Page 49 of The Bound Mage
“This isn’t how I like to remember it,” Loren said. “Before…I’ve only ever felt power like it in the Eldergreen at Tirnavel. The idea that both those places are lost to us now…” He sighed, not looking back as the jagged temple stones vanished behind them, swallowed once more by shadow and silence.
“Is it lost?” Araya asked after a moment. “Jaxon was stationed at Elvanfal for three years. There must besomethingin the forest they’re still trying to get to.”
“The fae were forced to abandon Tirnavel and the forest that surrounds it.” Loren glanced over at her, the ache in the bond mirroring his own as she watched him with sad eyes. “Whether the humans have truly taken it or not, it’s still lost to us,ael’sura.”
It wasmid-afternoon by the time they reached the first rough shelters outside Lumaria, the sunlight that filtered through the thin mist almost too bright after the constant dusk that blanketed Ithralis.
“Is that it?” Araya asked.
“This is the outer city,” Loren said, trying not to look too hard as they walked through the slums. “There isn’t room for everyone inside the walls. Eloria and her advisors have worked to make as much space as they can…but this island was never meant to house so many people.”
“I’ve never seen so many fae in one place,” Araya said, her voice laced with something close to wonder.
Loren looked at it again, trying to see it through her eyes. The outer city was abuzz with preparations for Bloomtide, even the most ragged of tents adorned with garlands of early spring flowers. Fae of all ages stood outside, talking and laughing despite the grimness of their circumstances. Children wove their way through the groups, racing between street performers with wide-eyed wonder.
Araya paused to watch an illusionist, her face bright with delight as a great ash tree unfurled from his hands, its bare branches blooming with radiant blossoms that spilled petals of gold and violet into the air before a pair of harts dashed throughthe scene, their spectral hooves leaving trails of light with every bound.
Loren watched her instead, her silver eyes reflecting the glow of magic as if she was seeing something from a dream. And maybe she was—she’d grown up with her magic restricted and stolen, twisted into a burden rather than a gift. But here she saw it as it should be—assheshould be—free and alive.
Loren swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away before he lost the battle with his heart completely. But his shadows didn’t have the same restraint. They reached out, curling over her skin as if they too had given up on pretending they could keep their distance.
“This is amazing.” Araya glanced back over her shoulder at him, the soft flicker of magic playing across a radiant smile that took his breath away.
“He’s very good,” Loren agreed.
They both watched a cascade of ribbons unravel from the male’s fingers, twisting into dancers who twirled in perfect time with the music that had started to drift through the streets. It was safer to watch the magic than her. If she looked at him now there was no way she wouldn’t see every feeling written on his face.
The dancers spun faster, ribbons flowing like petals caught in the wind. Then, with a final flick of the illusionist’s wrist, they dissolved—vanishing into the night like whispers of a dream.
The illusionist turned—and bowed low.
Loren almost didn’t react. He had seen performers bow countless times before. But when the male rose, his eyes were bright with tears.
“Your Majesty,” the male said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Welcome home.”
Loren’s heart dropped into his stomach as whispers spread out around them, the words echoing through the crowd that had gathered to watch the show.
His return might not be a secret any more, but he hadn’t exactly walked among the people. The news spread ahead of them like wildfire, and by the time they reached the gates throngs of people crowded the street ahead of them. Some even lifted their children high to see, their faces bright with desperate hope. The weight of it settled over him, as heavy as the crown he didn’t want.
“They love you,” Araya said as they reached the foot of the stairs leading up to the Central Hall.
Loren grimaced, offering her his arm. “It’s just the idea of me they love.”
Araya frowned, clearly prepared to argue, but he cut her off before she could.
“I do have one thing to ask of you while we’re here,” he said. “Don’t use your true name.”
Araya flinched back from his offered arm, her expression shuttering. “Because even a child could compel me?”
Loren winced. “I deserve all your anger,” he admitted. “What I did was…harsh. But please,ael’sura. It may look like everyone loves me, but I promise you there are those here who don’t.”
He’d fall to his knees and beg if it that’s what it took to sway her. The idea of someone using her true name to hurt her because of him—he’d burn this city to the ground before he let that happen.
“Does it even matter?” Araya demanded. “Plenty of people already know my true name. What are they supposed to call me if not that?”
“Theyshouldcall you by your title,” Loren said, frowning at her. “Even if they know your name, using it before you’ve freely given it to them isveryimpolite.”
Araya stared at him. “I’m a halfblood fae from the New Dominion,” she said. “I don’t have atitle.”
