Page 38 of The Crowned Queen

“What do you need?” Loren asked.

Serafina frowned at him. “I don’t need anything,” she said. “Finn is worried about you.”

Loren huffed out a humorless laugh. “You mean he’s worried I’m going to lose control,” he said bitterly. “That I’ll do something stupid—like he wouldn’t go charging after you if you’d been the one taken.”

“I spent months in Arcanum custody after you escaped with Araya.”

Loren flinched. He’d known that—Goddess, was he stupid as well as helpless now?

“I’m sorry.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “I know you risked everything to get her out. I was supposed to protect her. And now…” he trailed off, his throat thick. “Everything is worse than it was before, isn’t it?”

“It’s not hopeless.” The wind tore at Serafina’s hair, tugging pale strands from her braid. She didn’t look away from him. “Hard. Dangerous. But not hopeless.”

“I can’t control my own shadows.” Loren stared out at the dark sea, the cold spray stinging his eyes. “Maerin thinks I’m distracted—she wants me to block my bond with Araya to focus on what she thinks matters more. How is that not hopeless?”

“Well...” Serafina bit her lip, considering. “It might not be a bad idea, Loren. If it helps you control the shadows⁠—”

“It’s an abomination,” Loren said flatly. “She’ll think I abandoned her. What kind of damage will that do to our bond?”

“It’s temporary,” Serafina said. “What kind of damage do you think they’ll do to her if we don’t get her out? If blocking the bond helps you fight more effectively it’s not something we can just dismiss out of hand. We need to take whatever advantages we can find⁠—”

A shrill alarm split the night, cutting Serafina off mid-sentence. Loren surged to his feet, the shadows rising around him as he spun to look back at the city. Shouts rose into the night air, the screaming alarm cutting off as suddenly as it had started. Silenced.

“What is it?” Serafina asked, her face white.

“I don’t know.” Loren’s fingers twitched, reaching for the sword he hadn’t brought. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“It’s a raid,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Loren jumped, the shadows rearing back like snakes as the stranger materialized from the darkness at the edge of the beach. She thrust her hood back, revealing the tightly braided black hair and sharp features of Maerin’s second in command.

“Raelle.” Serafina breathed a sigh of relief. “What is happening?”

“Nothing good,” the hard-faced female said, her voice as grim as her expression. She tossed a swath of black fabric at them. “Put these on. You have to get out of the open.”

Loren shook the black cloak out, throwing it around his shoulders. “We have to get back to the safehouse,” he said. “We have people there.”

“Can’t.” Raelle shook her head sharply. “Already compromised.”

Serafina sucked in a breath. “Finn is there.”

Raelle cast her a sympathetic look, but her voice was still hard. “You can’t get in. And you shouldn’t want to. Neither one of you will do your friends any good if you’re captured.”

Chapter

Thirteen

Cold fingers felt along Araya’s throat, sliding over her skin. They’d given her something sweet and syrupy that made her head feel like it was full of cotton. She hadn’t wanted to drink it, but Jaxon had ordered her to. He leaned against the bars, watching with the sharp focus of a predator as the healer finished his examination.

“The tongue laceration was deep,” the healer said finally, releasing her. “I put in eight stitches.”

Araya blinked up at him. He was older than Serafina—but there weren’t that many healers. She wondered if they knew each other, even in passing. What had he thought when the Arcanum had arrested one of his fellow healers? How much pain had Serafina endured at a black site just like this?

“She’s underweight and magically depleted—but I’m sure you already knew that.” The healer’s gaze slid over her, disinterested. “It’s not really my place to advise on this, but fae always have an easier time healing with access to more of their power.”

“You’re right.” Jaxon crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not your place. What else?”

The healer shrugged, moving on without argument. “She’ll be woozy from the poppy syrup,” he said. “She’s likely to sleep a lot. Don’t be alarmed if she’s difficult to rouse.”