The night air, the ancient song, even her fear—they were all lost to the black water.
The cold cinched tight as she swam deeper, each stroke heavier than the last, her muscles dulled by the frigid water. Her chest burned as the pressure mounted, but she held on. Waited. Willed the spirit to her.
Darkness closed in, the lake’s stillness smothering.
Please, she begged,please.
But then—there. A ripple. Subtle at first, then stronger, a shift in the current. Her heart stilled, suspended between hope and fear, as the pull of the water yanked her forward. The river spirit. It had heard her. It had come.
Massive and ancient, its long, sinuous body twisted through the depths. Shimmering scales reflected the moonlight, rippling and shifting like liquid silver.
The spirit coiled around her, its presence hungry, weightless yet overwhelming. Elara released the last of her breath, bubbles rising like fleeting promises to the surface as the water rushed in, stealing the air from her lungs. Her back arched, fighting the burn tearing through her chest, her ribs straining under the pressure.
Her eyes fluttered as numbness crept in.
But then?—
A shadow moved above. Something plummeting into the water, fast and powerful. But Elara's soul was already caught between two worlds, toes dangling just over the veil.
And then, a whisper through the stillness.
“Eilíara.”
A hand reached, stretched out in the dark, soft as a breath of wind, brushing against her skin. A voice drifted through an open window, wrapping around her, threading through the strands of grass tangled in her hair, curling beneath her bare feet.
“A Eilíara. Oscail do shúile, a Eilíara.32”
Gentle, impossibly soft hands touched her, guiding her closer.
“A leanbh liom Aerú. Oscail do shúile.33”
And then the memory shifted, blurring at the edges, and Elara was being pulled—dragged down a winding corridor. The rough, steady grip of a calloused hand wrapped around hers. She looked up, breath catching as Thane yanked her into a hidden alcove. He pressed a finger to his lips then pointed beyond the tapestry that hid them. Her gaze followed, settling on a painting of a dagger, gleaming as if forged from sunlight, surrounded by oiche blossoms.
Thane’s voice was low, barely more than a breath against her ear. “You’re the key, Elara. And the Wound of Light... it's the door.”
She clung to Thane’s hand, pulling him closer as his form began to fade. Panic surged, her grip tightening—but it wasn’t enough.
Another presence stirred—cold and wrong. A shadow crept in, twisting around her, curdling in her gut until she wanted to scream. The sound lodged in her throat, choking her as it dragged her away.
Chapter 47
The cold night air hit her like a slap when they broke through the surface—icy and burning all at once as it filled her lungs.
Elara’s ribs strained, pulling tight as if they might split apart, each inhale scraping through her like shards of glass. She didn’t need to open her eyes; she knew the feel of his arms.
The Hunter’s chest was hard against her back, his breath ragged at her cheek—his grip iron.
The moment they reached the bank, he released her. Elara collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering, teeth chattering until her jaw ached. She was too cold, too weak to do anything but lie there. The only warmth came from the fire of his gaze, boring into her as he knelt beside her, chest still heaving. She didn’t dare look at him—not yet. Not when the fury radiating from him was so palpable she could almost taste it.
“Do you have any idea what you almost did? How reckless—how stupid?—”
“I had to,” she rasped, forcing herself to sit up. “We needed the memory?—”
“And your solution was todrownyourself?”
He finally turned to face her.
“I didn’t have a choice. We're running out of time?—”
