Page 23 of Tears for a Broken Sky
“And you didn’t stop them?” I asked, the words escaping before I could help it.
“We should have,” she admitted. “But it was easy to turn the other cheek. To let them have… certain allowances. Because it meant we were protected—from King Ivan, from the other threats pressing in. Ashton and Vael became our stewards of Blackspire after Arrowheart died. But like father, like sons.”
Her voice turned hollow.
“That castle once belonged to our family. A seat we entrusted to them.” She shook her head. “Before our fall from power, Varrowmere had been the crown of Virell’s ambition.
Magic and machinery, woven together like thread—elevators, warded trains, towers that whispered with fresh, filtered air.
Now it is a haunted skeleton of what it once was. Because of Arrowheart’s betrayal.”
Syrena exhaled slowly and turned her eyes to the glittering stretch of sea beyond the cliffs. The reflection of the ballroom lights shimmered like stars on the water.
“That night,” she whispered, “it was…”
“What?”
She closed her eyes.
“The worst night of my life,” she said, voice unsteady. “And I remember every second of it.”
I waited, letting the silence breathe.
“We were sleeping after the summit. We had let them in the walls. We had given them lodging. We thought we were safe.” Syrena said. “It was the fire that woke us. It was lit in our chambers. The maids woke us and got us out, not realising it was a distraction to pull us from the safety of our room. The soldiers… Vael’s soldiers… they were hiding in the shadows. The irony of that is not lost on me, by the way.” Her voice dropped lower.
“They attacked without warning. It was a bloodbath. And by the end of the night, most of our guard—and Alistair—were dead.”
She finally looked at me.
“And you were gone.”
I stared at her for a long moment, the words heavy in my chest before I could speak.
“You didn’t look for me?” I asked, quiet but steady.
“I did,” she said. “But we were crippled. Our ships were burned. Our soldiers slaughtered. And Ashton had the magicborn on his side. It was all we could do just to survive.”
I nodded once. Cold. Sharp.
“So you hid.”
My voice was even. Controlled.
But she flinched anyway.
“I can’t tell you I’m sorry, can I?” Syrena asked, her voice low. Tired. “Would it make a difference?”
“It’s too late for sorry,” I said, looking away. “It wouldn’t change anything.”
She was silent for a moment. Then—softly:
“I sent knights to look for you. Jasper. Lacey. Others, too. We searched for months. Years. I hoped you were alive. I prayed you were. But no one could find you. It was like you’d vanished. Like you were a ghost.”
She swallowed, voice cracking just slightly.
“And I… I mourned you.”
Something cracked in me.
