Page 114 of The Crowned Queen

Slowly, still hardly daring to believe she wasn’t dreaming, Araya turned her head. Tears welled in her eyes at the sight of him slumped at her bedside, his head cradled in his hands. Half-healed bruises peeked out from beneath his loose linen shirt, his face haggard even in sleep. How long had he spent waiting for her to wake?

“Lorendrael,” she rasped, her voice cracking with disuse.

His head jerked up, bloodshot green eyes wide. And then she was crying, because the warmth that bloomed through her was him. His exhaustion and grief, his fear that she would never open her eyes again—it all flooded her through their bond. A bond that glowed in her chest, whole and unbroken, exactly as it should be.

“Araya,” he said, his voice choked. He pulled her into his arms and she clung to his neck, his shadows rising to cocoon them both in velvet darkness.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Until the desperation faded from their grip on each other, their tears drying on their cheeks. Until, finally, the question pounding against her lips broke free.

“Is he dead?”

Loren’s arms tightened around her. “He dropped the staff when you stabbed him,” he murmured against her hair. “The shadows tore him to pieces. He’s dead. Serafina verified it.”

“Not you?” she asked.

Loren shook his head. “I went straight to you.” She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she felt the tension in his shoulders, the sick sensation of his fear through the bond. He’d thought she was dead. “Promise me you will never do anything like that again.”

Araya laughed weakly. “I hope I never have to.” She turned her face up, finding his lips with hers. “The staff? The others?”

“It’s ash,” he murmured against her lips. “Jaxon’s forces fled when he fell. The forest killed anyone who escaped Brynn’s fire. Our people are alive and well and safe. You did it, ael’sura.”

She slept again after that, drifting in dreams until Serafina came to check on her. The next time she opened her eyes, Caela was there, a wide smile on her face. Kai joined her eventually, bringing a portion of dinner for each of them to eat as they laughed and talked late into the night. Another time Brynn greeted her, filling the room with bright chatter as Naeva tried and failed to hide her smile.

There was another entity she expected to see. One she had about a hundred questions for. But despite the hours she spent drifting between sleep and wakefulness, the forest didn’t visit her dreams like she expected.

So she went to it.

Loren brought her one of Eloria’s old dresses, the fabric much finer than anything she’d worn before despite its simple style. He helped her lace it in the back, dropping warm kisses across her shoulders until Araya wasn’t sure they would make it out of the room.

But they did. And down the stairs and through the throne room—until they were standing on the edge of the wild garden. Araya slipped her boots off. Loren did the same, the moss soft under their bare feet, though the branches didn’t draw back for them to pass this time. Instead, they had to pick their way carefully through the overgrowth, the garden strangely silent without the slithering hiss of vines across the ground.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” she said when he paused at the edge of the trees.

Loren chuckled, squeezing her hand. “After coming this far?” he asked. “I’m not afraid anymore, ael’sura.”

It looked exactly as it had before. A soft carpet of green moss dotted with white flowers. The quiet babble of the brook and the ancient trees standing guard over all of it. There was no sign of where she’d torn the sword free of the ground. No hint that one of the most dangerous human mages of this age had been torn to shreds by dara’el here, his blood soaking the moss and the magic he’d stolen returning to its source.

“Hello?” Araya called out, stepping into the center of the clearing. “Are you here?”

Power brushed over her skin, magic lighting up every nerve ending. But instead of the desperate, pulling tug she’d felt every other time the forest touched her mind, all Araya felt now was a deep, contented peace.

“I don’t think it’s going to speak to me again,” she said.

Loren looked around them at the ancient trees. “It finished what it meant to do,” he said. “It killed the last Shaw. It’s up to us to handle the rest.”

Araya turned to face him. He was already looking at her, his green eyes soft in the dappled sunlight and his hand warm where it gripped hers.

“It’s not over,” she warned. “The Arcanum still exists, even if the Shaws don’t. We don’t have an army⁠—”

“You might be surprised.” Loren’s lips twitched, like there was a joke she was missing. “I certainly was.”

“Then we’re fighting?” She stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Even the bond was no help here, radiating nothing but his calm contentment. “You aren’t going to pack me off to Eluneth like some inconvenient weakness⁠—”

He laughed outright. “I wouldn’t dare,” he admitted. “I need you beside me, ael’sura. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize just how much. Whatever battles we fight now, we fight them together.”

Araya rose up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck as she pressed her lips to his. His hand rose to cup her face, the magic that flowed so strongly here settling around them both, like a held breath finally released. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face when she finally pulled away.

“Ready to go home?” she asked.