Rhaedor went still, the lines carved around his mouth hardened.
Alaric pushed away from the table. “You’re certain?”
Ravik gave a single, grim nod. “The tunnels. We need to search them. I know the routes.”
Alaric’s jaw clenched. He knew them too now, memorized from Thalen’s ink-smudged map. Rhaedor looked between them. There were no good choices anymore. Only action and determination.
The king’s gaze settled on Ravik. “You’re wounded.”
Ravik straightened, the effort visible but unshaken. “I can command. My legs still work, my blade still lifts,” he paused. “And they are my friend’s children.”
Something unreadable flickered behind Rhaedor’s eyes. Regret, perhaps. Or memory. Then, at last, he gave a single nod.
“Find them,” the king ordered.
Boots echoed in unison as they all turned sharply. Ravik led the way, Vesena was pulling her gloves tighter, while Cedric rolled his shoulders. Alaric said nothing. He just gripped the hilt at his hip and quickened his steps. The tunnels awaited. And somewhere in that labyrinth of stone and silence, Evelyne was waiting too.
And he would find her.
Or bleed for the privilege of trying.
Chapter 68
Evelyne kept her breathing steady, though every instinct screamed at her to fight, to claw their way free of the nightmare they were now in. Instead, she did what she had been taught since the moment she first learned that words could be sharper than blades: she studied.
Thalen was curled up next to her, shaking terribly, but she could see him gritting and twisting his wrists, trying to free himself.
She did not recognize the cultists. Not a single face stirred memory. They moved with a peculiar stillness. Too synchronized, too smooth. Theylookedlike priests—both men and women. The Flame of Rhyssa had never barred women from service. The goddess burned in both.
Keeper Halwen was a specter of the man she had once known, as if he was a marionette pulled along by invisible strings. His eyes were haunted. Empty in a way that unsettled her more than rage would have.
Evelyne licked her cracked lips, forcing herself to speak.
“Halwen,” she pleaded, letting the name carry all the memory it once held. “Listen to me. You don’t have to do this.”
Nothing. His hands continued their slow, mechanical tracing of ancient symbols in the dust and ash at his feet.
She pressed on, her words quickening. “Whatever you believe you’re achieving here, this isn’t the way. You’re better than this. You taught me better than this.”
He flinched—almost imperceptibly—but he didn’t stop moving.
“Halwen,” Evelyne begged again, more urgently, straining against her bonds. “You can stop this. You still have a choice.Please.”
But the man she once trusted didn’t seem to hear her. His lips moved without a sound. When he finally spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.
“It must be done,” he murmured. “The song must be continued.”
The words didn’t belong to him. She could see it now, plain as the blood drying on her wrists.
Isildeth stirred with a soft, broken gasp, her body jerking slightly against Evelyne’s side. When she woke fully, terror overtook her. She clung to Evelyne instinctively.
“Evelyne…”
“I’m here,” Evelyne assured, shifting just enough to steady her. “Breathe. Slowly.”
Isildeth’s breath hitched, then stuttered again.
“Look at me.” Evelyne’s tone softened just enough to anchor. “We’re alive. That’s more than they intended.”
