Page 25 of The Bound Mage
“We couldn’t ignore Eloria,” he said more gently. “Thorne is there with her. She’s safe.”
The shadows grumbled, but the pressure around his ribs eased slightly.
He wound his way through the camp that crowded the city walls, pretending not to see the hollow-eyed children thatpeeked out at him from beneath the flaps of sagging tents. It reeked of desperation—the air thick with greasy smoke from guttering cook fires and the stench of rotting refuse. Too many people crammed into too little space, driven from their homes and reduced to beggars.
The sun finally broke through the mist as he neared the city gates, a pale shaft of warmth brushing his face. Eloria had weather workers pushing themselves around the clock to keep the city and the surrounding farmland clear of the choking haze—but even here, no one moved freely after dark.
Too many had disappeared after sunset, claimed by thezal’vorror the darkness itself.
Loren exhaled slowly, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He was tired. The kind of tired that sank its claws into you and didn’t let go. Last night had been long. Araya’s reckless flight, thezal’vorr, everything that had happened in the crypt...Goddess save him, she’d almost brought the whole thing down on top of them. And somehow, her answer to everything was to double down on her maddening insistence that sheneededthe man who had drained her and left her for dead on the floor.
Eloria was the last person he wanted to deal with after all that. But shewasthe regent, and he had no intention of taking that power back from her. The part of him that would have made a decent king had died back in his cell twenty years ago.
Loren bowed his head as he slipped through the gates. No one stopped him. With his hood pulled and the shadows tucked away, he was just another refugee, picking his way through the city with his head down and his shoulders hunched.
The streets inside the walls were no less grim than the camp outside. Dozens of fae stood in long lines that wound through the square, clutching dented metal bowls and empty sacks as they waited for their share of grain and root vegetables. Guardskept watch near the wagons, distributing the rations with painstaking precision. Everywhere he looked, Loren was met with hollow cheeks and listless eyes, children who should have run and played through the streets instead clinging silently to their mothers’ skirts.
How long before they ran out of food to feed them all? If he’d stayed in Eloria’s Small Council meeting he might have known the answer. Instead, all Loren had was the guilt that gnawed at his conscience, the shadows stirring uneasily beneath his cloak as he slunk through the square without notice and mounted the steps to the Central Hall.
Once, this place had been a gathering place for the fae who dedicated themselves to the Goddess, a sanctuary where voices had risen in song and prayer. Now, Eloria held court here, making the decisions that kept their people alive one day after another.
At this hour it should have thrummed with voices—officials and petitioners alike gathered to be heard. Instead, it stood empty, the hush that hung thick in the air all too similar to the oppressive silence he’d lived with beneath the Aetherium. Even the shadows shifted uneasily, pressing against the confines of his cloak.
Loren’s frown deepened, but he didn’t slow, setting a quick pace toward the chamber where Eloria held her Small Council meetings. Ruling a country was nothing but administrative work—endless meetings and decision-making. If she was anywhere, it would be there.
He was almost to the doors when two guards stepped into his path, blocking his way.
One of them—an older male with the sharp, assessing gaze of someone used to measuring threats—held up a hand. “There is no court today. The Central Hall is closed to visitors.”
“I’m not here for court,” Loren said. “I’m here to see Eloria.”
“We have orders not to let anyone through.” The younger guard arched a brow. “If you have a petition, you can present it when the Princess Regent next holds court.”
“I don’t have apetition.”Loren ground his teeth, his jaw aching. “She sent for me. Tell her I’m here. She’ll want to see me.”
The older guard’s face didn’t flicker. “Our orders are not to disturb her,” he said evenly. “Like I said, if you come back when court is in session?—”
The shadows stirred beneath his cloak, their hiss curling through his mind.This is taking too long. She needs us?—
“This can’t wait.” Loren sucked in a breath, trying to steady them—and himself. “If you just ask her?—”
The younger guard cut him off with a sharp laugh, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword as he stepped in close. “You think we’re running messages to the Princess Regent from every cloaked vagrant who wanders in? Back off before I?—”
Enough.
The shadows surged forward before he could stop them, spilling out from beneath his cloak and spreading across the floor like spilled ink. Both guards reeled back, steel singing as swords cleared scabbards. Aether hummed, the tang of magic flooding the air as they called on their power. But the shadows only laughed, rearing back in preparation to strike?—
Loren cursed under his breath and ripped his hood back, baring his face. Better they recognize him than die because he couldn’t keep a leash on his own power.
“There’s no need for that,” he said, the words aimed at the churning darkness as much as the guards themselves. “Just tell thePrincess Regentthat her brother is here to see her.”
The younger guard staggered back a full step, his sword clattering to the stone floor. The older one kept hold of his sword—barely—his jaw slackening as his disbelieving gaze slid from the furious shadows to Loren and back again.
“Your Majesty—” he dropped into a hasty bow, his knee striking stone hard enough to make Loren wince. “We didn’t know?—”
“No one knows,” Loren said. “And I’d like to keep it that way. I just need to speak to my sister—now. Please.”
The older guard exhaled sharply, straightening. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He turned on his heel, striding toward the doors of the Small Council chambers without quite meeting Loren’s eyes.
