Light of the Dawn

17. Plans

Isarella walked briskly to her chambers, her muscles sore but pleasantly aching from the day's training. The familiar comfort of the Night Court enveloped her, filling her with a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in years. Here, she was more than just a runaway or an object to be fought over. Here, she was safe. She was worthy.

Reaching her room, she decided to freshen up before the family dinner. She moved toward the shower but paused, feeling the faintest brush against her mind. It was soft, tentative, a mental caress she recognized immediately. She opened her thoughts, letting Rhysand's voice filter through.

Hi, Isa. Sorry to bother you, his voice came, calm yet tinged with a seriousness that made her stomach twist. Perseus and I have been talking, and some things have come up. Could you come to my office in the House? We need to discuss it.

Rhys, she replied, letting warmth seep into her tone, you're no bother. I'll be there. I just need to clean up after training first.

All right. See you soon.

Closing her mind, she turned back to her room. She slid into the tub, letting the warm water and lavender-vanilla scents wash over her. The House had stocked her favorite oils and soaps, and for a moment, the weight of the day melted away. But as she rinsed her hair and stepped out, her thoughts drifted uneasily back to Rhysand's words. He had been troubled. Even in his mental tone, she could hear the strain.

After drying off, she slipped into a light blue dress, the silk cascading softly around her figure. The shade reminded her of Azriel's siphons, and she wondered briefly if he'd notice the effort. With her hair dried and curled just enough to frame her face, she stepped out into the cool corridors of the House, her footsteps steady but her mind buzzing with curiosity—and worry.

When she reached Rhysand's office, she knocked softly. A gentle Come in sounded from within. She opened the door to find Rhys seated behind his desk, his face as unreadable as ever, but his violet eyes betrayed a heavy burden. Her father, Perseus, stood nearby, his posture tense, his usually warm expression shadowed by worry.

"What's happened?" Isarella asked, her voice steady despite the unease bubbling in her chest.

Perseus looked at her with eyes that seemed older than they had been that morning. "Isa," he began, voice thick with emotion, "your father, Thesan, has started down a dangerous path. He's desperate to take you back."

Her breath caught. "What do you mean?" She turned to Rhys, her gaze sharp. "What's going on?"

Rhys sighed, his usual calm cracked. "Thesan has allied himself with Beron. Together, they've been trying to track you down. But it's worse than that. Thesan has... come into contact with a dark power. Something ancient. Something unnatural."

"What kind of power?" Isa pressed, dread pooling in her stomach.

"Collars and rings," Rhys said grimly. "Artifacts imbued with dark magic. They allow creatures—demons—to take control of whoever wears them. Completely. Body, mind, soul. Thesan is searching for these artifacts to use on you, Isa. To bend you to his will."

Isarella stumbled back, the weight of his words crashing down on her. Her back hit the wall, and she slid to the floor, her breathing erratic. Her light, usually a soft glow, flared uncontrollably, filling the room with a blinding brilliance.

"Isa!" Perseus dropped to her side, his voice pleading as he tried to calm her. But she couldn't hear him. Her chest tightened, panic clawing at her throat.

Rhys was out of his chair in an instant, his calming words drowned out by the roar of her light.

The door burst open, and Azriel appeared, his shadows coiling around him like living armor. "What happened—" His words faltered as he saw her on the floor, radiant and trembling, her power threatening to engulf the room.