Page 41 of Sundered By Fate

He gathered the shadows and flames into a swirling vortex above his head, then unleashed them with a roar. The chamber erupted in brilliance as the magics exploded outward in a storm of golden embers and tendrils of darkness that lashed out like serpents.

Aric held it for a moment longer before letting it dissipate. The chamber fell into stunned silence once more.

Aric's chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. He felt drained by the effort—but exhilarated, too. This was what his magic was meant for; this was why he had endured so much.

And yet, somewhere in the deepest reaches of his heart, Aric felt the absence of a presence he had grown so accustomed to beside him. One whose praise he still craved.

"It seems we have a decision to make," Valerian said, steepling his fingers as he surveyed the chamber. "Aric Solarian has demonstrated both his potential value and his continued allegiance to our cause. But the matter of his magic remains—how best to harness it, without compromising our safety."

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd; Aric heard it in the soft rustle of fabric and the shifting of feet.

"I propose a compromise," Valerian continued, his voice calm and measured. "We will allow Aric Solarian to remain free within the city of Astaria, provided he puts his magic and abilities in service of defending the crown."

Aric's heart stuttered in his chest. He had expected punishment or exile—anything but this.

"But only under strict supervision," Valerian added. "To ensure that there are no . . . unintended consequences."

Cyrus's face turned an alarming shade of purple as he sputtered with fury. "You cannot possibly mean to let him go free! He is a danger—to all of us!"

"The Pureblade Order would do well to remember its place," Valerian said sharply, "and recall that my authority as Lord Regent supersedes your own." He looked towards Aric, unreadable. "Are we understood?"

Cyrus clenched his jaw but offered a grudging nod of assent.

Valerian turned back to the chamber at large. "Then it is decided. You are hereby granted provisional freedom within Astaria, Aric Solarian." He paused, and Aric could swear there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes as they met Aric's own. "May you make good use of it."

The assembly erupted into a flurry of protests and furious demands for retribution from the Pureblades. Olaya turned back to face them with satisfaction radiating off her in waves; Ruta exhaled heavily with relief.

Aric forced himself to move—stiffly, carefully, like an automaton—and bowed towards Valerian before making his way back towards Olaya's side.

Aric blinked, the tribunal chamber a blurry haze around him. He felt the press of congratulatory hands on his shoulders, heard Olaya's voice as though from a great distance.

"Well done, Aric. Your testimony was powerful."

Davin's hand closed over his own, thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. "I'm proud of you, Aric. You faced them down."

Aric tried to smile but wasn't sure he succeeded. His mind was still spinning, struggling to process the surreal turn ofevents. He felt Ruta's arm loop through his, her steady presence grounding him.

"You did it, Aric." Her voice was a low rumble in his ear. "You showed them what you're capable of."

Aric nodded numbly. He should feel relief, gratitude—something other than the aching emptiness hollowing him out from the inside. But all he could think about was the absence where Malekith's presence had once been. Even in captivity, with miles and dimensions separating them, he had always felt Malekith's dark warmth at the edges of his consciousness.

Now that warmth was gone.

A fresh wave of grief threatened to topple him over; he stumbled slightly, but Ruta held firm. Aric drew a shaky breath and forced himself to stand taller. No time for self-pity now. There were battles yet to come—within himself as well as against the demons—and he could not afford to be weak.

As Aric turned to leave the chamber, movement in the shadows caught his eye. He froze, heart pounding, as he glimpsed a familiar silhouette.

Sylthris.

She was there one moment, then gone the next, slipping out of the hall with a grace that was almost inhuman. Aric's blood ran cold.

What was she doing here? How had she gotten into the palace?

Questions swirled in his mind, each one more alarming than the last. He thought of their last encounter in the demon realm—her veiled threats, her unsettling knowledge of his past.

Before he could move, she was gone, leaving only a lingering sense of danger in her wake. Aric's hand twitched toward his sigil, but he forced it down.

The shadow in the court . . .

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