My breath hitched. I inclined my head, mirroring his gesture. “Thank you for allowing us entry.”
His smile held a depth of knowing that made my chest tighten. “The Fae Sanctuary protects its own. If it allowed you entry, you are no danger to its inhabitants.”
Zander shifted beside me, silent, respectful.
“Now,” the old man said, eyes sweeping over our group, “I assume you would like to be introduced to the council. Your time here is limited.”
“Yes,” I said, voice calm despite the whirlwind in my chest. “Please.”
The man turned, his robes whispering over the grass as he beckoned us forward.
Behind me, Kaelith let out a quiet huff of steam, her scythes lowering in a rare sign of peace.
The path curved through a grove of ancient trees, their trunks pale and twisted like bleached bone, their leaves glowing with a bluish sheen. The wind barely stirred here, hushed like a breath held too long. In the center of the clearing ahead, a structure rose—if it could be called that.
It looked as though it had grown from the ground itself—arches of stone wound with vines that bloomed despite the fading light, crystalline windows shimmering with starlight though the sun still lingered in the sky. Magic pulsed in the very air, thick and fragrant, settling on my skin like mist.
As we approached, I glanced toward the old man. “What’s your name?”
“Dormeal,” he answered without looking back. “Your dragons must wait outside the Hall of Judicium. They will be provided meat and…entertainment.”
I raised a brow, but Kaelith was already curling in the mossy clearing, her tail flicking with lazy interest.
Inside, the air was cooler, denser with magic. Light filtered down through the crystal-paneled ceiling in twisting hues of violet and gold. The walls themselves glimmered, etched with fae runes that shifted when I blinked.
At the far end of the great hall, six fae sat behind a crescent-shaped table raised above the floor. Each was distinct, one as pale as moonlight with hair like spun frost, another with skin the color of deep moss and robes stitched with feathers. But my eyes locked on the one seated in the center.
He was ancient. Not aged like a man, but worn by the weight of centuries, his face carved from time itself. His voice was a whisper of thunder when he pointed at me.
“You are the Storm Reaper. Granddaughter to the Blood King.”
The air snapped in my lungs. I stepped forward. “I am. And I’ve come for your help.”
“We have little to offer the human world,” he said, voice calm but cutting.
“The Blood Fae are on the cusp of winning the war,” I replied. “They’ve infected King Emlem Rayne with a poison not even our best healers can identify.”
The old man tilted his head. “We may be able to assist in that.”
“And the war?” My voice didn’t tremble. “It is rumored you have a weapon that could help us.”
He turned to the woman seated at his side and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Her eyes darted toward me, curious, thoughtful, before she gave a single nod.
“You will stay the night as our guest,” he said at last. “We will discuss your request and give you our answer in the morning.”
Behind me, I felt Zander step closer. His presence steady. Protective.
And still—I felt the weight of every eye in the room settle on me.
Because I wasn’t just a rider or a Rebec.
I was the Storm Reaper.
And granddaughter to their greatest enemy.
We followed Dormeal out of the Hall of Judicium, our boots barely making a sound on the smooth, silver-veined stone. The moment the heavy archway opened to the outside, we were hit with a wave of briny air, and the unmistakable scent of dragon satisfaction.
Kaelith lounged beside Hein and Katama, half-curled around the carcass of what looked like a massive sea creature, something between a whale and a serpent. Its hide shimmered with opalescent scales, thick and gleaming with seawater. Kaelith’s muzzle was streaked with blood, but she looked positively gleeful.
