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VEYKA
Pain lanced through me, hot and sizzling in every limb. More pain than I’d ever felt, all at once, everywhere.
Every bone in my body ached.
But I managed to crack open my eyes. As I peered out, familiar images filled my view. Gemstones glinted in the firelight. Goldstone sparkled, glittering orange-gold as fading sunlight spilled in from archways I couldn’t quite see, but knew were there nonetheless.
Then a familiar scent swept over me. Deep and heady, roses mixed with earth, spices foreign yet familiar after all these months.
Arran.
But it wasn’t him standing over me. The faces were unfamiliar, set in concentration. I tried to open my eyes further, tried to part my lips and speak. But no voice came. Those unfamiliar eyes drifted over me, just for a moment. Long enough to note my labored movements.
Arran. His name formed on my lips, but no sound came out.
He was close. If I could just see him for a moment…
But my body was being taken again. This time it was warm, gentle, like being eased into a bath. Not that terrible tearing of my soul and my self.
I tried to fight it… I reached for the ember of magic I’d felt inside of me… but it was quiet. Everything was quiet…
8
ARRAN
I could hardly see her. The bevvy of healers was a solid wall between me and my mate. Even my towering height failed me. Their bodies bent forward over her, their hands in constant motion as they mended.
Every bone in her body.
Or nearly so.
Memories stirred. Those dark, predawn hours after the Tower of Myda, when healers had stood over her exactly like this, trying to coax warmth and life back into her frigid organs, had been absolute torture. But this was worse.
To have had her safe and in my arms, clinging to my hand in that throne room, to be completed in a way I’d never known I needed… only to have her ripped away.
She is back. She is safe.
I repeated the mantra again and again, trying to hold my beast in check. Every urge inside of me demanded that I shift, that I chase away the healers standing over her and encircle her in the life-giving warmth of my fur.
But I wasn’t what she needed now. She needed those healers.
The bedroom pulsed with magic. A fire wielder used their delicate flame to shape wooden splints that would brace her fragile bones. A wind wielder used their masterful gift to move her body by fractions of inches, carefully coaxing the jagged edges of the bones within her body back into place.
I wanted to roar, to remind them that this was their queen. The High Queen of Annwyn. My mate.
But they didn’t need me any more than she did.
So I forced myself to stand on the balcony. Close enough to smell her comforting scent of plum and primrose, even beneath the layers of medicinal tinctures and the muck she was covered in. But far enough away that all I got were flashes of her pale skin and her bedraggled moon-white hair.
Of the Knights, only Cyara remained. Gwen and Lyrena guarded the door, their role as Goldstones clarified now that their queen had returned. Parys had disappeared—probably to the library—if only to avoid the rumors and whispers that were the currency of the Elemental Court.
Cyara was a silent, steady presence on the other side of the bed. She took away soiled, bloody cloths and returned with fresh ones and steaming bowls of clean water, heated with her own flame. She held out her hands and received the shredded layers of Veyka’s gown as the healers cut it off of her. Her Joining gown, that glorious iridescent silver confection of rainbows and light, now in tatters fit for nothing but being tossed into the hearth.
It wasn’t a good omen.
The beast in my chest growled, low and demanding.
It was taking too long.
