They moved toward the door, and I almost let them leave without saying anything else. Almost.
“Shaelith?” The name felt strange in my mouth, unfamiliar. “Earlier, Brynelle said Varyth keeps people’s secrets to protect them. Even when it makes them hate him.”
She paused, hand on the door. Didn’t turn around. “She mentioned that.”
“Is that what this is? Protection?”
Now she looked back, her expression softer than I’d seen before. Tired, maybe. Understanding. “I think Varyth is trying to protect everyone. You. Your children. His court. Sometimes that means keeping truths locked up until people are ready for them. Whether that’s the right choice...” She shrugged. “Above my pay grade.”
“And if I’m never ready?”
“Then he’ll probably tell you anyway. Eventually. When the alternative is worse than the truth.” Shaelith’s smile was crooked, almost sad. “He’s an asshole, but he’s not a liar. Not when it matters.”
She slipped out, Eilrys following with a small wave. The door closed with a click.
And I was alone.
But not for long.
Because somewhere in this castle, my children were playing. Safe. Whole. Alive.
And soon they’d be here. Soon I could hold them and breathe them in and pretend, just for a little while, that I hadn’t just discovered I was marked with the magic of monsters.
The silk sheets whispered against my skin as I shifted, and I thought about Varyth’s silver eyes. About the way he’d pulled me from the Veil when he could have let me burn. About that book, hidden on his reading table, filled with maps and bloodlines and histories of Braerlith.
What are you looking for?What have you already found?
Outside the window, something sang. Low and distant and patient as stone.
And I finally let my eyes close.
Just for a moment.
Just until my children arrived.
12
The dining hall was excessive. That was my first thought when Shaelith led me through the carved double doors—that whoever had designed this room had never heard the word “restraint” and wouldn’t have cared if they had.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from vaulted ceilings like frozen waterfalls. The table stretched long enough to seat a small army, dark wood polished to a mirror shine and set with enough silverware to fund a modest kingdom.
I hated it immediately.
Too big. Too open. Too many fucking exits to watch.
“Relax,” Shaelith murmured, catching my inventory of escape routes. “We swept the room three times. Brynelle’s got wards on every entrance. You’re safe.”
“I’ll feel safe when my children are sleeping in a room with one door and no windows.”
“That’s called a prison cell.”
“Your point?”
She snorted but didn’t argue, just steered me toward the cluster of bodies already assembled near the table.
I’d already put Mireth and Eryx to bed an hour ago—a process that had involved three stories, two glasses of water, one check under the bed for monsters, and approximately forty-seven promises that I would be here in the morning. Mireth had clung longer than usual, her small fingers twisted in my shirt like she was trying to anchor me to the world. Eryx had fallen asleep mid-sentence, exhaustion finally claiming him.
Two guards were stationed outside their room, Lira along with them. I’d tried to persuade her to join me for dinner, but she’d declined.
