Page 24 of The Crowned Queen

“Loren—” Nyra sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I love you, but sometimes you’re an idiot.”

She capped her flask, shoving it back into her belt.

“No one here is waiting for the fae monarchy to rush in and save them,” she said. “You didn’t dazzle them with your amazing shadow powers. They want revenge.”

“Revenge?” Loren echoed, staring at her.

“What—you think you have a monopoly on hating the Shaws?”

Nyra started walking again, ducking under a low-hanging support beam.

“Every fae down here has spent twenty-five years being ground under the heel of Garrick Shaw’s boot,” she continued. “You gave them a chance to hurt them back. That is why they volunteered.”

“But—” Loren quickened his pace, barely managing not to smack his head on the ceiling. They must be getting closer to the surface, the floor under their feet sloping steadily upward.

“No buts,” Nyra tossed back over her shoulder. “No one here is going to follow you because dara’el chose you. No offense meant—” she added hastily, casting a wary glance at the darkness around his feet. “But if you put the Shaws and every human like them in the ground? They’d follow you anywhere.”

They didn’t speak again after that. Loren ducked his head, hunching his shoulders to squeeze through a narrow spot. The shadows clung to his ankles, their silence as heavy as his own as he turned her words over in his head. But Nyra’s focus was on her map, her sharp eyes darting from the parchment to the wall, studying something only she could see.

“We’re here,” she said.

The tunnel opened up around them suddenly, widening into a shallow chamber. Eight fae waited along the edge—all female, their ears clipped and their skin scarred. Some had lost fingers, eyes—one had even lost her tongue, her hands flashing in sign as Nyra approached.

“They’re ready when you are,” Nyra translated.

Loren nodded, swallowing hard. He forced himself to meet each of their eyes, taking in their determined expressions, the weapons fashioned from kitchen knives and trash heap scraps. None of them were going to leave here alive.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice low. “This is a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”

He stepped back, glancing over to Nyra where she stood with her hand pressed against the wall. The little shadow fluttered against his skin as the bond pulsed in his chest, an aching pull that told him everything he needed to know. His mate was there—beyond that wall. And he was going to get her.

He nodded sharply. “Do it.”

Chapter

Eight

The next time Araya opened her eyes, she was alone in the bed.

She stared at the dark sky outside the window, her limbs heavy and her bare skin still raw against the sheets. But the fog that had dulled her thoughts was gone. Magic stirred faintly in her veins—still sluggish and unsteady, but stronger than before. And beneath it⁠—

The bond.

Araya’s throat tightened, her eyes filling with tears. It thrummed in her chest, exactly where it was supposed to be, as much a part of her as her own heartbeat. How many weeks had it been since she felt him?

Loren. She reached for him instinctively—fingers curling in the sheets as if she could grasp that thread and pull—but before she could reach him her magic fetched up against something. It loomed between them, as smooth as glass but as immovable as a stone wall.

Araya caught her breath, panic flaring. That wasn’t possible. The bond was part of her magic—her soul. She threw her mind against the barrier, battering it with her magic. There had to be a way through⁠—

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Araya flinched, her gaze snapping to where Jaxon sat in the chair by the bed, one leg crossed over the other and a book balanced loosely in his lap. She hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t even realized he was there.

“You aren’t going to be able to reach him.” Jaxon closed his book with a snap. “And I don’t want you taxing yourself while you’re recovering.”

Araya caught her breath, pressing a hand against her chest where they’d carved into her. Magic flared under her hand, the tingle of power promising pain for disobedience. That was her life now—beholden to whatever Jaxon Shaw ordered her to do.

“How long have I been asleep?” she demanded, dragging the blanket up over her naked chest.