Page 100 of The Bound Mage
“Let her go.” Araya forced herself to move forward, her magic rising again. Hale might kill her here—but she’d take him with her if she could.
But she’d only managed two steps before the smell hit her. Vanilla soap—sweet and cloying. The familiar scent coiled around her throat like a noose, the voice she heard in her nightmares wrapping around her with dark promise.
“Hello, Starling.”
Chapter
Forty-Two
Loren staredout over the sea, the spring breeze tugging at his coat, carrying with it the faint tang of salt and woodsmoke. A pulse of awareness reached him through the bond, the brush of Araya’s mind against his kindling a warm glow in his chest.
They’d made it to the temple. They were safe.
He didn’t grasp at her as she pulled back, her mind brushing against his in a last, lingering touch. They had both agreed. There was no room for distraction today—not with the New Dominion at their doorstep. But it still felt like he’d cut off a part of his own body to let her go, the bond stretched thin and tight between them.
But the further she was from here—from him—the safer she would be.
Far below, the first line of defense arrayed itself along the rocky beach—fae from every walk of life clutching makeshift weapons. Above them, archers spread out along the edge of the cliff, bows half-raised as they watched the horizon with unfaltering intensity, eyes glued to the five black-sailed ships that lingered just out of range.
“Shouldn’t there be six?” Eloria asked, pulling his attention.
She’d traded silk dresses and slippers for a padded tunic and breeches, topped with light, supple armor that allowed her to move freely without sacrificing protection. Her usual circlet was gone. In its place, her raven-black hair had been braided back and coiled into an intricate bun, tucked neatly beneath the helmet that protected her head and face.
“The scouts suspect it was lost in the crossing to what remains of the Veil,” Cormac answered. “We should strike now—push them back to sea before they ever get the chance to set foot on our soil.”
“They’ve been on our soil for centuries,” Loren said. “Did they find remnants of the ship? Debris? Survivors?”
Cormac scoffed.
“The Veil doesn’t leavesurvivors,Your Majesty,” he said, his voice clipped and already edged with disdain. “You’re wasting valuable time.”
“We don’t move without understanding why they’re stalling,” Loren snapped. The shadows around his boots rippled faintly, echoing his caution. “The ship might have been lost in the crossing—or it could be holding back. Waiting for something.”
“Or maybe they’re hoping we stand here debating while they take our weakest point,” Cormac snapped. He took a step closer, his voice rising. “Why areyoustalling, Your Majesty? Afraid to face them on the field after spending twenty-five years as their prisoner?”
“Cormac—” Eloria hissed, her voice sharp with warning.
But the damage was already done. Cormac’s words had carried, the nearest archers along the cliffside shifting and murmuring among themselves.
“They’re waiting because they know you’re no threat to them,” Cormac spat. “A broken prince and his halfblood queen. She ran the first chance she got. She’s an insult to your mother’s memory, Your Majesty.” He looked to Eloria, his face mottledwith rage. “It should have beenyou, Princess,” he said, his voice ringing out in the still morning air. “You’re the one who never abandoned your duty. Not once.”
The words echoed like a challenge—and for a moment, Loren could almost see it. The crown on her brow. The relief in the faces of the old guard. A future untouched by shadows or scandal. The Goddess knew,hewould have chosen her—but the fae didn’t choose their kings and queens.Dara’eldid. And that cold, ancient will had bound him to this crown long before anyone had ever guessed what threat the humans would pose to them. All he could do now was strive to be worthy of it.
And as for Araya—Loren’s jaw clenched.
“Speak of my queen like that again, Commander,” he said, his soft words carrying easily through the poised silence. “It will be the last insult to leave your lips.” The shadows hissed, a cool prickle racing up Loren’s spine as they rose along his back, spreading behind him like dark wings.
Cormac blanched, stepping back instinctively. The nearest archers stared openly now, their bows forgotten in slack hands as everyone held their breath—waiting to see if their new king was about to execute their commander. Only the blast of horns from the lookouts shattered the moment, their low, mournful cry echoing across the cliffs in a frantic call to arms.
The ships were moving.
Cormac turned without another word, shoulders stiff. He stalked down the slope toward his forces without looking back.
Eloria stared after him, hissing out a breath between her teeth. Half-formed illusions played at her fingertips, as restless as his own shadows.
“That was treason,” she said, fury barely leashed behind every word. “He’ll have to be removed from the Small Council—I know Thorne’s a Healer, but his father was commander at arms. At least he’d be loyal?—”
Loren just shook his head, his gaze fixed on the black sails billowing in the wind as the New Dominion’s ships edged ever closer. On the beach below, fae scrambled to ready their lines, the scrape of steel and shouted orders rising like a second wind behind the sound of the horns.
