The sky’s mark…
She glanced toward the mirror again.
The pale green of her irises, ringed in silver like starlight had once fallen through her eyes and gotten stuck.
The quiet God’s will…
Was that Eiren, the dead Goddess?
She didn’t know why the name echoed in her chest like a half-remembered lullaby.
A whisper of dread coaxed her flesh. Maris closed the tome with a thud, sharp and deliberate.
-Kael-
The council chamber was thick with torchlight and tension.
Kael stood at the long table, palms braced, eyes flicking over every face that dared meet his. The air foul with old magic and worry.
Corin and Riven stood to his left. The war-mages kept their silence, twin statues of muscle and menace, but Kael could feel their unease.
He’d felt it, too, ever since he carried Maris from the training yard like a thing already claimed and cursed the moment he touched her.
“You summoned us, Highness,” said a voice to his right, deep, rough like stone cracking under snow.
Lord Draeven, husband to Commander Valea. Warden of the Iron Peaks and a loyalist of Kael’s bloodline for three reigns. His pewter hair cropped short, He wore the ache of exsistence like a second skin, the years had not been kind to his features. A thick silver beard was braided tight, and a blade rested at his hip below his shadowed cloak.
Kael turned toward him.
“I need counsel,” he said flatly. “From someone who has not yet let their fear poison their judgment.”
Draeven gave a short nod. “Very well, your highness, let the truths of the girl be laid bare.”
“Her name is Maris.” The words slipped out before Kael could stop them.
He grit his jaw, glaring down at the stone floor. “Power erupted from her in a burst that set my instincts on edge — raw, unchecked, and unlike anything I'd ever felt. I don't believe she was even aware it came from within her.”
“Fae?” Riven asked. “Or vampire?”
Kael shook his head. “Neither. It was something older and far more dangerous. Even my shadows twisted away, instinctive and afraid.”
“Well, that's comforting. The walking darkness recoiled. Definitely not a problem at all.” Corin snorted raking a hand over his scarred eye.
Kael shot him a glare that could have gutted a deer. But Draeven remained calm.
“Long ago, my mother spoke of a similar magic… though we all thought it was just legend,” he said, slowly. “During the last thinning of the Veil, when many still worshiped the gods, hoping to win favor, a temple priestess named Liora erupted in a blinding flare of magic. She spoke in a tongue no one recognized — anicent and immortal — before bursting into flames from within. Her body turned to ash before the eyes of the villagers, leaving behind a scorched symbol in the temple square. Many called it a warning. ”
Kael looked at him sharply. “Do you know of any written accounts of the event?”
Draeven’s eyes narrowed.
“Like I mentioned your grace, we believe it to be only legend." He hesitated. “My mother, the imaginitive thing she was, had her own theories about the tale. She believed the priest was saying something about the dead goddess as it occurred on Eiren's temple ground. She said loosely translated to 'The dreaming god stirs.’”
Kael’s pulse skipped. His mind went back to the Seer’s words.
She is the storm in the dreamer’s heart.
You cannot bind what is already chained to the sky.
