Drawing away, the female sniffed, wiping the back of her claw across damp cheeks. Her crimson eyes searched his, silently begging him to see.
Stomach pitching like he’d toppled forward into empty air, Jassyn loosened the breath barricaded behind his ribs. His voice broke into a hoarse whisper. “Velinya?”
She nodded frantically before bursting into a fresh wave of tears. Grabbing him again in an embrace, she wept into his shoulder.
Shock careened through Jassyn, his reality unraveling as he processed the impossible. Something that went against everything he knew, the inconceivable calcifying into a horrifying dream.
“The wraith were created,” he whispered, “with our own people.”
Vesryn hit the floor. He leaned against the wall, drawing both palms over his face, his dread a mirror to Jassyn’s. The prince didn’t even have to ask the question as his eyes flicked to Thalaesyn’s.
Nodding, the magister’s gaze fell as he dropped down to mend another despondent wraith. He’d been aware the entire time—a prisoner to the knowledge for a century.
The prince’s hands muffled his words.
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER 30
SERENNA
Serenna’s eyes snapped open.
A door had slammed somewhere in the Aerie’s lower level. Curled up on a plush sofa in Lykor’s sitting room, she turned over, dismissing the commotion.
Long before the sun had faded from the sky, Serenna had been quickly lulled to sleep by the soft hum emanating from the voids set at intervals along the walls. Fenn had explained the vents in excruciating detail. Warm air pleasantly toasted the chamber, collected by a maze of pipes that distributed heat from a fiery lake in the volcano’s heart.
Cringing, Serenna scratched her shoulder under her crusty leathers, somewhat regretting that she hadn’t hunted down the bathing chambers and a bed on the uppermost floor. All she’d accomplished before sleep had claimed her was gobbling down what Fenn had called “grotto stew.”
Serenna hadn’t dared to ask what was in it, but unfortunately received an answer while her guard ensured she was stuffed twice over. The proclaimed “staple of every meal” contained anything from morels to lichens to some creature she suspected had too many legs. Serenna would never admit it, butshe’d been so famished that she wouldn’t have complained if Fenn had prepared and peppered that scorpion dangling from his waist and plopped it on the table.
Despite the extinguished torches and her now-faded mushroom, the frosty stars and the moons slipped in enough light through the windows to see. More than half of the circular chamber was glass, unfolding to the horizon and sky. Tapestries depicting strange winged beings—druids, according to Fenn—adorned the smooth black marble walls. The foreign furnishings could’ve been crafted from living wood, like roots twisted in on themselves to form tables, chairs, and shelves.
Heavy footsteps clanged against the iron staircase that wound up the center of the tower. Serenna doubted the stomping was from one of Fenn’s willowy sisters. He had assigned two of them as her nightly sentinels before sauntering to the Lagoon tounwind.
Startling, Serenna concluded the pounding boots most likely belonged to her captor. Her eyes flew to the entryway as the door opened.
Lykor emerged, stalking past Fenn’s sisters in the hallway before flicking the door shut with a pulse of force. He was wrapped in a fur-lined cloak and still shrouded in a dark mood—if that permanent ridge between his brows was any sign. He crossed through the sitting room, halting to loom above her.
Curtly motioning to the snow-engulfed balcony, Lykor ordered, “Get outside.”
“What?” Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, Serenna sat up and scowled at the rude awakening. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Lykor seized her arm, hauling her to her feet.
“I’m getting tired of everyone dragging me everywhere,” Serenna seethed, pointlessly struggling against him as he ignored her.
Not giving Serenna the option of putting on her boots,Lykor lugged her across the chamber and yanked open the door. A frigid gust howled in, her hair whipped by the blizzard’s bite.
Blasting out a wave of force, Lykor cleared the snowy drifts from the terrace. The explosion of frosty powder rained down the mountainside like diamonds shattering to dust.
Lykor shoved her outside, past fanged icicles stretching down from the overhanging roof. Stolen from the sitting room’s warmth, Serenna gasped against the sharp air lacerating her lungs. She threw out her arms, stockinged feet sliding over an icy film.
Snatching one of her wheeling wrists, Lykor unlocked the manacle and stowed the restraining metal in a cloak pocket. “Replenish your Well,” he growled, breath expelling in an agitated wisp.
Before Serenna could object, the sudden impact of his presence crashed into her mind, momentarily making her forget the glacial cold. Lykor’s exhaustion and annoyance—withher—rampaged down the bridge of the bond.
Stalking to the parapet, Essence shimmered around Lykor as he planted his palms against the ledge, glaring up at the web of stars. Serenna stared at his stoic profile as he regenerated, skin even paler under the reflection of the moons. The magnitude of his magic churned with the weight of an endless ocean, one that would surely crush her if she tried to channel that amount of power.
