Chains and Broken Magic
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 22: Ysolde: Chains and Fury
The palace feels different now. Colder. Sharper. More brittle.
Servants move quickly through the corridors, heads bowed, eyes lowered. Guards stand at every archway, hands on their weapons, as if expecting an attack at any moment. The air hums with tension ... fear disguised as vigilance.
It has been several days since news arrived of my daughters escape. Several days since hope returned to me like a spark in the dark. And now the humans are afraid. Roderick most of all.
Roderick storms into my chamber without warning, flanked by four guards. His cloak swirls behind him like a shadow. His eyes burn with anger he barely contains.
“Your daughters have caused chaos,” he says.
I stand tall, though my heart hammers. “They fight for freedom.”
His jaw tightens. “Do not test me.”
He gestures sharply. The guards step forward.
“Shackle her.”
I do not resist as they clasp iron around my wrists and ankles. The metal is cold, heavy, humiliating. The chains clink softly as I lower my hands. Roderick watches me with a mixture of triumph and frustration.
“You will remain restrained until further notice,” he says. “You will not leave this room. You will not speak to anyone. You will not attempt to contact your people.”
“My people?” I lift my chin. “You mean the ones you invaded and enslaved?”
His eyes flash. “I mean the ones who are foolish enough to think they can challenge me.”
I hold his gaze. “They already have.”
He steps closer, voice low. “Your daughters are fugitives. They will be hunted. They will be found. They will pay the price of defiance.”
A lie. Or a hope. Or a fear. I cannot tell which.
He turns away. “Prepare the army. We march on Morellin.”
My breath catches. “You would invade again?”
“I will not allow an uprising,” he snaps. “Your daughters have stirred unrest. The elves must be reminded of their place.”
I feel the chains bite into my skin as I clench my fists.
“You fear them,” I say quietly.
He freezes.
“You fear what they represent,” I continue. “You fear that elves will rise again. You fear that your victory was never as complete as you claimed.”
He turns slowly, eyes cold. “Take away her privileges. No books. No fire. No visitors. She eats only under guard.”
The guards nod. Roderick steps closer, lowering his voice. “Your kingdom burn before you ever see your daughters again.”
He leaves. The door slams. The lock clicks. And I am alone.
The shackles are heavy. They clink when I move. They scrape my skin. They remind me with every breath that I am a prisoner, not a queen.
The guards outside my door speak in hushed tones.
“ ... the king is furious...”
“ ... the elves are gathering in the forests...”
“ ... the sorceress has vanished without trace...”
“ ... the elven wards are returning...”
“ ... the queen must know something...”
I know nothing. And everything. My daughters are alive. My daughters are together. My daughters are coming home. The thought warms me even as the cold stone floor steals heat from my body.
I sit on the edge of the bed, chains pooling at my feet, back straight, eyes steady.
I think of Aelwyn: fierce, disciplined, unbreakable.
I think of Elenora: glowing with magic she barely understands.
I think of Lyralyn: small, frightened, brave beyond measure.
I think of the forest: alive again, protected again, breathing again.
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