The silence after the Council session was heavier than any curse.
Not peace. Not victory. Not even the quiet of exhaustion. It was the stillness of a truth too long buried—pulled from the dark, gasping for air, trembling in the light. The chamber had erupted when Opal raised her hand, when moonfire pulsed through the room, revealing not just the bond, but the fear behind the eyes of those who had once called her traitor. The Northern Packs had roared. The vampires had bowed. The Fae had stepped back, their glamours flickering like dying embers. And the High Witch—she hadn’t spoken. Just stepped aside. Just *allowed* it.
And I—
I had watched.
From the shadows. From the edge. From the place I had always stood—between worlds, between loyalties, between the truth and the lie I had spent thirteen years protecting.
Now, it was over.
The lie was broken.
The truth was free.
And I was no longer sure where I belonged.
I stood in the scrying chamber of Veilhaven, the moonstone dim, the candles burned to stubs. The air was thick with the scent of old magic and damp stone, the silence heavier than any battle cry. The walls still bore the scars of the ritual—the cracks in the floor, the charred edges of the ancient tomes, the faint shimmer of the void’s residue clinging to the ceiling like frost. This was the place where I had raised Opal. Where I had taught her the old words. Where I had hidden her half-blood, warned her never to trust the Council, never to reveal her true name.
And now?
Now, it felt like a tomb.
Not for the dead.
For the guilty.
Footsteps echoed on the stone.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. I knew her presence before she spoke. The bond hummed beneath my skin, not my own—but *hers*. A thread of fire that tied her not to a monster, not to a killer, but to a man who had stood before the entire Council and said he loved her.
And she had believed him.
That was the most dangerous part.
“You’re hiding,” Opal said, stepping into the chamber.
I didn’t answer. Just kept my eyes on the scrying pool, its surface still, its moonstone dark. The pool had been silent since she returned. Since she brought back the original scroll. Since she pulled her mother from the void. It was as if the magic itself was afraid to speak.
“You didn’t come to the Council,” she said, her voice low. “You didn’t stand with us. You didn’t even watch.”
“I was here,” I said, still not turning. “Guarding the chamber. Protecting the records.”
“Liar,” she said, stepping closer. “You were hiding. From me. From the truth. From what you did.”
My breath stilled.
She wasn’t wrong.
But I couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t say the words that would shatter the last piece of the girl I had raised.
“You knew,” she said, her voice breaking. “You knew the scroll was gone. You knew Vexis had taken her. You knew Kael didn’t order her death. And you said *nothing*.”
“I was trying to protect you,” I whispered.
“By lying?” she demanded, stepping in front of me. “By letting me believe Kael was the monster? By letting me spend thirteen years hating the man who was *trying to save me*?”
“I was *afraid*,” I said, my voice rising. “Afraid of what you’d do. Afraid of what you’d become. You’re not just a witch, Opal. You’re not just a fae. You’re *both*. And that makes you a target. A threat. And Vexis—he would have killed you the moment you stepped into the void. I couldn’t lose you too.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stared at me, her silver-blue eyes burning with something I couldn’t name—grief, maybe. Or betrayal. “Then you should’ve trusted me,” she said, her voice low. “You should’ve told me the truth. Not hidden it. Not buried it. Not *betrayed* me.”
My chest tightened.
She wasn’t just accusing me.
She was *breaking* me.
And I deserved it.
“I didn’t betray you,” I said, lifting my head. “I *protected* you. Even when it cost me everything.”
“Then tell me,” she said, stepping closer. “Tell me what you gave up. What you traded. What *you* are hiding.”
My breath caught.
Because she was close.
So close.
And I knew—
She could feel it.
The mark.
Beneath my robe, beneath my skin, beneath the sigil of the Seelie Court embroidered over my heart—there it was. Faint. Hidden. But *there*.
The sigil of the Unseelie.
A leash. A curse. A chain.
And it was mine.
“You have his mark,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re bound to Vexis.”
I didn’t deny it.
Couldn’t.
“Yes,” I said, the word like glass in my throat. “I am.”
She stepped back, her breath catching. “Why? How? You’re Seelie. You’re supposed to be on our side.”
“I *am*,” I said, stepping forward. “But I made a bargain. A long time ago. Before you were born. Before the Blood Moon Ritual. Before any of this.”
“What kind of bargain?” she asked, her voice trembling.
I closed my eyes.
And I told her.
“Your mother was not the first sacrifice,” I said, my voice low. “She was the last. The ritual required a soul to stabilize the packs. To bind the truce. And when the time came, I offered mine.”
Her breath stilled.
“But Vexis refused,” I said. “He said my soul was too weak. Too tainted. That only a blood relative—only a mother—could carry the weight of the bond. And when he came for her, I begged. I pleaded. I offered everything. And he said… he said he would spare her. Spare *you*. If I took his mark. If I served him. If I kept the truth buried.”
“And you agreed?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said, tears burning in my eyes. “I did. Because I thought I was saving you. Because I thought I was protecting you. And when she was taken, when the void consumed her, I told myself it was for the best. That you would be safe. That you would grow strong. That you would never have to know the cost.”
She didn’t move.
Just stared at me, her face pale, her hands trembling.
“You let her die,” she said, her voice breaking. “You let her be taken. So I could live.”
“I didn’t let her die,” I said, stepping forward. “I *fought* for her. I *begged* for her. And when I couldn’t save her, I saved *you*. I raised you. I taught you. I loved you. And I would do it again.”
“Then you don’t know me,” she said, stepping back. “You don’t know what I’ve become. You don’t know what I *had* to become to survive. To fight. To *win*.”
“I know,” I said, my voice breaking. “I see it every time I look at you. The fire. The fury. The need to burn the world to get what you want. And I’m afraid. Not of Vexis. Not of the void. Of *you*.”
She flinched.
And in that moment—
I saw it.
The truth.
Not in the bond.
Not in the magic.
But in her eyes.
She wasn’t just angry.
She was *hurt*.
And I had caused it.
“You think I didn’t suffer?” I said, my voice rising. “You think I didn’t bleed? That I didn’t cry? That I didn’t *beg* the Fae High Court to let me trade my life for hers? I’ve lived with this guilt every day. Every breath. Every heartbeat. And I would carry it for a thousand more lifetimes if it meant you were safe.”
She didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked to the scrying pool, her boots silent on the stone. She placed her hand on the cool surface, her fingers trembling. The moonstone flared—just for a second—its light pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
And then—
It went dark.
“She’s gone,” Opal said, her voice low. “The connection is broken. The void is sealed.”
“It’s not broken,” I said, stepping beside her. “It’s protected. She’s safe. She’s free. And you—you’ve become more than I dreamed.”
She turned, her silver-blue eyes burning into mine. “And what about you? What happens to *you* now? You’re bound to Vexis. You’re his puppet. His slave. And if he returns—”
“Then I’ll face him,” I said, lifting my chin. “Not as his servant. Not as his pawn. As *me*. As Maeve. As your aunt. As the woman who loved you enough to lie.”
She didn’t speak.
Just reached for me—slow, careful—her fingers brushing my wrist. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. Her magic rose, not in anger, not in defense, but in *recognition*. As if her power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just her aunt.
I was her *family*.
And family—
Family doesn’t abandon.
“There’s a way,” she said, her voice low. “The Fae High Court. They can break oaths. They can sever bonds. They can free you.”
“And the price?” I asked, my voice rough.
“A memory,” she said. “A piece of your soul. A sacrifice.”
My breath caught.
“Then I’ll pay it,” I said, stepping forward. “Whatever it is.”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. “And if the truth demands a price *you’re* not ready to pay?”
My chest tightened.
Because I already knew the answer.
“Then I’ll pay it,” I said. “Whatever it is.”
She didn’t smile. Just nodded, her silver-blue eyes burning. “Then we go. Now. Before the moon rises. Before he knows we’re coming.”
“And if he’s waiting?” I asked.
“Then we burn him,” she said, stepping toward the door. “Again.”
We left Veilhaven as dawn broke over the moors, the mist parting like a veil to reveal the ancient stone circle of the Fae High Court. It stood in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, its standing stones carved with forgotten oaths, its center marked by a single black altar etched with the sigil of judgment. The air was thick with the pulse of the Fae—wild, untamed, humming with the weight of promises broken and kept.
Opal walked beside me, her presence a wall, her silence heavier than any words. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. Just kept her eyes on the path, her hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at her thigh. The bond hummed between us, warm, alive, *real*. But it wasn’t just magic.
It was *truth*.
And truth—
Truth was the most dangerous weapon of all.
We reached the circle as the first light of dawn broke over the stones, painting them in blood. The altar stood at the center, its surface cracked, its sigil glowing faintly. And then—
They appeared.
Not from the shadows.
Not from the mist.
From the *air*.
The Fae High Court—seven figures robed in light and shadow, their faces hidden, their presence humming with ancient power. They formed a half-circle around the altar, their voices chanting in a language older than blood.
“You have come to break an oath,” the eldest said, her voice like wind through leaves. “To sever a bond. To free a soul.”
“Yes,” Opal said, stepping forward. “My aunt, Maeve, is bound to Vexis by a blood oath. I ask the Court to break it.”
“And what proof do you offer?” another asked, his voice like stone.
“The mark,” I said, stepping forward. I pulled back my sleeve, revealing the sigil etched into my skin—black, oily, pulsing. “It is his. It is real. And I wish to be free.”
The Court fell silent.
And then—
“The price is a memory,” the eldest said. “A piece of your soul. A sacrifice. Do you accept?”
“Yes,” I said, not hesitating. “Whatever it is.”
“Then kneel,” she said.
I did.
Opal stepped beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. Her magic rose, not in anger, not in defense, but in *recognition*. As if her power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just her aunt.
I was her *mother* in all but blood.
And I would burn the world to keep her safe.
The eldest raised her hand.
And the memory came.
Not of the bargain.
Not of the mark.
But of the night she was born.
Her first breath. Her first cry. The way she looked at me with those silver-blue eyes, so much like her mother’s. The way I held her, swore to protect her, swore to love her, swore to *live* for her.
And then—
It was gone.
Not erased.
Not forgotten.
Just… *released*.
And the mark—
The mark burned.
Not with pain.
With *freedom*.
It cracked. It split. It turned to ash and fell from my skin like dead leaves in autumn.
And I—
I was free.
Opal pulled me into her arms, her breath trembling, her heart breaking. “You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered. “You didn’t have to give it up.”
“I did,” I said, holding her close. “Because love isn’t in memory. It’s in the bond. And the bond—”
“Is still mine,” she said, pulling back, her silver-blue eyes burning. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached up and brushed my thumb along the bond mark on her neck.
Fire shot through me.
But this time, it wasn’t just the bond.
It was *me*.
My power. My blood. My truth.
And for the first time in my life—
I didn’t fight it.
“The game has changed,” I said, stepping back. “And I’m no longer hiding.”
She didn’t answer.
Just took my hand—warm, grounding.
And together—
We walked back into the light.