The Shadoweaver pulls back, and her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. Her skin is ghostly pale, unnaturally white, almost glowing in the torchlight. The effect is haunting. She looks like death itself, smiling at me as though savoring her victory.
“You know”—she begins, her voice like silk wrapping tightly around my throat—“how I said I can see through the eyes of those I control?”
A cold wave crashes over me. Dread pulses through my stomach, clawing its way into my chest until the tension makes it hard to breathe. Her grin widens, harsh and cruel.
“Let me show you,” she whispers.
Before I can respond, her hands latch onto either side of my head. Her nails dig into my skin, sending lightning bolts of pain through my skull, but it’s nothing compared to what comes next. My vision blurs and then collapses into darkness, only to return in flickering pulses of light.
When my sight finally steadies, I’m no longer in the cavern. I’m in my chambers in the castle. I see Raiden and Zaria hoveringnear the bed, their expressions tense. Two royal healers bend over someone lying on the mattress, their faces grim. In the corner, two women I’ve never seen before standing apart from the group, whispering.
Tristan. Kian.
And then my breath catches in my throat.
Everly.
She’s standing in front of a battered Fenris, cupping his face, her delicate fingers brushing his skin with a tenderness that makes my blood boil. Worry creases her brow, as she looks him over.
She looks like a goddess descended—perfect, serene, beautiful. The sight of her, of them, ignites something primal in me. Jealousy twists with rage, burning its way through my veins.
The Shadoweaver’s laugh echoes faintly in my ears, even here. But it doesn’t matter. All I can see is Everly, her touch, her care.
And I can’t decide what hurts more; that she looks so radiant or that her hands aren’t on me.
Everly leans against Fenris’s chest, his arms wrapping around her in a brief embrace. He then steps back, creating space between them.
I know, deep down, that she would never betray me. Everly is too kind and loving, her gentleness making such a cruel act unthinkable. I know this in my soul. But knowing doesn’t stop the ache that builds, sharp and relentless. Seeing her in another man’s arms—even if it’s innocent—feels like a knife slipping between my ribs. It isn’t jealousy, not exactly. It is the unbearable thought that maybe someone else could provide her with something I can’t. Something she needs.
Chapter fifty-four
Everly
Ipull the hood of my cloak up over my head as we step out of the damp, shadowed tunnel, the cool night air brushing against my face like a whisper of freedom. Zaria stays right on my heels, her footsteps quiet but sure against the uneven ground. The earthy scent of moss and damp stone fades, replaced by the crisp, woodsy aroma of the grove. The tunnel led us past the castle walls and into this stand of elm trees, their branches intertwining like skeletal fingers above us, barely allowing glimpses of the starlit sky.
The faint crunch of leaves beneath our boots is the only sound at first, until the beating of wings cuts through the stillness, and through a gap in the branches, I see Raiden.
“They are a hundred yards ahead,” Zaria whispers, barely audible. Her breath fogs faintly in the cool air, and I nod, tightening the grip on my cloak.
The soft chirping of crickets rises around us, a gentle backdrop to our hurried steps. I spot Raiden’s massive form first, his broad shoulders and immense wings silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering through the canopy. Even in the shadows, he’s impossible to miss, a towering figure of quiet strength. Three other shapes linger with him, but it’s the flash of red hair that catches my eye. A smile tugs at my lips when I see the small figures.
Malick and Gideon stand by the horses, who, restless but silent, paw at the earth, their breaths misting in the cool night air. All of them turn toward us as we step into the clearing.
“Ready?” Tristan’s voice cuts through the stillness, his expression as stoic as ever. His watchful eyes search mine as we approach.
“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady, though apprehension tightens something deep inside me. The fear is there—alive, constant, pressing in—but so is the determination. For Maxon, I would walk through fire. At least now we’re moving, doing something to bring him back, and that alone brings a tiny measure of relief.
I turn to Malick and Gideon, offering them a soft smile. “Thank you for getting the horses here undetected.”
“Anything for you, Your Majesty.” Malick bows deeply, his tone filled with unwavering loyalty.
Before I can respond, there’s a sudden blur of motion. Gideon rushes forward, his small frame moving with a speed that takes me by surprise. Kian steps instinctively to block him, but Gideon ducks under his arm with startling agility and slams into me. His tiny arms wrap tightly around my middle, and he buries his face against my chest, his body shaking as a sob escapes him.
“Thank you for saving my brother,” he chokes out, his voice muffled and trembling with raw emotion.
Startled, I blink. My arms move instinctively, wrapping around him as I lower my cheek to rest gently on his head. His hair smells faintly of wild grass and hay.
“You don’t have to thank me for that, Gideon,” I whisper, my voice soft but firm. “I’d do it a thousand times over.”
