“All of this is stuck here,” Eve says, peering at the crimson canopy overhead. “Trapped until the High Rulers take the throne and disperse it.”
“It’s why the High Rulers must reside here,” Cyran says. “Without their direction, Aether doesn’t flow.”
I tilt my chin as I lower my hand, meeting Ryc’s shrouded stare. “It’s more than simply wielding Aether for you,” he says softly. “You’re able to manifest veilflowers without the aid of this island.”
He places a hand over mine, his touch calming the buzzing in my chest.
“I understand the temptation to use the magic, to wield it. But err on the side of caution, little love,” Ryc says in gentle warning. “The Captain wasn’t lying when he said Aether reacts with volatility here.”
Mind whirling, I give a muted nod.
“The citadel isn’t much farther.” He gives me a soft smile and we continue along the path.
It cuts through the dense, crimson-capped forest, sloping upward. As the trees grow sparse, the coated path clears, revealing dirtied white bricks, many upturned. It’s as if they were rattled from the ground.
I toe one over as we pass, disregarding the stark, loud clatter through the silence, and it flips, exposing its underside.
Bright white, with a running flash ofblue.
Moonstone.
The entire path is laid inmoonstone.
Not white-washed brick like I assumed.
My eyes race to my left hand, to the silver ring upon my finger and the faceted moonstone Ryc gifted me. It gleams in the fog-diffused light, blue streaking across its surface as I shift my finger slowly.
This cannot be coincidence… can it?
Would Nektos truly influence such small details?
It doesn’t matter how high we climb, the fog doesn’t lessen. There isn’t a reprieve from the sight-stealing smokiness and it hides away much of the island. But eventually, the trees give way to a once manicured lawn.
Dry and quiet fountains emerge surrounded by hedges left to grow wild. Scattered stone tables and chairs—some broken, others knocked over—all encumbered withveilflower vinesgreet us. Why has this place been left to wither with time?
Eve’s hand lands on my shoulder and her pointed finger darts past my face between Ryc and I.
“Look!” she whispers.
Ahead, taking more solid shape as we walk, white, high-rising towers stretch skyward, their peaks hidden by fog. Three towers from what I can see—my eyes narrow—connected by bridges? Darkened, arched windows reveal themselves, complimenting the cascading buttresses, and in the tower closest, a set of massive darkwood doors appear.
This citadeldwarfsCastle Erus.
How am I to ever find the archives inthis?
With a steadying breath, I ascend the stairs beside Ryc, knowing in a few weeks’ time, we’re to take residence here. Being here now is like being granted a glimpse of the future.
It takes both Ryc and Cyran to pull open one of the reluctant to yield doors, the resounding groan of its hinges filling my ears. Slipping past them as the door wedges open, I step into the foyer, too eager to wait.
“Ves,” Ryc laughs as he and Cyran continue to fight with the door, their shoulders too broad to slip in as I had. “Don’t wander far, please.”
His laughter, along with the door’s groaning, echoes through the foyer as I take a hesitant step forward, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Compared to the lawn, the dimness of the entry is near complete darkness and it takes longer than I’d like for my eyes to accommodate.
Once they do, I’m greeted by disaster.
Furniture smashed, glass shattered, floor littered and darkened by dirt, dust, and grime. The walls match the floor, covered in dark sprays of what might be blood.
Centuriesold blood.
