Page 68 of A Court of Darkness and Dragons

His form unraveled into smoke, the crimson glow fading as though it had never been there. A shiver ran down my spine as the shadows fled, and in the blink of an eye, the torches on the walls flared back to life, flooding the chamber with light.

I turned in place, breathing hard. The room was no longer empty. The others were scattered around its edges—Ferrula crouched low with her blade raised, Jax pressed against a column as though he’d been preparing to strike, Naia clutching the stone wall with wide eyes, and Tae standing straight-backed, his gaze scanning calmly. Zander stood like a statue.

At the same time, they all looked toward me. Without a word, we jogged to the center of the room, the thud of boots echoing off the stone.

Ferrula was the first to speak, her tone unsettled. “What in Charrem’s name was that? I saw my sister. She begged me to come home, to leave this war behind. Then she turned on me, and I swear to the gods, if Narvea hadn’t been in my head⁠—”

“I saw my best friend,” Jax cut in, his fists clenching. “Or I thought I did. He told me I’d fail, just like before, that I’d get everyone killed. I nearly believed him.”

Naia shook her head. “Mine was a child. A little boy. He called me mother. I—” Her voice broke and she pressed her hand to her chest. “I didn’t even know what was real for a moment.”

I drew a steadying breath. “He came to me as my mother first. Then Veyna. Then himself. He tried to break me with lies. Tried to convince me her death was meaningless.” My throat tightened. “But he didn’t succeed.”

Ferrula spat onto the floor. “Coward’s tricks. That’s what it was.”

All eyes turned to Tae. He shrugged, expression unreadable. “I didn’t see anything.”

“What?” Naia’s head snapped toward him.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “No illusions. No tricks. Just the dark and then the light again.”

We stared at him, stunned into silence until Zander finally spoke, his voice low but certain. “It’s your mind magic.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Veralin couldn’t touch you. Your influence shields you. That must be why.”

Tae lifted a brow, trying for nonchalance, but I caught the flicker of pride in his gaze. “Guess that makes me useful after all.”

“More than useful,” Zander said grimly. “If his tricks can’t touch you, then maybe that’s the edge we need.”

Ferrula nodded once. “Then let’s use it.”

We exchanged glances, each of us still rattled, but steadier now that we knew we weren’t alone in what we’d faced. Zander looked to the stairs at the far end of the chamber, his hand flexing over the hilt of his sword.

“Let’s move,” he said.

Together, we started toward the steps that would take us up to the throne room. Every bootfall echoed, every breath seemed too loud, but none of us slowed. We had seen through Veralin’s illusions—and now we were coming for him.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

The stairs spiraled upward, the stone steps worn smooth with age, and every creak of leather, every scrape of boot, felt like it carried far too loud in the silence. My hand grazed the cold wall as we climbed, Kaelith’s presence in the back of my mind the only tether that kept me steady.

At the top, we pushed through a set of warped wooden doors and entered a vast chamber.

It wasn’t the throne room.

I halted, staring. The place had the hushed echo of something long abandoned, an old banquet hall, maybe, though it had been years since it had seen feasting or laughter. A long oak table ran the center of the room, cracked and bowed under its own weight, littered with cobwebs and the husks of candle stubs burned down to nothing. Rusted sconces lined the walls, holding torches that had long gone cold, their brackets crusted in black. Dust lay thick over everything, disturbed only by our steps. In the corners, torn tapestries sagged on their hooks, their designs so faded I couldn’t make out what kingdoms or victories they once celebrated.

The silence here was oppressive, broken only by the drip of water from somewhere above.

We moved cautiously through the room, each of us scanning the shadows as if something might leap out. My thoughts circled back to the illusions in the hall below and the disquieting question that gnawed at me—How much of what I’d seen before in this castle had ever been real? Veyna. Elara. Even the corridors themselves. Had Veralin spun his web around me long before I realized it?

“Zander,” I whispered, glancing at him. His jaw was set tight, his eyes sweeping the room with a soldier’s vigilance. “What did you see? Downstairs when the darkness came?”

He hesitated. I saw the flicker of pain across his face before he finally spoke, his voice rough. “My dead brother.”

The words sent a shiver through me. Guilt that my father had Zander’s brother assassinated.

“He told me his death was my fault. That Warriath would fall because of my weakness.” Zander’s gaze dropped, his shoulders heavy as if the memory weighed them down. His knuckles whitened where he gripped the hilt of his sword, and for a moment he looked nothing like the man who had led us here, who bore the weight of a crown he hadn’t asked for. He looked like a boy who had lost too much, too soon.