Chapter 11 Kael Pov
The air in the foyer was a chaotic symphony of violence and static. My skin prickled with the ozone of witch magic sharp, floral, and dangerous colliding with the heavy, musky scent of vampire speed.
I stood at the center of the storm, my hands raised but palms open, trying to project a calm I didn't entirely feel. Across the threshold of my stronghold, a group of warlocks and witches were gathered, their faces lit by the purple and gold flares of their own power. At the front, looking more like a vengeful spirit than a friend, was Julian.
“Where is she?” Julian shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and fury. A halo of silver sparks danced around his head, a sign that his control was fraying. “We know what you are, Kael. We know you lured her here to keep her as a trophy!”
“She is my wife,” I said, my voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency that usually compelled obedience. “She is here by her own choice, Julian. And she is safe.”
“Liar!” another warlock cried, and a bolt of kinetic energy slammed into the invisible barrier Pierce had erected. The air shivered, the sound like a hammer hitting an anvil.
I felt the hunger in my blood stir—a dark, ancient reflex to strike back, to show these interlopers why the name Draven had been feared for centuries. But I suppressed it. If I shed witch blood tonight, Aria would never forgive me. And the peace she had sacrificed everything for would be nothing more than a footnote in a history of slaughter.
“Pierce, stand down,” I commanded.
“They’re attacking the gate, Kael,” Pierce growled, his eyes glowing a deep, predatory amber. “If that barrier falls, they’ll tear this wing apart.”
“I said stand down.”
I stepped forward, crossing the line of the barrier. I was standing in the open now, a clear target for any spell they cared to throw. I saw Julian’s eyes widen. He raised his hand, the silver magic coiling like a snake around his wrist, ready to strike.
“Aria!” I called out, my voice carrying over the din. “Aria, they need to hear it from you!”
A movement at the top of the grand staircase caught everyone’s attention. Aria was there, her dark curls wild and her face set in a mask of cold, regal determination. She wasn't wearing the ceremonial gown anymore; she was back in her simple travel dress, looking like the bridge she claimed to be.
“Julian! Stop!” she screamed.
The silver magic in Julian’s hand flickered and died. He stared up at her, his jaw dropping. “Aria? You’re… you’re okay?”
“I’m more than okay,” she said, descending the stairs with a grace that made my heart ache. She didn't stop until she was standing right beside me. She didn't hesitate to reach out and take my hand, her fingers interlacing with mine in a public show of unity that silenced the courtyard. “I didn't send any distress signal. Whatever you felt, whatever you saw, it wasn't from me.”
“But the threads…” Julian stammered, looking at his own hands. “They were screaming. I felt your fear, Aria. I felt you being crushed.”
Aria looked at me, and I saw the shadow of the mirror’s vision in her eyes. She knew. She understood that Julian hadn't been acting on his own. He had been a puppet, his unique connection to the spirit world used as a frequency to broadcast a lie.
“It was a trick, Julian,” Aria said, her voice softening. “Someone used your gift against us. They wanted you to come here. They wanted this fight.”
The tension in the air didn't vanish, but it shifted. The warlocks lowered their hands. The purple flares dimmed. But as the external threat faded, I felt a new, more terrifying sensation.
A coldness was blooming in my chest.
It wasn't the cold of the night or the chill of a ghost. It was heavy. Dense. It felt like my very ribs were being replaced by lead. I looked down at my hand the one Aria was holding and saw a faint, grey discoloration creeping beneath my fingernails.
Petrification.
The mirror’s vision was coming true. The surge of power I’d used to maintain the peace, to hold back the vampires and talk down the witches, had acted like a catalyst. I was feeding the curse with my own authority.
“Kael?” Aria whispered, her grip tightening. She had felt it. The unnatural stillness of my skin.
“I’m fine,” I lied, though the word felt like a stone in my throat.
I turned back to the crowd. “The High Witch’s daughter is safe. The alliance stands. Return to your coven and tell my mother-in-law that if she wishes to speak with my bride, she may do so through the proper channels. Not with fire.”
Julian looked like he wanted to argue, but the sight of Aria standing so firmly by my side seemed to drain the last of his combativeness. He nodded slowly, though the suspicion in his eyes remained. “We’re leaving. But if she disappears again, Kael… there won't be a conversation next time.”
They retreated into the night, the magical static fading until only the sound of the wind remained.
The moment they were gone, my knees buckled.
Aria caught me, her small frame straining under my weight. “Kael! Pierce, help him!”
Pierce was there in a blur, helping Aria guide me back toward the library. My legs felt like pillars of salt, unresponsive and terrifyingly heavy. I could hear the sound of my own heart—not a beat, but a dull, rhythmic thumping against stone.
“It’s happening,” Aria said, her voice thick with panic as she shoved the library doors open. She cleared a space on the large oak table and helped Pierce lay me down. “The mirror showed me this. I thought I had more time.”
“What is happening?” Pierce demanded, his voice bordering on hysteria. “What did they do to him?”
“It wasn't them,” Aria said, her hands flying to the buttons of my coat. She pulled it open, revealing the grey stain spreading across my collarbone. It looked like ancient marble, cold and unyielding. “It’s a harvesting curse. They’ve been killing the witches to build up enough power to petrify a King. Every time Kael uses his magic, he accelerates the process.”
I tried to speak, but my jaw was stiffening. “Aria… the mirror…”
“I know,” she said, her eyes bright with tears she refused to shed. “I know what I have to do.”
She turned to Pierce. “I need you to get Thierry. And I need every scrap of information you have on the 'Young One'—the broken vampire the killer is using as a vessel. If we find him, we find the source.”
“And what are you going to do?” Pierce asked, looking at me with a grief that made my breath hitch.
Aria reached into her pouch and pulled out the obsidian disc. The green light flared, illuminating her face with a ghostly, desperate glow.
“I’m going to do the only thing a 'void' is good for,” she said, her voice ringing with a power that didn't need magic to be felt. “I’m going to break the spell. Even if I have to break myself to do it.”
I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her to run, to save herself, to let the stone take me if it meant she stayed whole. But the grey reached my throat, and the world faded into a silent, frozen dark.