Kael chuckles again, and I curse the Stars under my breath as we continue on.
The days and nights blur, melded together only by flickers of half-formed memories—Seren’s soft voice urging me to drink, the creak of leather saddles, the low murmur of Kael’s voice in the dark. I drift between restless sleep and fleeting moments of sharp clarity, the world around me reduced to a haze of movement, sound, and heat.
I have lost all sense of time. It could be days, weeks, or even heartbeats since the duskprowler attack.
When we finally reach the forest’s edge, I am drenched in sweat, my skin burning as though set aflame, and shaking so violently it’s a wonder I haven’t fallen from the saddle. My leg, oozing and swollen, has darkened to an ominous shade of black, veins creeping outward like vines of decay. Each breath feels like dragging shards of glass through my lungs.
Kael keeps me upright, his arms steady even as mine falter. We’ve stopped countless times for me to wretch, my body rebelling against the poison in my veins. My foot is numb, the flesh gangrenous. The ache is distant now, replaced by a gnawing cold that creeps up my spine.
If it weren’t for Morrathys, God of Death, looming over me, I’d celebrate crossing the threshold of the Frael Forest. Instead, the thought of an additional half-day ride to the healer feels a cruel joke from Morrathys himself.
“You’re not dying,” Kael says, his voice calm, as though my impending demise is nothing but a figment of my imagination.
Did I say that out loud, or are my thoughts simply written across my face?
“I am. And we both know it,” I rasp, my voice barely audible between gulps of air.
“Elyssara,” Kael says, his tone sharp and severe. “You will be one of the most powerful magic wielders the realms have ever seen. It won’t be a scratch that ends your existence. You will not die today.” His voice drops, almost reverent. “Morrathys can’t have you.”
The words land somewhere between a prayer and a command. I want to believe him, but the cold in my veins whispers otherwise.
“Okay then,” I manage, my voice weak, barely a whisper.
For the next few hours, I offer silent prayers to Morrathys, begging him to spare me. Promising vengeance against Dravara’s King, a rebellion for the Starborn, freedom for the forsaken. Promising a better world, if only he lets me live. Promising not to waste what the Stars marked in my blood.
The world blurs and sharpens in fragments as we ride, the coldcreeping deeper into my bones. I hear the others’ voices—Kael’s commanding, Therion’s gruff, Seren’s soft and soothing—but they feel like echoes in a dream. The rhythmic clop of hooves and the distant hum of the wind become my only companions.
Then, the air changes. It feels lighter, crisper, as though we’ve crossed some invisible boundary into a different world. The trees thin, and the canopy opens up to let the sun drench us in light.
I force my heavy eyelids open, just barely, to see a cottage nestled in the shadow of what I assume must be Mount Lyssar.
We’re here. And I whisper one last prayer—not for peace, but for vengeance. For the chance to burn down the king who tried to erase me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ELYSSARA
Mavyrn’s homeis nestled at the foot of Mount Lyssar, where lush green ranges climb through the clouds like a living wall. I can barely reconcile the barren, cracked earth of the Virellin slums with the fertile, dense range before me.
We approach the tiny home, a home unlike anything I’ve seen before. It’s quaint and wild all at once, with moss creeping up the stone walls and vines curling around the crooked shutters. The roof is uneven, thatched with dark reeds, and a thin trail of smoke rises from the chimney, curling into the dusk sky.
Odd trinkets hang from the eaves—wind chimes made of bones, dried herbs tied with twine, and what looks like a glass jar filled with something glowing faintly. The scent of earth and spice drifts on the breeze, mingling with the distant sound of water trickling over stone.
Kael dismounts first, his movements swift and controlled, and then he’s lifting me from the saddle like I weigh nothing at all. I try to protest, to insist I can walk, but the moment my feet touch the ground, my legs buckle, and Kael catches me before I collapse.
“Don’t be stubborn, Lightborne,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.
The door to the cottage creaks open, and an older woman steps out, her presence as commanding as the mountain looming behind her. Mavyrn’s long, gray hair flows like a wild river down her back, streaked with silver that glimmers in the fading light. Her piercing, storm-gray eyes scan the group before settling on me. She’s dressed in layers of dark fabric, adorned with belts and pouches that clink softly with every step. Around her neck hangs a pendant—a crescent moon encircling a small, glowing orb.
Mavyrn’s gaze narrows as she takes me in, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What in the flaming Stars have you foolish men done to this girl?” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut through the haze in my mind.
“She was attacked by duskprowlers,” Kael begins, his tone calm but tight. “The venom?—”
“I can see the venom, boy,” Mavyrn interrupts, striding forward with surprising speed. “And the infection. And the complete lack of common sense.Typical of you,” She points a bony finger at Kael, her eyes blazing, telling a story that I’m not privy to. “Get her inside.Now.”
Kael carries me over the threshold, and the air inside the cottage is warm, filled with the scents of dried herbs, wood smoke, and something faintly metallic. The interior is as eclectic as the outside—shelves crammed with books, jars of powders and liquids, bundles of dried flowers hanging from the rafters. A large wooden table dominates the center of the room, its surface cluttered with an assortment of tools and trinkets. A cauldron simmers in the hearth, its contents bubbling faintly.
Mavyrn points to a worn cot near the fire. “Lay her there. And don’t touch anything unless you want to end up cursed.”
