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Her already blurry vision spun—the room turning and the world around her toppling. Feet stumbling as she teetered to the side, Areanel groaned at the sudden movement that sent a jab of pain through her dislocated shoulder.

Bile crawled its way up her throat, stinging the back of her mouth. Nausea churned her stomach. Had the Soldazt used any blades? There was far too much blood to have just been punches and kicks. But her father wouldn’t allow that… would he?

Areanel didn’t know any more. She just wanted to leave. She wanted to sleep.

Sound and sight. Two senses she could not grasp in that moment. Her head felt like it was spinning underwater. She did not hear her father dismiss her, nor see the strike of his staff against the ground. She didn’t care anymore.

Moving to (what she hoped was) the back of the throne room, Areanel dragged her stumbling feet and pushed her aching body. Catching a sob in her throat, Areanel trapped it there so that she didn’t give her father the satisfaction of seeing her cry—because that is all Areanel wanted to do.

She needed to get out of there!

Her steps did not falter as she crossed the throne room. She didn’t stop until she came to the servant passage in the back corner of the vast hall.

Pushing open the door with her good shoulder, Areanel staggered into the servant tunnels and was enveloped by darkness as the door slammed shut behind her.

Chapter 26

Areanel

There was a repeated rocking sensation as something knocked against her back, slowly shoving her forward. The cool floor against her cheek felt sticky.

Areanel blinked open her dried, glazed eyes, mind groggy from sleep. What happened?

Dazed, her head spun at a maddingly fast pace, sending her thoughts spiralling. Somebody was speaking, but she couldn’t make out their words. Muffled.

Moving her hand, Areanel felt a sharp pain in her shoulder that had her yelling in agony.

‘Areanel!’ Someone was calling her, but as she peeled open her one good eye, she saw no one.

Taking stock of her surroundings, Areanel noted the large four-poster bed, the emerald chaise by the window, the familiar robe draped over the edge of the bed, and the curved blades returned to her nightstand.

Hadn’t she left them in…

The throne room. Her father’s punishment. The gruelling trek through the tunnels! Memories suddenly rushed back to her, and with them, so did the shooting pain in her body.

Weak. Vulnerable. Areanel had never wanted anyone to see her in such a state again—had promised herself that she would not be in that position again. Yet, there she had been, hobbling her way through the servant passages built into the palace mountain.

The palace aides who stumbled across her had taken one look at her bloodied and bruised state, then turned for the nearest exit, not daring to be on the receiving end of their king’s anger. Even her blue flame had betrayed her. Dormant. Out of reach. A vulnerability that could spread to the keen ears of lords if the servants were to gossip.

Areanel remembered clawing at the tunnel walls, the feeling of her nails chipping and dirt burying itself beneath them as she hauled herself to her rooms. It was one of the few moments Areanel was glad her children’s quarters were further down the hall, away from hers; they had been spared the sight of her in such a pitiful state. She had refused to stop even when exhaustion crept in fast. A sour, bitter, acidic and coppery taste had filled her mouth.

Had she vomited?

Her ribs screamed, and her body trembled. It reminded Areanel of the way her foot had dragged behind her at an odd angle, her dislocated shoulder useless, cradled against her chest. She was certain that she had left a trail of blood—but in the dark it would’ve been hard to see. When had her mind submerged itself in respite? Where was Rymedur? And why was her body rocking back and forth?

‘Areanel!’ The shout came again, and with it, another push against her aching back.

It was so loud.

Areanel groaned, flinching away, but the movement sent a jolt of electric pain ricocheting through her stiff joints. How long had she been lying there?

Rolling her head to the side, Areanel glanced up to see the murky outline of a figure standing half inside the room, looking like they were being squished by the door as they tried to slide inside.

The familiar, simple, dark uniform told Areanel that this was a palace aide, and the high-pitched tenor of their voice made them sound female.

Half slouched, half lying down against the door, Areanel was making it difficult for the aide to get in—but she eventually managed to slip inside, squeezing her way through the small slot. As she did, she pushed the door slightly, causing the already disoriented Areanel to slide further until she was once more lying flat.

A pained groan slipped from her. Lungs screaming for breath, Areanel tried to shuffle into a more comfortable position, but her tired body refused to cooperate.