CHAPTER 144: DAUGHTER AND MOTHER

Aelin

The stairs were cracked beneath our feet as we ascended the spiral of the forgotten tower. Every step took us deeper into the silence that had long settled here like dust. A forgotten place for a woman who would become forgotten herself.

Draegon walked ahead of me, his shoulders broad and stiff with purpose. He didn’t say a word as we reached the highest landing—the door before us old and warped with time. This was the tower where Queen Darcelle had been confined. And he had chosen to come here today.

He didn’t look back at me, but I followed.

The door groaned open and the cold inside was startling. I instinctively stepped closer to the warmth that always lingered around Draegon, but he had already walked inside.

The room was dimly lit, dust swirling in the shafts of sunlight cutting through narrow windows. At the center stood a tall-backed chair, its figure draped in regal purple, though faded with age and bitterness.

Queen Darcelle.

Her posture was stiff, composed—but her eyes, cold and cruel, narrowed the second they landed on her step- son. "So you finally came to visit me," she sneered, voice sharper than the stone walls around her.

I lingered at the threshold. Not fully inside. Not fully welcome.

Draegon didn’t flinch. "You should be grateful I came at all. It’s a courtesy you never granted my mother."

Darcelle’s fingers twitched on the armrests. Her lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t one of amusement. "Your precious half-breed mother. Always the martyr, wasn’t she? Crying over her miserable place at court."

Draegon took another step forward, his voice steady. "She never once asked for a place. She only asked for peace."

That silenced her for a beat.

Then she said, cool and venomous, "Do your brothers know you’ve hidden me away up here?"

"No," Draegon replied. "My brothers don’t. But your daughter does."

!!!

Darcelle’s brows furrowed. "What daughter—?"

Draegon tilted his head, and I felt the smallest shift of magic stir the air. A command.

I took a slow step into the room.

Darcelle’s eyes snapped toward me, and her entire face changed. Her lips pulled back like she tasted ash, and her eyes burned with a sudden, uncontained fury. "You," she spat. "It’s all your fault."

I paused mid-step. But Draegon didn’t move to stop her words, so I met her glare head-on.

"If only," Darcelle hissed, voice rising, "you had let me die that day. When he tore my head from my shoulders like I was nothing." She laughed bitterly. "But no. You had to play savior. You had to revive me. For what? For pity?"

I said nothing.

My fingers curled into my dress. A thousand words fluttered in my chest, but none would change the past. I remembered that day. The way Draegon’s rage had consumed him. The way her head had rolled across the floor. The moment when my hand, trembling and drenched in ancient light, brought her back after Ariston and I took her body and his in the bushes amongst the chaos.

It had cost me more than I ever admitted. That spell—revival—it was the most dangerous spell in the Solwyn book. And casting it had nearly drained the life out of me. It had left me weak for weeks afterward, my magic brittle and slow to return.

But I had done it.

Not out of mercy. Not even for Darcelle.

I had done it because, back then, I thought it might fix something. That maybe, if I brought her back, the brothers wouldn’t carry this wound between them forever.

But I was wrong.

Because demon rules were not like ours. And what had passed between Draegon and his mother had already been accepted by Draken and Drakkar. No spell, no second chance could change that.

My silence only seemed to enrage her more. "You walk around like some savior. Some chosen girl," she hissed. "But you’re nothing more than a self-righteous fool meddling in things you don’t understand."

Still, I stayed quiet.

What could I possibly say to a woman who hated me for saving her?

Draegon finally stepped forward. "Enough," he said, "She brought you back," he said coldly. "She gave you a second chance. One you didn’t deserve. And you spit in her face for it."

Darcelle’s face twisted with a thousand unspoken things. Regret was not one of them, "So what? She brought me back? For what? For humiliation? For confinement? What second chance?"

"The chance to repent." Draegon said,

"We both know that’s not what you want," She smirked, "You just want me confined here," She raised her head up to show the iron magic collar around her neck, "For revenge."

Draegon’s eyes turned cold, "Perhaps," he said, "I honestly can’t deny that."

He gestured towards the door again. My heart leapt as Ariston stepped inside. His face was drawn, jaw tight, shoulders coated in sweat and dirt—but what made my breath still was the figure he dragged behind him.

Alishay.

Her body was a crumpled mess—burnt, bloody, barely breathing.

Ariston dropped her like a broken offering in front of Darcelle. The silence that followed felt deafening, like the wind had stopped breathing.

...

For a second, the previous Queen stared at her daughter like she had seen some sort of traumatic view

Then she jolted from her seat for the first time. "Alishay—!"

The arrogance and venom were gone from her voice. She dropped to her knees, hands trembling as they reached for her daughter’s charred body.

"What happened to her?!" she demanded, voice wild, turning her eyes to Draegon as if he’d thrown her into an abyss.

Draegon stood still, his face unreadable. But his words cut like steel. "She’s no longer a demon," he said. "She’s a monster now. Abyss-touched. Black blood runs through her veins. And her heart..." He paused, just a breath. "Her heart no longer matters. She carries an abyssal core inside her. And it’s fractured beyond saving."

"No..." Darcelle shook her head, arms trying to gather her daughter in a desperate cradle. "No, no, you’re wrong. She’s just injured—"

Alishay stirred. Her eyes opened just a little—glassy, like smoke-covered mirrors. Her body shivered with every breath she fought for.

"Alishay," The Queen called out for her, "Are you-" She most likely wanted to ask if she was feeling okay, but she stopped those words in between. Clearly, anyone could see Alishay was beyond saving.

But her voice was clear. "Don’t touch me."

Darcelle flinched like she’d been slapped. "Alishay—"

"Don’t." The word was stronger this time, like the last spark of fire in a dying flame. "Don’t pretend now." She said

"What do you mean?" Darcelle replied in horror.