Page 85 of Essence of the Throne

“No,” she insists, her hands twitching in my direction before she folds them in front of her. “But you must be close, so there are things you need to know before you go back.” Go back?

Her silver hair cascades over her shoulders like liquid essence, a soft glow emanating from the strands. She’s draped in a flowing gown that clings to her body as if it was made for her, highlighting every little detail. It somehow seems appropriate, though. Her eyes—sharp and unwavering—hold the same quiet strength I remember, though concern lingers in their depths. There’s an aura about her that seems ethereal in nature, but not overwhelming or wrong.

The meadow hums faintly beneath my feet, the sensation subtle but rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Silver flowers shift around us, their petals almost luminous, though no breeze stirs the air. At the edge of the clearing, the trees loom tall and imposing, their branches curling inward as though they’re watching—silent sentinels framing this impossible moment.

I take her in, memorizing the details—the faint crease in her brow, the way her lips press together, hesitant, as though she’s weighing every word before she speaks. She looks…alive. More vivid and real than anything I’ve experienced outside of this place.

I can’t stop staring at her. This is surreal—I must be dreaming. Hallucinating, at the very least. I believe her, as my body doesn’t feel dead, but it’s certainly been fucked up enough for this to happen.

“First,” she starts, and my head snaps up to her tender eyes. She steps forward, grasping both of my hands in hers. I let her. “I am so incredibly proud of you, Ariella. You’ve grown into a beautiful, strong woman—I’ve wished each day that I could be there with you and watch you become exactly who you were meant to be.”

I scoff. “A monster?” Something akin to what I think shame feels like burns in my chest for the first time in my life. “A killer? That’s who I’m meant to be?”

Her gaze softens further, and she leans in, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “No, my love. Your strength, your skills—they are a reflection of the life you’ve endured, of the battles you’ve fought to survive. They were born from necessity, shaped by a realm that demanded them of you. But they are not who you are. You areso much morethan the sum of what you’ve done to survive.”

She tilts her chin down so that our gazes are level, cupping my face. “You are exactly who you need to be; how you were forced to get here does not make you less worthy of the woman you’ve become.”

I—

I do not know what to say, let alone eventhink.

Her smile turns knowing, squeezing parts of my chest I never wanted to acknowledge again. “The realm needs you, Ariella. The Accord is dying—it is your duty to retrieve the artifacts and forge a new one before it's too late.”

“How? I don’t even know where to find the artifacts. Where do I even take them? The Aether?”

She nods once. “Trust your instincts. The artifacts are not pre-designated objects, but instead ones that hold strong sentiment to you alone. Their essence will leave a mark on your realm so unyielding that the Accord will be able to use them in binding both realms together.” Her form starts to fade, her brows creasing as she realizes. "Only you can determine what they are from these words: what was stolen, yet always yours. What was broken, yet gave life once more. What was lost, yet grief still unites. Half binds all."

I blink, but she continues. “You’re stronger than you know, Ariella. You must hurry.” She’s barely a flicker of light now—or is it me that’s fading?

“Wait!” I reach for her, my hand grasping air with a desperation I cannot describe. “What happens if we fail? What—”

“Chaos,” she whispers as everything goes black. “All will fall to chaos…”

I startle awake, lurching forward from the abhorrent smell being held under my nose. I gag, which forces more blood up, but I’m too dizzy to do more than let it drain itself from my mouth. My back slams into the chair as one of the guards shoves at my head—the foolish idiot is lucky I’m still strapped to this fucking thing.

I’d bet he wouldn’t be so confident if I wasn’t.

“Tomorrow, we begin,” Thalion announces, his boots scraping against stone as he paces before me. “I am merciful, so you may rest for the night. After all, it wouldn’t do to have you too damaged before we start.”

My throat burns as I try to swallow around what must be swelling. My restraints make a mockery of me as I force myself to remain still, watching him through one good eye. The other pulsates uncomfortably, and I’m uncertain if it will still work if not healed soon.

The king smirks as he studies my battered form. “It really is quite fascinating how much pain you can endure. I am almost impressed. I look forward to seeing just how much essence you can handle before your mind fractures.” His footsteps echo against the walls as he leaves, taking his sentries with him. Thank fuck.

I wait until their steps fade before allowing my head to fall back. Shit, everything hurts. My ribs protest with each breath, and I’m certain at least three are broken—though I know that’s a generous estimate. Blood continues to seep from various wounds, but the flow is sluggish now. Given just how tired I feel, I’m guessing I lost more than I noticed.

Slowing my breaths to a more calm rhythm, my mother’s words echo in my head. That wasn’t a dream—it felt too real. Visceral. I’d left my body for Angel knows how long and was somehow taken to her. Where is she?

But the warmth of her embrace, the softness of her voice…I can still feel traces of her essence lingering on my skin. My working eye burns, but I blink the tears away. Now is not the time to reminisce on our memories or process whatever the fuck just happened.

Back to square one then, but with shifted objectives. Kill the king. Find the artifacts. Fix the Accord.

I’ll think about my mother later. Right now, I need to get the fuck out of here. If that fraud of a king so much as touches Caspian, the realm will pay the price of my rage.

I direct my awareness past the injuries, looking for anything I can use. Essence pulses weakly under my skin, fighting through the drug that’s still in my system. I focus inward, aiding it as I coax the essence to the surface. The connection is still foggy, making it feel like I’m wading through mud, but I can sense my strands responding. Their desperation to save us.

I grit my teeth against the pain and pull harder on my essence—I am stronger than anything that man could do to me. It senses my urgency and moves faster, pushing away the toxin. Leaving the essence to figure out the rest, I work on the metal restraints. They’re tight, attached to the chair, but not impossible to break. I brace my ankles, using their cuffs as supports, before shifting all my focus, strength, and energy into my right arm. A small sound escapes my lips at the effort, but I can feel the slightest give to the metal. If I can just—there. A small crack appears along the cuff.

I can do this.

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