They turned to find Lady Solara stepping into the courtyard, reins in hand. Beside her stood a magnificent eagle-griffin, its feathers ash-gray, as large as a horse. It squawked and ruffled its wings as the sorceress soothed it with a gloved hand.
“Puk and I could reach Khar Avalen by morning and retrieve the mirror,” Solara said courteously. “Such a thing could be useful in the preservation of kingdoms, especially one on the verge of collapse.”
Alora managed a weary smile. The sorceress meant no harm, only clarity.
“Perhaps,” Alora said. “But I need you in the escort to the mountain. If demons stray where they’re not welcome, your light will be a greater shield than any sword.”
Lady Solara dipped her head, auburn braids catching the light. “Then I’ll make myself useful. I’ll report to Commander Caelum and see where he’ll have me.”
With a swish of her robes, the sorceress turned and walked away, the griffin padding beside her like a silent sentinel.
Alora watched her go, the weight of leadership pressing against her spine. There were no right choices anymore, only those that cost the least.
“Well,” Calla said, “I must attend the war council.”
“I will join you.”Eager to return home, Alora summoned a portal, shadows already curling at her call.
“Before you do,” Calla mused. “The Queen Dowager has asked for you. Incessantly.”
Her jaw tightened. “I will see her when the time calls for it.”
Though, when would there be time? Delphi had been requesting a meeting for weeks now and Alora had run out of excuses.
Ignoring her had been out of spite, but Alora let the shadows fade with a sigh. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
The tower chamber was warm and richly appointed, though its occupant was no longer queen. Alora stepped inside, shadows whispering indistinctly along the walls with her presence. A tray of fruit and wine were left on an opulent round table.
Even confined, Delphi did not lack for comforts.
“I see they have treated you well,” Alora said coolly.
“A few are still loyal to the true line.”
Alora turned toward the voice where Delphi reclined among silks and gilded cushions, but her stomach turned as she took in her aunt’s true face.
Delphi was no longer the queen of veils and elegance, but a fae stripped bare. Her once-glamored skin shimmered dully, the deep cerulean now mottled and dry like weathered stone, its violet undertones faded as though the human air had leached them dry. Her midnight hair hung heavy and tangled, the sheen of indigo dulled to ash. And half of her face marred by old burns, in the shape of small handprints.
Alora stilled at the sight of her doing.
Delphi’s glamor had never been only vanity or a ploy to mimic her subjects. It was to hide how much the mortal lands drained her, withering her by inches. Now her power was tooweak to hide it. Only her violet eyes remained defiant, sharp as amethysts.
Alora canted her head. “So, Delphiniums do wither. The Midlands call you home, it seems.”
A silent glower pinched Delphi’s lip. “Your earth is foul, starved of all magic that once made it fertile. You know nothing of how much I suffered living in this place.”
“Was it worth stealing my mother’s crown?”
A shadow of Delphi’s old hauteur surfaced as she raised her chin. “Your mother was soft. She clung to mortals as though they were kin, and it made her weak.”
Fury rose hot and sharp in Alora’s chest and magic sparked at her fingertips. “And yet for all your strength, you wither the same. The irony, since it was clear you wished to be her.”
“I never wanted to be like Salvia!”
A fevered declaration, yet Delphi’s voice had cracked like ice.
Alora moved past her, seating herself by the cold hearth, letting the fireless stones warm her spine. “Then why did I find all of her portraits in the attic cut to shreds? Was it a fit of jealousy… or guilt?”
Delphi’s jaw tightened, her violet eyes sliding away. Her gloved hands flexed in her lap, leather creaking faintly. “She had beauty and the gift of song. I… poisoned all I touched. Whenever Salvia wept, flowers bloomed at her feet.” Her words were edged with spite, but beneath it trembled something raw, almost broken. “Always so poignant.”
