Page 66 of The Bound Mage
Seven attempts. Ninety-three fae lost to the Veil, their bodies swallowed by the same shadows that had taken their king. Dozens more dead in the aftermath—lost to injuries of the mind that no Healer could treat. And the ones that survived…
They were never the same.
Some forgot their names. Some screamed at nothing. A few never spoke again.
So Eloria had abandoned Ithralis. Abandoned the temple and her father’s remains to the ever-growing darkness and officially moved her court to Lumaria.
Araya tapped her quill against the edge of the final casualty list. How could she possibly succeed where so many fae—fae who hadn’t spent the better part of their lives with their power bound—had failed?
The only thing she had that they didn’t…was Loren.
And she wasn’t sure she even had him.
Araya scowled, her gaze drifting to his empty chair. He’d been nothing more than a flicker at the edge of her vision since Thorne brought her back to Ithralis. He washerephysically, or the bond would have let her know—but he wasn’therewith her.
He hand tightened on the quill until it snapped between her fingers. Araya hissed a curse, tossing it aside and hastily blotting at the ink spreading across her notes with her sleeve.
Enough. She wasn’t going to sit here nursing her hurt feelings while Loren sulked and blamed her for things she couldn’t change. She was doing this for him—for his people—and he had the nerve to act likeshewas a traitor.
She shoved back from the table, her skirt catching at her legs as she stormed through the library doors. She didn’t need anyone to tell her where he was—not when the pull in her chest was like a compass, dragging her through the twisting halls and finally through the door and into the courtyard.
Loren stood at the center, his shirt tossed aside despite the chill. A practice blade flashed in his hand, shadows twisting and lashing around him as he cut through one brutal sequence after another.
Araya stopped short, the cold bite of sea air nipping at her suddenly burning cheeks. This close, she couldn’t help but seethe scars that marred his pale skin—a permanent reminder of the role she’d played in Jaxon’s treatment of him.
“What are you doing out here, Araya?” His blade lowered, but the ice in his voice cut just as deeply. “Aren’t you busy plotting your triumphant return to the man who drained you and left you for dead because youforgot your place.”
“Is that really what you think of me?” Magic flared in her blood, rising to answer her anger, but Araya shoved it back down. That was the last thing she needed right now. “That I’m crawling back to him because Iwantto go back to being his obedient little bond?”
Loren clenched his jaw, his green eyes burning into her. “I thing you’re still suppressing your magic,” he retorted, pacing a slow circle around her. “Have you even bothered working with Thorne on it?”
“Excuse me?” Araya stiffened, turning to keep him her line of sight. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing.”
“You think because you don’t see me that I’m not watching?” Loren snorted, shaking his head. “I can’t stay away from you, Araya. No matter how badly I want to. Here?—”
Araya jumped, barely avoiding getting hit in the shins as his practice sword clattered to the broken cobblestones at her feet.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she demanded.
“It’s a sword.” Loren watched her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Pick it up.”
“Why?” Araya hesitated, eyeing the blade at her feet. It was longer than her arm, the dulled edge still sharp enough to do damage. “Are you going to make me hold it to my own throat?”
Loren winced at that. “No compulsion,” he said. “I swear.”
Araya bent down, grunting as she hefted the sword. It was heavier than it looked, her arms and shoulders protesting immediately.
“Get it out of the dirt,” Loren ordered. “It’s a sword, not a plow—no, higher than that.”
Araya clenched her jaw, her arms trembling as she forced the blade up. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove here?—”
“Keep your stance open,” Loren interrupted her. He leaned across her, the warmth of his bare skin heating hers even through her dress. “Don’t lock your elbows. You’ll tire too quickly. Good.” He circled her again, watching with eagle-eyed intensity. “Why are you holding it like it’s as heavy as you are?"
“Itisheavy!” Araya grimaced, the leather-wrapped hilt biting into her palms as she shifted her stance to try and take some of the weight off her wrists. “I’ve never evenhelda sword before.”
Loren stopped pacing, staring at her incredulously. “Why not?”
“No one over half-fae is permitted to carry a weapon.” Araya dropped the sword to the ground again, scowling at him as she rolled out her wrists. “You can carry a knife—as long as the blade is shorter than your palm. Anything longer and it’s an act of rebellion.”
