I’m supposed to be the one keeping this whole rebellion afloat. The steady hand. The untouchable commander.
But this bond?
It makes me reckless. Makes me dangerous.
Because one blade at her throat, and I’d be on my knees.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ELYSSARA
My chest achesas I walk away from Kael, and I clutch at my leather chest plate to ease the pain.
“What is it?” Seren queries.
“It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just nervous about the next relic. Surely they can’t all be in Dravara. I know we’ll have to cross The Joining soon.”
Ronyn throws his arm around me, and pulls me in tight while we walk back to the rooms, “Scared of a realm full of monsters?” he jeers. “Never stopped you before. We’ve faced worse, I’d say.” That lop-sided grin and his shaggy mop of hair bounce across his forehead, and I can’t help but smile back at the big optimistic fool.
“Wehavefaced a lot of Bloodbonds and lived to tell the tale,” I allow.
“I’ve even shot a crossbow!” Seren exclaims.
We all chuckle together, and walk straight into Seren’s room, where all her maps, books and parchment remain undisturbed.
We settle into a steady rhythm of reading, writing notes, discussing theories, and poring over the prophecy, sipping tea of hibiscus and honey. The peace and nostalgia of losing hours tobooks and conversation feels at odds with the circumstances, but I relish them, anyway.
As if someone tugs hard on a thread stitched through my chest, I jolt upright. The door opens and the rest of the group walk through. The ache unspools the moment Kael finally steps through the door, his ocean eyes locking onto mine. Relief swells in my chest so fast it’s dizzying—like breathing after drowning.What in the Stars is going on?
He winks at me and flashes one of those half-smirks that turn me molten.
“So, what have you come up with?” He prompts, directing the question at Seren.
“We’re looking at this section here,” she says, pointing to the old parchment, its ink smeared and worn. Her finger underlines the verse:
In shadowed depths where roots entwine,
The crown reveals the path divine.
I read the lines again, unease spreading through my veins There's something ominous in the poetry—something waiting in the dark.
We all hunch over, crowding around the parchment, and leaning over towers of books and countless notes tucked between pages.
“I can deduce that this piece of the prophecy refers to the Obsidian Crown, according to this text ofAncient Lore & Historical Relics,” Seren pauses for dramatic effect, but we all look at her, not at all sure what she’s referring to.
She scoffs, but continues. “It’s heralded as a Seer of Legitimacy,” Seren announces, fingers trailing the brittle edge of the parchment. “The crown doesn’t grant power—it decides if you deserve it. It judges the bloodline, the soul, the intention. And it doesn’t care for politics or self-righteous claims.” She flips through aged pages with practiced speed before landing on a section, her nail tapping the ink. “It’s sentient. If it accepts you, it shows you things—histories, visions, things that have been buried. If it rejects you...”
“What happens?” I ask, my throat dry.
Seren hesitates—just for a breath—then meets my eyes. “The rejection is... violent. Fatal in most cases.”
“Do we know why it’s hidden? Why its part of the prophecy?” Therion questions.
“Because it confirms or denies the rightful kings and queens of the realms,” she looks up then, letting the gravity of her statement sink in. “And if it’s hidden, that means someone doesn’t want to answer to the crown.”
“This day just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Merrik says drily, running his hand through his graying beard.
Kael cuts through the pondering group, “Any leads on where it is?”
