And so she stayed, silent as the night raged beyond the windows, carrying her friend’s anguish as though it were her own.
“I am so sorry…” Alora whispered when her cries fell silent.
Theia rested on her lap, silent tears rolling down her temples as she gazed at the seas. “Few men… are granted so fitting an end. To die as master of his own fleet, claimed by the sea he loved…” Her voice broke and her shoulders shook. “My father’s journey ends here and now he sails the river of souls through the Gates for his next venture.”
Alora’s chest ached. “Admiral Alder and all who fell tonight, their deeds will be spoken of in songs, if not in prayers. He will be remembered for standing until the sea itself embraced him.”
Theia shoulders shook as she sobbed.
Alora curled with her on the window seat, embracing her tightly until Theia cried herself to sleep.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the tapestries on the walls. Alora leaned against the window frame, watched the steady light of the mirrors on the towers. The city had at last gone quiet before dawn, leaving her to weight the cost of her victory.
She had done it.
She had won.
“I saved Argyle, Mother,” she whispered faintly, her breath fogging on the glass. “Did I do the right thing?”
Child’s laughter echoed faintly down the corridor.
Alora lifted her head sharply, careful not to jostle Theia. She glanced toward the door, waiting, listening… Nothing.
She shook her head and settled back down. The castle was surely haunted.
Alora let her eyes fall shut. She was too tired to think more but rest likely wouldn’t come tonight. A new future would arrive for Argyle tomorrow.
Alora…
She gasped at the stroke against her cheek.
A man stood beside her, tall and draped in the night. Her heart thundered in her chest. She couldn’t see his face, but the black hair spilling over his shoulders and the red eyes glowing softly like embers. Shadows licked at his arms, curling around his broad shoulders.
She stared mutely, unable to move, the world thick and muffled around her as though she were caught underwater.
Then he bent close, his voice curling through her bones like smoke.Wake up.
Alora’s eyes flew open. For a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe, shadows still dancing at the edges of her vision. A dream. It must have been a dream. And yet her cheek still tingled where he had touched her.
She jolted upright as the sound of shattering glass rang from the hall. Smoke flooded her nose, screams tearing through the corridors.
“Theia,” Alora shook her awake. “Something is wrong. Someone is in the castle.”
She stumbled to her feet, and both rushed to the door. But it to burst open and Calveron soldiers stormed inside, seizing them.
Theia screamed as they pinned her to the wall, twisting her arms.
“Release her!” Alora shrieked, struggling against the soldier. Her sword, she’d left it propped by the window.
They dragged them through the halls and down the stairs. The castle guards fought all around them, cut down swiftly by their enemies. Blood pooled on the floors, cries echoing in Alora’s ears as servants fled for their lives. Fires raged outside the windows through the kingdom. Argyle’s banners burned inthe grand hall. Her vision blurred with tears as she tripped over a stable boy’s body with an axe in his back.
The thick stench of blood and burning velvet filled her lungs. Theia screamed for her mother in the mayhem.
The soldiers dragged them into the throne room. It was filled with lords and nobles, cowing in the edges of the room. The High Priestess Isolde clutched her sash as she desperately prayed.
Her father knelt on the velvet runner before the dais steps. The queen beside him.
And upon the throne sat the one fae she thought to never see again.
