We flew low and fast, Kevin pushing through the pain like the absolute champion he was. The forest below was already showing signs of the convergence—streams flowing backward, trees aging and reversing in rapidcycles, reality getting thin at the edges. A deer ran past us backward, which was disturbing on multiple levels. A flock of birds flew in perfect reverse formation, and I swear I saw a flower bloom, wilt, and bloom again in the span of seconds.
We found Thrak’s army about two miles from the Heartspire, moving through the forest like a tide of desperate hope. Two hundred and fifty rebels armed with everything from proper weapons to farming tools. They looked up as we approached, and I saw the surprise on their faces.
“Thrak!” I shouted, landing with more flair than strictly necessary. “Stop! It’s a trap! The whole thing is a trap! But also, hello everyone, you’re all looking particularly rebellious today! Love the energy! Very revolutionary chic!”
The scarred rebel leader held up his hand, halting the march. “Bryx? What are you—”
“No time to explain! Lysandra had a vision. She sent me to scout. The Heartspire—” I gasped, partly for breath and partly for dramatic effect. “The rot channels aren’t just corruption. They’re mixing Root AND Bloom magic into it. The entire building is designed to harvest power from marked ones. Also, their interior decoration is absolutely heinous. Someone should really talk to them about that.”
“What?” Vera stepped forward, her scarred face skeptical. She hadn’t liked me from the beginning, probably because I’d once tried to lighten the mood at a strategy meeting with an interpretive dance about the futility of war. In my defense, it had been a very long meeting.
“I saw it myself. They’re coating their weapons in it, but that’s not the worst part. The building itself—it’s calibrated to pull power from anyone with marks. The moment Kaelren touches those walls with his corruption, the moment any marked one makes contact—it’ll drain them. Feed that power straight into whatever Auradelle is doing to Elle.”
“You’re sure?” Thrak’s one good eye studied me intently.
“Kevin and I had a delightful chat with some guards about it,” I said, gesturing to our various wounds with a flourish. “They were very convincing with their swords and arrows. Quite persuasive, really. Five stars for theirdedication to trying to kill us. Would not recommend for a second date though.”
The rebels murmured uneasily. This changed everything.
“If we go through the main gates—” Vera started.
“We’re walking into exactly what Auradelle wants,” I finished. “He’s expecting the assault. He’s counting on it. Every marked fighter who enters becomes fuel for his ritual.”
Thrak was quiet for a long moment, weighing options, calculating odds. I could practically see the gears turning in his head. Then: “What do you suggest?”
I grinned, that special Bryx grin that meant I was about to suggest something either brilliant or suicidal. Possibly both. Definitely both.
“I have a plan,” I announced. “It’s clever, it’s dramatic, and it involves a truly impressive amount of style. You’re going to love it. Or hate it. Honestly, could go either way. But it’ll definitely be memorable!”
The rebels leaned in, and for the first time in my life, people were looking at me not as a joke, but as someone who might actually have answers. It was a heady feeling. I could get used to this.
“But first,” I said, maintaining the suspense because timing was everything, “we’re going to need every bee in a three-mile radius. Kevin, darling, start making friends.”
As Kevin began sending out pheromone signals, I turned back to the assembled rebels with my most charming smile. The one that had once convinced a dryad to go out with me for drinks. Well, she drank, while I sat in a dark corner watching her. It was complicated.
“Trust me,” I said. “We’re about to give the performance of our lives. And if we die, we’ll die with style. Which, really, is all anyone can ask for.”
32
Kaelren
Day one in the tunnels, and I already wanted to kill something.
The passages were narrow, the air thick with earth and age and ancient magic. Root-carved tunnels that remembered everyone who’d walked through them. Every rebel who’d fled. Every king who’d hunted. Every iteration’s desperate push toward failure.
My team moved behind me in a single file—Sarnyx, Vashael, Nimor, Eltrien. Four fighters who’d followed me into this darkness without hesitation. And Peeble, on my shoulder, glowing faintly to light our way.
I shoved thoughts of Bryx aside. Whatever he was doing, wherever he’d gone—I couldn’t afford to care right now. Elle was ahead. The seed was ahead. Everything else was just noise.
“Hold,” I said, stopping abruptly.
The others froze. Ahead, barely visible in the dim light, something glinted across the passage.
“Wire,” Nimor confirmed, becoming shadow to investigate. “Thin. Almost invisible. Detection spell attached.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Give me ten minutes.”
