“Followed me?” I echo, my irritation sharp. “Why?”
“Because I thought you might be who I was looking for.” His tone is infuriatingly calm, as if that explanation should satisfy me.
“Thought?” I shoot back. “So you weren’t sure?”
Kael’s smirk returns, faint but infuriating. “Not until your mark flared. Until then, I was just watching some girl set a wagon ablaze to create her own cover.” He pauses for a heartbeat, and I’m unsure if he’ll continue, but he adds, “Wondering if what I felt was real.”
I swallow thickly, the memory of the wagon burns at the edges of my mind, but I push it aside. My voice hardens. “And why were you in Virellin to begin with? What were you looking for? You’re clearly not from here,” I say, referencing his accent that I can’t place.
Kael’s expression grows guarded, his piercing gaze meeting mine without flinching. “I was there for Obsidian Shards. Therion needed them to conceal his magic,” he explains simply. “And no, we’re not from here.”
His voice is clipped, so I don’t push the latter. “Conceal it fromwhom?” I press. My curiosity—and irritation—deepens as I notice Therion stiffening at the mention of his magic.
Kael’s answer comes slowly, as though he’s weighing each word. “Therion is an Aetherstride. The most gifted tracker on the continent. His magic makes him an invaluable ally, but it also makes him...noticeable.”
Seren, who has been silent until now, tilts her head. “Noticeable towhom?”
“To every Starborn in Dravara who can sense magic,” Kael replies, his tone even. “We needed to track someone in Virellin, and we needed to do it without notice from the Royal Guard.”
His words land heavily, the weight of what he’s saying settling like a stone in my gut. I glance at Therion, whose jaw is tight, his sharp gaze locked on Kael. It’s clear this isn’t the whole story, but I decide to push forward with the more pressing question.
“And who were you looking for in Virellin?” My voice softens, but it’s no less pointed. “Who were you tracking?”
Kael doesn’t hesitate this time. His answer is simple, stark.
“You, Lightborne.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What do you want from me?”I ask, narrowing my eyes. “What could I possibly do for you?”
Though I suspected Kael had been looking for me, hearing him confirm it sends a sharp pang through my chest. His help in The Tannery wasn’t selfless. He needs me alive—for now. And if he’s anything like the men I’ve dealt with in the slums, he plans to use me for his own gain. I’ve been party to these kinds of deals since I was just five summers old. They never come without strings.
Kael’s expression sharpens, heavy with meaning. “I have a feeling you could do plenty for me, Lightborne,” he replies smoothly. “But what I want is to strike a mutually beneficial deal. Our goals align in this case, and I believe we can help each other.”
Therion shifts uncomfortably, the distaste in his expression unmistakable. He seems to tolerate Kael’s leadership, but there’s an air of reluctance. Their dynamic intrigues me—a subtle but undeniable hierarchy. It’s not familial; their contrasting appearances make that clear enough. Kael’s ocean-blue eyes and broad, warrior’s frame are as different from Therion’s lean build, dirty-blonde hair, and sharp hazel gaze as night is from day. Yet Therion defers to him, even now. I file the observation away for later.
“A deal, you say?” I tilt my head, feigning casual interest. “And what exactly can you do forme? More importantly, what do you want in return?”
Kael steps closer, his tone even but commanding. “We will help you fulfill the prophecy. We’ll accompany you to uncover the relics, protect you on the journey. In return, I need to use one of the relics.”
I don’t trust him. The deal sounds too clean, too convenient. As Gellesk once told me,if it looks like gold, it’s probably gilded.I’ve lived by that truth ever since. Trust, in Virellin, is just another currency—rare, expensive, and easily faked.
“And which relic would that be?” I press, my voice cool. “And why?”
Kael’s amusement flickers in his eyes. “Are you always this distrusting, Lightborne?”
“Yes,” I reply curtly.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “The compass.”
“For?”
Therion’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the air. He drags a hand down his face, clearly displeased. “Kael,” he warns. “No. We’ll find another way.” His voice is tight with caution, his posture rigid with tension.
Kael ignores him, his focus locked on me. His gaze lingers—assessing, calculating. Finally, he speaks, his tone stripped of its earlier confidence, replaced by something rawer.
“King Maldrak of The Shadow Wastes is holding my sister captive.” The words are steady, but there’s grief in his eyes that can’t be feigned. “We’ve tried to rescue her twice. Both times, we failed, and many good men died. We have failed to breach the inner walls of Kryntar Castle at all.” He pauses for a heartbeat, exhaling deeply. “The compass is said to point to the user’s truest desire. For me, that’s my sister.”
