When his gaze meets mine, a faint smirk tugs at the edges of his mouth. His eyes, the same piercing blue as the other Skythari Nomads, seem to take me in all at once, as if he’s weighing and assessing me. But there’s no challenge in them, only respect.
With a smooth motion, he bows slightly, pressing his fist to his chest. “Vera,” he addresses me, his voice low and warm, the smirk softening into something closer to familiarity. “It’s been a while.”
I swallow hard, resisting the surge of frustration that rises in me. The spell locking my memories feels crueler in moments like this, when the pieces are so close yet just out of reach. I wish, more than anything, for it to break completely and release the flood of names, faces, and moments I’ve been denied.
But wishing doesn’t make it so, and I refuse to let my disappointment show. Instead, I square my shoulders, forcing those feelings down. “I wish I could say I remembered,” I admit.
Kaden’s smirk fades, replaced by a flicker of understanding. “You will,” he says simply, as if it’s a certainty.
Barak’s gaze flickers between us, his expression unreadable. “You’ve come this far, Everly. The rest will come when you’re ready.”
A half-huff, half-growl falls from my mouth. “We are in need of your assistance.”
Barak winks. “Straight to business then.”
“The Shadoweaver has the king, and I was told you have something that could help rescue him.”
Barak rubs his jaw and motions us with his head to the seats around the fire. We follow, and I’m surprised by the sheer size of this place; from the outside it didn’t look that big.
“We will get some food and drinks sorted.” Onora links her arm with Iridessa, who looks ready to argue.
“Thank you, daughters.” Barak offers a grateful smile.
Kaden stands near the fire, his tall frame silhouetted by the dancing flames. He’s positioned just to the side of his father’s chair, his stance similar to the way Tristan and Kian stand near mine.
Raiden, Zaria, and Valric take their seats without hesitation, their postures varying from relaxed to wary. I slowly take a seat, nerves buzzing like a swarm of bees running riot through my body.
Barak’s intense gaze flicks to me, assessing. “So, Your Majesty. What is it you think we have that can aid your rescue mission?”
I hesitate, my eyes flicking to Valric, who nods. “I was told,” I begin carefully, “that you possess beasts capable of avoiding detection by the Shadoweaver’s magic—creatures strong enough to break the chains holding the king captive.”
The words leave my mouth with more confidence than I feel, but inside, I’m guessing. The riddle the Witte Wieven gave me is maddeningly unclear, and this theory has been the only conclusion I’ve been able to draw.
Barak’s expression changes subtly, his eyes widening for a brief moment before a small smile curves his lips. He leans back in his chair, the firelight casting shadows across his weathered features.
“I have no such thing in my possession, young one,” he says calmly, and disappointment coils tight inside me.
Before I can respond, he leans forward, his hands resting on his knees, his voice lowering. “These creatures you speak of cannot be tamed. They are not ours to command. No one owns them.”
The flicker of disappointment sharpens into curiosity, my hands clenching in my lap. “So, you know what I speak of?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Aye,” he replies, his tone weighty. “But if you want their help, you must prove yourself worthy.”
“And how do I do that?”
Barak and Kaden exchange a look, something unspoken passing between them. The moment feels heavy with significance, but before Barak answers, Onora and Iridessa return, each balancing trays laden with food and drink.
“Thank you,” I murmur as Iridessa passes me a steaming mug.
She dips her head slightly, stepping back to take her place at her father’s side.
Barak turns back to me. “You’ll need to complete the Gauntlet,” he says simply.
I stiffen, the unfamiliar term sparking both intrigue and apprehension. “The Gauntlet?” I echo, my voice wary.
“If they find you worthy,” Barak continues, “they will approach you. They choose their allies, not the other way around.”
Raiden bristles at my side, the tension radiating from him almost tangible. “What is the Gauntlet?” he demands, his deep voice cutting through the moment.
