I’m almost there, almost by his side, when the sound of grinding wood fills the air. The pathway I’m on twists, caving in on itself, leaving me in a heap on The Grove’s floor, my path to Kael consumed by roots and vines that seek to separate us.
In such close proximity, Kael’s swords are no use. He’s reaching for the dagger in his boot, but the roots pin him in place.
The maw of the hollow tree is dripping with a sticky, green liquid as if salivating.
Kael!I scream down the tether, but it’s no use. The roots are not only wrapped around his limbs, but his throat, too.
Panic threatens to seize my heart. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and my mind is foggy, shrouding me in confusion and fear.
Fuck. Not like this. Not him.
“NO!” I scream aloud, voice cracking with raw desperation. A surge of power slams through my body, fierce and blinding.
“Let. Him. Go.” The words come out like a command.
The air snaps. The vines recoil. The roots freeze mid-motion.
The Grove shudders.
Kael drops to the ground in a heap as the tendrils retreat like chastised beasts, slithering back into the home from which they came.
Kael’s breath comes in harsh pants as he pushes himself upright, eyes wide, fixed on me.
I’m shaking. Magic still churns beneath my skin like a storm barely held back. But that wasn’t magic. That was...me.
And The Grove knew it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
KAEL
She commanded the fucking grove.Made it submit to her like a dog, just like the Vaythari’s duskprowlers at Skaedor’s Crest, beasts known for kneeling to no one.
The Grove is a sanctuary. There’s no trace of the wrath it unleashed—only starlit moss and mythic trees that light the way.
Elyssara’s compass points straight ahead, and the pathways occasionally move and adjust, but never with malicious intent—more like a protective mechanism.
Elyssara leads the way—one hand wrapped around the compass, the other around her blade. Her long, copper braid trails down her slender back, strong with muscle from weeks of travel and fighting. Her hips sway with the grace of a warrior, her steps sure and steady, as if she hasn’t just taken on a sentient grove and won.
I can’t help but stare. She’s fucking captivating.
I should be thinking about the path. The relic. The danger. But all I see is her.
We continue walking in comfortable silence, though anticipation for whatever lies ahead tints the air with tension.
“Well,” Elyssara’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “it looks likewe won’t be mulch.” Her tone is light, but I feel her apprehension through the tether.
I huff a laugh, “Perhaps not today, El.”
“It accepted us,” she answers, beaming now.
“Duskae, it acceptedyou,” I counter. “I think it’s just tolerating me.”
She giggles, and the sound is sweet. Every nerve in my body comes alive at the sound.
A small gasp slips from Elyssara, and she rushes forward, stopping swiftly after a few strides.
“The crown,” she whispers reverently.
