“My theories at this stage are that it’s connected to Shadowweave magic—shadowed depthsandthe Obsidian Crownsound too coincidental to not be connected to The Obsidian Serpent constellation, wouldn’t you say?” Seren doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “But without maps of The Wastes, and limited information in these books, I have no leads on what it means for the roots to entwine...Yet.” Determination lines her face, and she continues trawling through pages.
I look up from the table and catch Therion and Kael exchanging a weighted look.
“What do you know?” I ask, an edge to my voice.
“I know where we’re going next,” heaviness coating Kael’s words.
“Care to enlighten the group?” Ronyn quips, but Kael’s jaw tenses. For a heartbeat, it seems like he won’t answer.
Then, with a grim finality, he mutters, “Home.”
The word drops like a stone in my chest. Whatever’s waiting there... it’s not just about the crown. It’s abouthim.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
KAEL
“And where exactly is home?”Elyssara breathes. Her words come out soft, but there’s steel in them—like she already knows the answer won’t be good.
“The far east of The Wastes. Thornewood.” I don’t soften it. She deserves the truth—at least, the parts that won’t ruin the plan. Jax looks displeased at the confession, but fuck, Jax always looks displeased.
“The entwined roots are in Thornewood?” Seren presses, eyes wide with that spark she gets when she’s on the edge of solving something.
Therion clears his throat, closing his eyes for a beat too long. I know that look—he’s lost in memories that still fucking bleed.
“Thornewood sits on the edge of a grove,” Therion says, voice low. Surprise twists in my chest—he never talks about this. “It was once a sanctuary for kings and queens to take respite, to gather wisdom.” He drags in a breath, the kind that feels like it’s scraping against his lungs. “But since the last rightful king died, the grove’s gone feral.”
Silence swells, heavy and sharp. Even the fucking air feels tighter.
Merrik breaks it, his rough timbre a relief. “It was a sanctuary—sure. But its heart was always for the crowned. And now?” He shakes his head. “She’s turned. The roots tangle, trees bend, the paths close, and no one gets through. At least, no one who’s come back to talk about it.”
“One could argue they went in under-prepared and paid for it,” Jax snaps, the weight of lost soldiers thick in her voice.
Elyssara ignores Jax, her jaw ticks, disbelief warping her words. “And that’s where the crown is?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I admit. “But the prophecy points to entwined roots, and there’s nowhere else in Aevryn where the land twists in on itself like that. If the crown’s hidden somewhere... the grove makes the most sense.”
Seren chimes in, flipping through a brittle page. “The crown is tied to legacy and legitimacy—it would make sense for it to be placed in a sanctuary once meant for kings and queens. And if the grove’s turned hostile, it’s probably because no one worthy has claimed it since.”
“Or because someone doesn’t want it found,” Therion mutters darkly.
“So we’re walking into a death maze for a crown that we’re not entirely sure is even there?” Elyssara deadpans.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Merrik doesn’t sugarcoat it.
Ronyn lets out a long, slow whistle. “A moving death maze, a killer crown, and a rebellion hanging by a thread? Sounds fucking perfect.” He flashes that reckless grin. “I’m in.”
We gather around a frayed map spread across the table, the edges curling from age and wear. The Joining cuts a jagged line across the parchment, the last breath of Dravara’s territory before it collapses into inaccurate projections of The Shadow Wastes’ terrain. It looks simple enough here—just a slash of ink. But they’re about to find out just how much they’ve been lied to.
Merrik traces a thick finger along the border. “The main crossing’s here, but it’s swarming with Guards this time of year. Even their best idiots wouldn’t leave it unguarded.”
“Except they have,” Jax cuts in, leaning forward, boots kickedup on the table. “Scouts came back empty. No Royal Guard patrols, no lookouts. It’s been fucking silent.”
A heavy pause.
“Too silent,” Therion mutters. “They’re not just absent—they’re waiting.”
Elyssara’s brows furrow. “If they know we’re moving, wouldn’t they stake The Joining itself?”
