Page 8 of Crowned By the Shadow
Fenvalur took a step toward us, tall and imposing in his pristine robes, which combined the colors of the healers with those of the mages. His silver hair was pulled back in its usual severe style, not a strand out of place. Those pale eyes, the color of the winter sky, fixed on me with clinical interest. An interest I’d seen too many times before and one I associated with pain.
“Senara. How unexpected.” His gaze flicked to Thorn. “And with a Sun Court warrior, no less. Fascinating.”
My throat closed. Every instinct screamed to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. Memories flooded back, being strapped to tables, needles drawing my blood, magic forced from my body until I collapsed from exhaustion. It was all there at the forefront of my mind once more. Memories of everything he’d put me through came flooding back.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Fenvalur continued, taking a step toward us. “Though I must admit, I’ve been eager to continue our work. Your mark has grown, hasn’t it? The power manifesting in ways I predicted.”
Thorn moved protectively in front of me, his hand going to the concealed knife at his waist.
“Stay back,” he growled.
Fenvalur’s mouth curved into a thin smile. “Protective, isn’t he? I wonder what would happen if I?—”
He raised his hand, and I flinched, expecting pain.
Instead, Thorn lunged forward, throwing a vicious punch, but his hand passed straight through Fenvalur’s face.
The fae’s form wavered, rippling like water disturbed by a stone, then solidified again. The smile remained fixed, unnatural.
“An illusion,” I breathed, relief washing through me. “It’s not real.”
As if hearing my words, the false Fenvalur flickered again, its features becoming more rigid, movements jerky like a puppet with tangled strings.
“What are you doing here?” it demanded again, voice distorted. “What are you doing here?”
“Quick, this probably alerted him to an intruder or something,” I said to Thorn. “His private study is at the back of the room.” With a deep breath, I stepped through the illusion of Fenvalur and continued on into the main room.
I froze as my eyes were involuntarily drawn upward against to the glass containers suspended from the ceiling. Prison cells for his “special subjects.” Transparent chambers hung like grotesque chandeliers, each one just large enough to hold a single person or creature. Some of them were completely clear, some had a solid base, some had runes and other magical symbols I didn’t understand orbiting them.
The memory hit me with physical force: the suffocating confinement, the walls closing in, the helplessness as he observed me for days at a time.
“Senara?” Thorn’s voice seemed distant through the roaring in my ears.
My lungs constricted. I could almost feel the cold glass against my palms, the burning in my chest as the air thinned. Three days he’d left me hanging there once, studying how my mark responded to oxygen deprivation.
A warm hand closed around mine. “You’re shaking.”
I jerked away, wrapping my arms around myself. “We need to find the Mirror.”
Thorn stepped closer, his brow pinched with concern. Through our bond, I felt his question, his worry washing over me like gentle waves. The connection between us pulsed with his desire to understand, to help carry whatever burden made me stare at those glass prisons with such raw fear.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“I can feel your pain,” he whispered. “Whatever happened here?—”
“We don’t have time for this.” My voice came out harsher than intended. I moved deeper into the room, deliberately keeping my gaze fixed on the shelves lining the walls, the ancient texts, anything but the ceiling. “The Mirror would be somewhere protected, somewhere he could study it without interruption.”
Thorn didn’t follow immediately. I felt his frustration and hurt ripple through our bond, but I couldn’t bring myself to look back. Couldn’t bring myself to explain how Fenvalur had used me like a laboratory specimen, testing the limits of my endurance, my magic, my sanity.
Some memories were too raw to share, even with him.
“There,” I said, pointing to an ornate cabinet tucked into an alcove. “That’s where he keeps his most valuable artifacts.”
I moved toward the back of the room, but something caught my eye. On Fenvalur’s main desk there was a sketched image of me as a child.
The desk itself was a massive piece of dark wood positioned beneath a massive and intricate orrery that tracked not just planets but magical alignments. Tiny crystalline spheres orbited around a central golden sun, each one emitting a faint glow that cast eerie shadows across the scattered papers below.
“Wait,” I said, laying a hand on Thorn’s arm as he headed for where I’d said the entrance to the private study was. “Look at this.”
