—”
I don’t understand. I glance around again, at the children, at the carefully controlled warmth and bright surroundings. “Why are theyhere?”
Darian’s expression tightens, the softness folding back into something guarded. He gestures subtly toward the still-screaming group. “Because there aren’t many left.”
