Ilyra nods graciously.
Sylvaine drops her voice low, leaning into the table to whisper the truth like a forbidden story. “The memories stolen by threvenar are captured in Memory Orbs—the memories can’t be erased entirely, but they can be stolen and held in the Orbs. Getting the memories back is two-fold; purify the threvenar from the blood and water, and shatter the Orbs. That’s how the memories will be returned,” Lady Sylvaine explains, her voice rich with gravitas.
Holy fucking Stars. The memories really do live on.
Elyssara shoots to her feet, fists crashing down on the table as she leans over it. “Where are the fucking Orbs?” she demands, chest rising fast in fury.
Lady Sylvaine doesn’t flinch. She simply leans back in her chair, smug. “That’s where it gets interesting,” she croons. “Thalmyr obviously couldn’t keep them in Dravara—far too risky. So Queen Maireth of Caeloria safeguards them for him,” she pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, before adding, “at a cost.”
That’s when it hits me?—
This is how Caeloria has built its wealth. This is why she allies herself with Thalmyr.
Fuck.
They’re not in Nymeris like Gellesk thought.
“So, we get them back!” Elyssara shouts.
Teddy clears his throat. “Caeloria’s army is the strongest in the known realms—three times the size of the entire Dravari Royal Guard of Starborn. We’d be dead on arrival,” he grunts.
“Not to mention their advanced weaponry and bottomless coffers that could fund a century-long war,” Jax scoffs.
They’re right. Caeloria has been strong and impenetrable for as long as I can remember. My father never trusted them, but he maintained a fragile peace with them. We traded medicines, they provided building materials, and that was our only deal. My father, though, he kept Maireth at a distance and his cards close to his chest.
“We can’t do nothing!” Ronyn screeches, and the sight of him so desperate, so pained, guts me. Nothing breaks Ronyn’s spirit.
He’s right—we can’t do nothing. But for now, I need to know the facts. I need to know exactly what we’re working against.
“There’s more,” Lady Sylvaine interjects, tone heavy.
Queen Ilyra sits a little straighter, raising a delicate hand in the air. We all stop speaking. “Wedohave some Dravari history books, and some Orbs. Our Shades have been infiltrating Caeloria for years. And Elyssara,” she says gently, though her eyes bore into her, “you’ll want to see the Orbs.”
Elyssara’s face is a mask of indifference, but I don’t miss the way her voice trembles. The way her hand shakes beneath the table.
She nods. “How?”
“Eat your dawn meal, Princess. Then, I’ll take you to Elandor,” she breathes.
No one speaks.
Because we all know what we’re unwilling to admit out loud: whatever Elyssara is about to see is going to change the entire known realms.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ELYSSARA
The guards leadus deeper through the castle’s winding halls until stone gives way to something far older, far stranger. The air cools, tinged with the scent of moss and parchment, with subtle notes of dust and time.
We step into a cavernous chamber carved straight from the mountain’s heart. Trees have grown with the stone, their roots winding through staircases and shelves as if earth and knowledge struck a pact long ago. Golden runes shimmer across the vaulted ceiling, casting constellations of light that shift when you move, as though the library itself keeps watch.
Balconies spiral upward in dizzying layers, each one crowded with shelves heavy with tomes bound in every hide and cloth imaginable. A river of lanterns winds along the walkways, glowing like captured Starlight. Ethereal.Mesmerizing.
It feels less like a library and more like an altar to worship knowledge. Every breath hums with reverence.
And then?—
“Ah, there you are!” A voice cuts through the hush, brittle and warm all at once. From between two shelves totters an elderly man with spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose, robes smudged with ink, and hair sticking up in directionsthat suggest he’s lost too many battles with quills or patience. “I worried you’d never come. Books grow restless when their readers are late.”
