Chapter 55 THE WAITING
The changes in Athalia came quietly.
She ate less but walked farther. Her color returned. Her steps grew steady.
“You look better,” Lira said one morning, adjusting Athalia’s shawl.
“I feel better,” Athalia replied.
Selene watched from the corner, saying nothing.
At night, the nightmares stopped. When the child moved, it no longer drained Athalia, it settled, and soothed.
One evening, Athalia studied Selene over her cup. “It seems you didn’t expect this.”
Selene lifted her gaze. “Why do you say that?”
“You watch me like you’re waiting for me to break.”
Selene said nothing. After a long silence, Athalia spoke.
“I don’t feel like something is taken from me anymore,” Athalia continued. “It feels like it’s… sharing.”
Selene’s fingers tightened.
“What do you mean by sharing?”
Athalia frowned. “I don’t know. Something is draining but making me stronger.”
Selene’s thoughts raced. She took a book of magic.
“Sharing meant balance. Balance meant a master.” She read
Far from the tower, a man with yellow eyes paused at the edge of the forest and looked up at the stone walls.
He smiled.
And somewhere deep inside Athalia, the child stirred again this time, in greeting.
“Sharing? Or is it…?”
The thought struck Selene so sharply that she stopped walking.
She banished it at once, forcing her breath to steady as she resumed her slow pace along the corridor. Stone walls rose on either side, cold and familiar, yet tonight they felt closer, as if listening. She would not entertain that idea and could not afford to.
Behind her, Athalia’s voice drifted softly from the balcony chamber.
“What do you think is the cause?”
Selene paused at the doorway and turned. Athalia stood bathed in fading sunset, one hand resting easily on her stomach, the other gripping the stone rail. Her face was calm for a woman carrying a child that had shaken the earth itself.
“I really don’t know,” Selene replied evenly. “No matter how hard I guess.”
Athalia smiled faintly, not convinced but not pressing. That alone unsettled Selene more than accusation ever could.
That night, when the tower slept and only the guards’ footsteps marked time below, Selene locked herself into her chamber. She lit no candles. Instead, she knelt and drew the globe from its velvet wrapping.
The crystal was smooth and cool beneath her palms.
“Just observe,” she whispered, more to herself than the artifact. “No provocation.”
She breathed once and pressed her will gently against it.
But nothing happened.
The globe glimmered faintly, dim as a dying ember. But there was no surge and no resistance. No pull toward the Queen’s chambers where the child lay.
Selene’s fingers trembled.
Before, the globe had answered instantly with a heat, vibration, a living response that tugged at her bones. Now it was inert, as though the connection had been severed or replaced.
She lowered it slowly.
“This wasn’t the agreement,” she murmured.
What was growing inside Athalia was no longer dependent. It was anchored.
The following morning passed without incident, and that, too, felt wrong.
The forest remained quiet. The volcano scarred the horizon but did not move again. Yet the air around the tower carried a pressure Selene felt even in her sleep, as if the land itself were holding its breath.
One evening, Athalia stood on the balcony, hair loose, posture relaxed in a way Selene had not seen in months.
“Whatever this child is,” Athalia said quietly, “it’s not against me.”
Selene turned sharply. “You don’t know that.”
Athalia faced her fully, eyes steady. “Do you?”
The question struck deeper than Selene expected. For the first time since the pact was spoken and sealed in blood and ash, Selene did not know who was shaping the outcome.
Far beneath the earth, far from the reach of human sound, the warden waited.
He did not pace and did not command.
He listened.
Around him stood others like him in shapes cooled into the likeness of men, eyes glowing faintly with molten light. They waited not to attack, not to interfere, but to ensure that what had been awakened would not be easily controlled.
Around the tower, the army of Arrandelle waited too.
They formed a wide ring, tents pitched at deliberate distances and banners were lowered. Fires burned small but to an outsider, it looked like any guarded structure of value. But they spoke only among themselves and answered to one leader.
The leader of Arrandelles army, Captain Caleb walked the perimeter every morning, boots sinking slightly into softened earth. He knew the rhythm of the camp, the sound of each man’s step, yet this assignment unsettled him.
No soldier was allowed beyond the outer grounds. Supplies went in but no one came out unless escorted. Physicians, servants, messengers but never the Queen.
Caleb stopped near the eastern edge and turned to Lieutenant Hale.
“Have you heard anything?”
Hale shook his head. “Some say she’s ill. Some say we’ll be here for months.”
“And you?”
Hale hesitated. “I think we’re guarding the Royal heir. That’s what matters.”
Caleb exhaled slowly. “That’s true.”
Inside the tower, Athalia sat by the window, hands folded over her belly. Light revealed the hollows in her cheeks, the strange strength beneath her frailty.
“You must eat,” Lira urged gently.
“I am full.”
“It’s not enough.”
Athalia’s fingers tightened. “I’m strong enough.”
From the shadows, Selene watched, her calm a mask. She was no longer certain she understood what she had helped bring into existence.
“Still hearing them?” Selene asked.
“Yes,” Athalia replied. “But farther now. Marching. Sometimes I see through them like I’m there.”
A chill slid down Selene’s spine.
Soon, the horns sounded.
The forest road parted and King Adrian rode into view, armor scarred, victory heavy on his shoulders. He dismounted at once, eyes already lifted to the tower.
“Is she in?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Athalia met him at the chamber door.
“You’ve returned.”
“I said I would.”
“You don’t look well.”
“I survived.”
He held her, felt the strength beneath her frailty, and frowned.
“Is it time?”
“No.”
Relief flickered across his face.
That night, the wind shifted and animals fell silent.
Athalia screamed.
The child moved violently, heat rippling through the air. The ground trembled but not enough to panic the camp, but enough to wake it.
“What was that?” Hale asked.
From the tower came a low sound, resonant and deep.
Athalia rose from the bed, as if lifted, not standing. Adrian lunged for her and was thrown aside, unconscious.
Selene stared in horror.
“This isn’t possible.”
Athalia’s eyes burned with unfamiliar light.
“Come, Father,” she whispered.
The walls shook.
Far away, the warden rose into the air.
“Come, my son?”
The stones cracked.
Athalia drifted toward the window.
Outside, soldiers drew weapons that would not save them.
The warden smiled as he saw the tower from a great distance.
“Come to me, son?” he echoed.
And the child answered hard enough to shatter glass.
The tower began to fall.