Page 10 of Tears for a Broken Sky
“They’ve been fighting for years. He was using a local slumlord to get around. With her gone, I’m not sure of the current situation.”
“Is she dead?” Adelaide asked. “This slumlord?”
I shook my head. “She bolted when we extracted Elira from her fighting pits.”
Syrena gaped. “Fighting pits?”
“There’s a lot you probably don’t know,” I said quietly.
Silence settled over the room—and not comfortably.
“And what of Vasquez?” asked Lord Therrin, clearing his throat. “There are rumours he commands more of the elite than the king himself.”
I gave a slow nod. “Vasquez is loyal—but not stupid. He runs the Sentinels and now most likely the Shades with an iron fist. He calculates. He breaks people the way others break horses—carefully, thoroughly. He moves with purpose.”
Adelaide cut in, voice clipped. “Is that what happened to your commander—Thorne?”
A sharp twist of pain lanced through me.
“Commander Thorne was a good man,” I said, flat and fast. “He died defending your princess and my brothers. And I won’t hear a bad word against him.”
The room stilled.
Adelaide blinked. Didn’t speak.
She didn’t need to—I saw what I needed in her face: doubt. Disdain.
Like she couldn’t reconcile the myth of the Shades with the broken truth of who we’d become.
Let her choke on it.
“I can speak for Phoenix,” Jasper said from his seat beside Syrena. His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “Thorne’s sacrifice at Varrowmere helped us escape. It deserves to be honoured—not questioned.”
I glanced at him—the tall, quiet brute who rarely wasted words—and gave a short nod.
Therrin leaned forward, his lip curling. “And does that excuse the wars the Shades waged under Ashton’s name? The blood they spilled on Virell soil?”
“We’ve all seen how power can be twisted,” Jasper replied, steady. “That doesn’t mean it corrupts everyone.”
Syrena cleared her throat. “Enough,” she said, clipped and final. “This isn’t the time for judgments.”
“What of Vael?” Adelaide asked.
“Vael still commands the eastern territories,” Jasper replied. “Our spies report he’s begun construction on a new temple at the base of Mount Brackenmoor in Duskfell—meant to honour the gods. He’s using the slaves he took from Varrowmere to build it. And there are whispers he’s entered talks with King Ivan of Iron Reach.”
Syrena’s eyes darkened at this admission.
“So we’re planning to fight this war on two fronts now?” Therrin snapped. “That’s suicide. We’ve survived this long by staying hidden—and now you want to announce our return to the world?”
“Vael has made his intentions clear,” Syrena said sharply. “He’s coming for Elira. Whether we invite war or not—it’s already begun. And I will not lose my daughter a second time.”
The words hit harder than she probably intended. For a breath, no one spoke.
I watched her—not the queen, but the mother beneath. The one who had carried Elira in her arms and then lost her to monsters. There was a tremor in her voice she couldn’t quite hide.
And gods help me, I understood it.
Then Therrin, quieter this time, said, “Speaking of the princess… when will we meet her, Your Majesty? I think I speak for all of us when I say—we’re curious what she can do.”
