“What did she say?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t look at him. My eyes stayed fixed on the prophecy as the truth uncoiled like a dragon from slumber.
“That if I wanted to… I could rule the Blood Fae.”
Zander’s hand tightened slightly on my shoulder, his warmth grounding me even as my chest pulled tight with a weight I couldn’t name. The idea of ruling the Blood Fae coiled in my chest like a dormant storm, waiting.
“You’re not them, Ashe,” Cordelle said softly, his voice steady despite the worry in his eyes. “You never were.”
“I’ve seen you choose mercy,” Remy added, leaning back in his chair with a rare seriousness. “More times than I can count. A conqueror wouldn’t hesitate. You do.”
Cordelle paused from reading his tome. “Even if you were born of fire and blood… you’ve already rewritten what that legacy means.”
Zander nodded, fierce and loyal.You’re ours. And we don’t follow tyrants,he said privately.
But I’m not just yours,I thought, staring down at the script still glowing on the page.I’m theirs, too. Whether I like it or not.
I nodded, my throat dry. “I just… I can’t seem to outrun it. My past. My blood. Everything I didn’t ask for.”
“You don’t have to outrun it,” Zander said quietly. “Just outrun the version of you they think they own.”
Before the weight could fully settle, Cordelle cleared his throat, drawing our eyes to the scroll now unrolled beside him. His fingers trailed the lines with care.
“I found something about the fae elixir,” he said. “It won’t work alone. Not on a poison that was designed to warp the king’s mind. The Light Fae created a ritual to activate its full power.”
He sat straighter, green eyes focused behind the soft glow of the table lantern. “It’s called the Purging Flame. The elixir has to be consumed at the center of a magical circle, woven with four elemental anchors. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. Each infused with rare ingredients attuned to the Light Fae.”
“What kind of ingredients?” Remy asked.
Cordelle ticked them off one by one. “We’ll need skyroot bark harvested during a storm for air. Ashes from a living flame tree—those are native only to the Wilding Wastes. Pure river crystal for water, untainted and uncut. And for earth…” He hesitated. “Bloodroot. From a plant that only grows in the ruins of the fae capital. The Blood Isle.”
Of course. Always the Blood Isle.
“None of that sounds easy to get,” Remy muttered.
“No,” Cordelle agreed. “But it’s the only way to remove the poison entirely. And save the king.”
Zander’s voice cut in. “Then we find them. All of them.”
I exhaled slowly, the prophecy still echoing in my mind.
Cordelle was quiet, his hand still resting on the edge of the scroll. The candlelight flickered over his face, casting shadows across his freckles and the deep furrow between his brows.
“It won’t break a dark spell,” he said finally. “If there’s one bound to the poison… a curse that’s keeping it tethered to the king… then the elixir won’t be enough.”
I straightened in my chair. “What do you mean?”
Cordelle met my gaze, then looked to the others. “If a dark spell is anchoring the poison. If someone cursed him before or after it was administered, then we have to sever that tie manually.”
Zander’s jaw flexed. “By killing the caster.”
Cordelle didn’t blink. “Yes.”
Zander let out a short grunt, the sound almost feral. “No problem.”
Remy leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one brow arching. “I second that. In fact, I’d prefer it.”
Zander gave a curt nod. “Let’s just hope they show their face soon.”
