“Now do you understand? I am not the same innocent girl you loved because blood stains my hands, my soul.” Her voice echoed off the trees, scattering the birds. She could feel her hair standing on end, floating around her as Power surged through her.
He gaped at her, opening his mouth then closing it.
The trees surrounding her moaned in the wind, as if weeping for her. The air felt thicker as she struggled to draw breath from the crushing weight of her grief. In that moment, with Power filling her veins, she grieved her brother and the woman she used to be—the woman Caelan wanted her to be. She grieved broken trust and promises never kept.
Most of all, she grieved an uncertain future. Caelan might have been a fool to think her unchanged, but she was the fool to think she could have a future with him here.
But another voice tore through the darkness, tugging her away from the edge she so often found herself teetering over. At first, she thought the voice was Elion’s, but as it grew louder in the recesses of her mind, she realized it was another’s.
“Elion’s death is not your fault. The bond does not own you. You command it.”
Draven. It was his words that pierced the darkness.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the voice and wrapped her mind around her tether. The doors to her bonds gently closed, and the world stilled.
Opening her eyes, she found Caelan still staring at her, face pale.
“Don’t ask me to be more than I am.” Her voice was firm, commanding, unapologetic.
Silence swallowed them as they stood in the wild woods of Desire.
Then he lowered to a knee before her, his head downcast, and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, please. You’re right. Please, let me rebuild your trust, restore my honor in your sight.”
She looked down at the mighty captain of the Empyrean Guard, bowed low before her. He could never understand. But that was not his fault.
She sighed and crouched in front of him, placing her hands on either side of his face. Gently, she lifted his head, letting their eyes meet. Sadness and regret filled his gaze.
“I forgive you, Caelan.”
She gripped both his hands, and together they rose to their feet. Pulling her to him, he enveloped her in an embrace. He breathed deeply, and she could hear the steady cadence of his heart as she pressed her cheek to his chest. The future she was once promised might be gone, but at least for now, she would cling to the peace of the present.
“Now,” she started, glancing up at him, “when do we get to hunt these wraiths you mentioned?”
Astraia stood with her arms crossed as Caelan unfurled a map of Astradeon onto the large oak table before her. The ancient paper smelled of dust and was severely worn around the edges with frequent use. He placed a lantern and an empty goblet on the corners to prevent the scroll from rolling in on itself.
“For months, we have been hearing rumors of random fires starting without cause along our borders, mostly along the northeastern border of the Skyforge Peaks.” He traced a line with his finger along the map. “But only in the past fortnight have there been whispers of dark shadows accompanying the fires. And the fires were reported to be ‘unholy,’ almost impossible to distinguish.”
“That sounds like the fire from the village,” Astraia replied, recalling the unnatural way the flames wove through the buildings and only weakened when the wraith was injured.
“Yes, and just yesterday we received this.” He opened a drawer in the table, pulled out a small scroll, and handed it to her. “It is from the Skyforge Drengr.”
The Drengr protected the Skyforge Peaks province. They were warriors known for their brutality and ruthless battle tactics, taking no survivors. Before the Shattering, when the Drakari still flew through the skies as stewards of Rage, the Skyforge Drengr fought with them as equals, a testament to their ferocity. There was a tentative truce between Virellia and the Skyforge Peaks, but an alliance had always been out of the question.
Astraia unrolled the scroll, reading the damning message scribbled on the page. Her face fell, dread pooling in her stomach. “They have seen more wraiths?”
“Yes, several. They believe the wraiths are gathering in hordes, mounting an army.”
“That is impossible. Dominion and his stewards were devoured in the Shattering. Balance sacrificed himself to ensure Dominion was destroyed. How can there be one wraith, let alone a horde?” Astraia’s pulse quickened at the idea.
Yet her mind drifted to the single shimmering light hovering above the waters of her mind. The Stars were her tether—they lived and spoke to her. It would not be so impossible to believe Dominion and his stewards survived the Shattering as well. Perhaps they had simply waited until the right moment to strike. A shudder ran down her spine at the realization that the wraith who attacked her was not alone.
“I do not know how, but I do believe the wraiths are becoming a threat.” Caelan leaned over the map, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.
“So what is the plan? Do we know the location of the horde?”
“No, but that is what we need to find out. And I could use a skilled archer in my hunting party.” He smiled, glancing sideways at her.
She smiled back. “When do we leave?”
