Lorien finally spoke. “Then you still take out the Order members, while we have the full focus of their weapon on us.”
I nodded. “They’re controlling Aleks by using rune magic, we think. If we kill some of the more powerful spell casters among them, then it might help him break free of their hold.”
“Severin should be your main target,” Lorien told them. “But tell your soldiers to be on the lookout for anyone bearing runemarks. They likely won’t glow as bright as the one’s on Aleks, but you can still see them, if you’re paying attention.”
The others all turned to me for confirmation. I breathed in deep, nodding. “This is our best chance to end this without losing everything.”
A hush fell over the room.
A minute passed, then another, with everyone deep in thought. I rose from the table, unable to sit still any longer. There were few places to go in the small space; I ended up wandering to the wall next to the fireplace, where a banner featuring the silver tree of Rivenholt had been hung.
My brother soon came to stand beside me, his presence providing the usual calm air I’d come to depend on. But there was a tightness in his shoulders—and his voice—that betrayed his worry.
“You’re sure you know where the heart is?” he asked.
I kept my eyes on the tree, studying its sprawling, twisting limbs. They made me think of paths. Of choices we had to make, and all the ways they twisted together. “This ends at Calista’s grave. I’m certain of it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. I wondered if he could read the doubt lurking beneath my confidence. If he sensed my fear…and then decided to trust me anyway.
“I can do this, Bastian,” I assured him.
He nodded. “We’ll arrange a messenger, then.”
The hours tickedby with agonizing slowness. Thalia and Bastian left to oversee the preparations with the soldiers. Therest of us remained hidden in that back room, waiting for the messenger to return with the Order’s response.
We tried to rest. To eat and replenish our strength. Nobody managed much of either of those things—except Zayn, who I was becoming convinced could sleep under any and all circumstances. Eamon worked at the table, making notes on spare scraps of parchment and muttering occasionally to himself. Lorien busied himself with building a fire, and then sat down before it and proceeded to ignore all of us.
I was trying to keep my distance from mycounterpart. But the small room was dismally cold, and the warmth of the flames proved too enticing, so I eventually gave in and ended up sitting opposite of him on the faded rug in front of the fireplace.
His gaze was haunted again, lost in distant thought. I wondered if I could use that damnable bond of ours to listen to those thoughts. I didn’t try, but even without prying deeper something told me he was reliving one of his darkest memories—and it wasn’t hard to guess which one.
I’d avoided asking about his memories in Midna, but after a few minutes of sitting there beside him, I couldn’t help my curiosity. I felt like I’d already walked so much of their story at this point…I wanted to know more.
Especially since I would soon be walking upon the bloodiest part of their history.
I took a deep breath. “…Do you remember the day it happened?”
Lorien blinked. His tormented gaze turned hard and cold, his eyes taking on a look of polished stone. A muscle worked in his jaw, but he didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge me for several moments.
I frowned, starting to turn my attention to the flames.
Then he said, “I forgot so many things after that curse broke me. They started flooding back after you recovered the mind shard. But that day…”
The fire popped and crackled in the silence.
“I never forgot that day.” The words were flat with practiced detachment. He picked up a small piece of wood, adding it to the fire and watching the flames consume it entirely before he continued. “My body only lasted a few hours after she cursed me. I was deteriorating in every possible way, but I used my last breaths to hunt her down. All these centuries later, and I’m still surprised I was able to find her and finish her off. It was…it was almost like shewantedme to.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to live with the weight of the curse she’d cast?” I suggested.
He huffed out a bitter, disbelieving laugh—an automatic reaction, maybe, after centuries of ruminating on their violent end. He didn’t refute what I’d said, though, and his gaze eventually turned thoughtful again.
“There might have been a practical reason she chose to die,” Eamon cut in. He was still sitting at the table, all the way across the room, but I wasn’t surprised he’d been listening in with his usual, insatiable inquisitiveness.
“A practical death?” Zayn said, yawning as he stirred from the restless nap he’d been taking in the corner. “That’s a new one.”
Eamon was insistent. “There’s a sacrificial element to the most powerful Vaeloran magic, isn’t there? We see it in the Cycle itself—how the Vaelora were expected to ritualistically impale themselves after their part in the Turning was completed. So it makes sense that Calista would have willingly given her life. It might have granted her the power she needed to cast her protections over the palace and its surroundings. A shield that’s lasted ever since.”
Until now.
