The Sleepless King and the Nightlark

Chapter 7: The Glim and the Golems

FAELAN'S POV

A faint stir of dread curled in my gut, but I didn’t press further. I pushed my chair back and rose.

“Lead the way,” I said.

Garron’s boots echoed sharply against the marble as I followed. His shoulders were drawn tight, his hand raking through his dark curls—a habit he never managed to break when tension ran high. Whatever awaited us at the northern border, I steeled myself for it.

We turned the corner—and nearly collided with Ser Thamiel.

The Head of Healers’ expression was taut with concern. His sharp eyes swept over me the instant he saw me.

“Your Majesty, there you are.” He bowed low before straightening. “I was worried. How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “Exactly the same as I’ve felt for the last fifty years.”

He circled me, eyes assessing. “No dizziness? No lapses in focus? Your pulse hasn’t been irregular, has it?” The questions came rapid, one after another.

Then he produced a small crystal vial filled with green liquid. “You forgot your dose yesterday.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Did I?” I forced a faint smile. “I’m fine, Ser Thamiel. I suspect my sleepless mind simply forgot.”

I lied. I hadn’t forgotten. I simply didn’t need it anymore.

Still, I took the vial. I didn’t want questions—or suspicion. They didn’t need to know what, or who, waited in my chamber. I had already taken her freedom; I wouldn’t steal her secrets too. Those were hers to keep.

I uncorked the vial and drank. The familiar metallic tang slid down my throat, the elixir’s warmth spreading through me—unnecessary, but oddly comforting.

Ser Thamiel’s shoulders eased, and he nodded, satisfied. “I’ll bring your dose myself tomorrow—so you won’t forget,” he said, stepping aside to let us pass.

I returned the nod and turned away, heading toward the palace gates.

The great doors groaned open, the sound echoing through the courtyard. Sunlight poured in, too bright, too calm for what churned inside me.

Garron let out a sharp whistle, two fingers pressed to his lips. A tremor rippled through the ground before the Stormwing appeared—a magnificent gray beast, its muscles coiling beneath a hide that gleamed like forged steel. Its mane danced with threads of silver lightning, and each strike of its hooves sent a thunder’s echo rolling across the courtyard.

The Stormwing pawed the dirt, restless energy coiling beneath its skin. Garron swung up, pulled the reins, and they were off—thunder pounding in their wake.

Without a word, I shifted into my white wolf. My paws hit the ground running, a faint trail of light marking my path. Within moments, I was beside them.

Wind tore through the forest’s edge as we descended from the palace heights, the world blurring into motion around us. The Stormwing slowed as we neared the border. When Garron dismounted, I shifted back to my human form.

Garron turned to me. For a moment, his onyx eyes flickered with light before the grimness returned. “Renli’s here,” he said, his voice both a statement and a warning. “She came back very early this morning.”

Of course she was.

Renli, my distant cousin, was born a Glim—one of the rare few able to absorb echoes of the past. The most recent memories: sound, scent, even fragments of thought, all laid bare when she touched something. Or someone. It made her an unmatched spy, an asset the council both valued and feared.

And, more often than not, a headache for me.

Whenever she was near, I had to keep my mental shields firmly in place. She liked to probe, to make sure I wasn’t unraveling under the curse. Though, more than once, Renli’s curiosity had wandered beyond duty into my personal affairs.

Still, despite her meddling, she meant well. She always had. And for all her prying, she was loyal—to a fault. I owed her that much.

I spotted her even from a distance—crouched low to the ground, caramel-blond hair braided tight. She usually wore wigs on missions, but not today. Her fingers brushed over the damp earth as though she were listening to it. The wind caught the edge of her cloak, scattering a faint halo of loose soil around her boots.

When she sensed us approaching, her head snapped up. A grin broke across her face, and in the next instant, she was running toward me.

Before I could brace myself, she flung her arms around my shoulders, squeezing with disarming warmth.

Then, without missing a beat, she turned and thumped Garron squarely on the chest. He only grunted in response.

Renli drew back, brushing a smear of dirt from her cheek as her eyes narrowed at me. “So,” she said with mock offense, “I see you already have your mental shields up.”

I didn’t answer. Neither did Garron.

She sighed dramatically, folding her arms. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t completely spiraled yet,” she said. “Last I checked, you were still f***ing that gods-awful woman, Ingrid.”

I exhaled through my nose. “I haven’t been involved with anyone,” I said evenly. “Especially not Ingrid.”

Then, after a pause, I tilted my head slightly. “Satisfied?”

Renli’s grin returned, wider this time. “Very.”

Then she turned to Garron, eyes glinting with mischief. “You, however, don’t need to bother putting up a shield, Commander. I have no desire to glim you.”

Garron’s brow lifted, but he said nothing.

“I know there’s nothing interesting going on with you,” she went on breezily. “I’d rather not die of boredom.”

I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—a sure sign he was about to retort.

But I knew better than to let it happen. If I allowed it, they’d spar until one of them lost patience. It had always been that way between them—Renli’s sharp tongue against Garron’s steady irritation. They’d been needling each other since we were barely grown. Some habits simply refused to die.

I cleared my throat, cutting clean through the rising tension. “I thought you’d captured the trespassers,” I said, steering the conversation back to where it belonged. “Where are they?”

Renli’s grin shifted, softening into something almost smug. She lifted a gloved hand and pointed toward the uneven mounds of mud ahead. “You’re looking at them,” she said.

I frowned, stepping closer. “And what, exactly, am I supposed to be seeing?”

“They’re golems,” Renli replied, crouching again. “Or at least they used to be. Until I got rid of them.”

I leaned closer, and only then did I realize that what I’d taken for a mere pile of wet soil bore the faint shapes of limbs—collapsed, motionless.

Garron crouched beside one, his hand hovering above the muck. “They looked like ordinary fae at first,” he said. “The guards thought they were just lost… until they noticed something wrong. It’s like they couldn’t see or hear them at all.”

Renli nodded, though her usual confidence faltered for a moment. “I tried to glim them, to see their last thoughts, their impressions. But there was nothing. No trace to read.” She hesitated, eyes flicking toward the still forms. “They’re mindless,” she said quietly. “But from what little I could gather, they were scouting. Maybe testing the wards… probing the boundaries.”

I stared down at the mounds, catching the faint, acrid trace of magic in the air. “Who do you think sent them here?” I asked finally, straightening to face the two of them. “My brother?”

Renli’s head snapped up, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t feel like Mordain’s work.”

Garron’s tone was careful, measured. “You might want to consider someone else, someone who stands to gain from you being gone.”

I met his gaze. “Dagnar?”

“Not impossible,” he said. “Creating abominations like this is more his style, don’t you think?”

I exhaled slowly, trying to ease the knot tightening in my stomach. I remembered the last time I stood against Dagnar—though I had prevailed, it was not without bloodshed.

I always knew he would try again. I just hadn’t expected him to be this bold.

Renli brushed the dirt from her knees and rose to her feet. “I can dig into this,” she said. “I’ll set out first thing tomorrow.”

Then she turned to me with a smirk. “But not tonight. Tonight, I need a drink.” She pivoted on her heel, cloak swaying as she added over her shoulder, “I’m heading to the pub.”

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AVIONA'S POV

King Faelan did not return until late into the night, by which time I had fully taken my Nightlark form. He looked worn—burdened—shadows clinging to him like a second cloak.

He said nothing. Simply picked up the bowl of fruit from the nightstand. With a flick of his hand, the pieces sliced cleanly and settled before me. He didn’t so much as glance my way as I perched in my usual spot.

He moved wordlessly through the chamber, disappearing into the bathing room. I pecked at the fruit, and just as I finished, he emerged and climbed straight into bed. I didn’t wait for his command. My song rose on instinct, soft and low at first, then blooming into the quiet.

I watched him as he listened—the tension in his shoulders slowly uncoiling, the hard lines of his face softening. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath evening out, as my song carried him into the sleep he’d been denied for so long.

When his breathing finally steadied, I slipped from the footboard, wings folding neatly against my back. Sleep tugged at me too.

I was just about to land on the cold stone floor when I heard his voice, rough and unguarded, breaking through the dark.

“Aviona…”

I froze for only a heartbeat before brushing it off. He was probably dreaming—reliving the night he caught me, or growling at me even in his sleep.

Still, the sound lingered.

I settled onto the floor at last, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing, and allowing myself to finally rest.