But it doesn’t last?—
“Kael,” Merrik’s breathing is ragged as he charges toward the fire. “We’ve received a missive. It’s gotthewax seal.”
Sentimentality gives way to strategy in a heartbeat, and I sit bolt upright at his announcement.
Because missives rarely make it to us, especially if they come via The Joining. Every guard along Dravara’s side of The Joining receives extra coin for turning over information to Thalmyr. But if this hasthewax seal on it, it’s definitely come from Dravara. It’s come fromourpeople.
I stand instantly, shedding my fake jokes and apathy for something else—something sharper. He shoves the missive at me. The parchment is tattered and frayed, as if the journey here has been anything but smooth. I run my fingers across the scarlet wax seal, tracing over each line and corner of the inverted triangle.The mark of our rebellion.
“Would ya just fuckin’ open it, Kael, and stop being sentimental over a godsdamned wax seal?” Daelen grouses.
“Preferably today,” Ronyn adds, ambling towards the fire.
I huff a laugh, relishing the levity after the sinking weight of the past days.
Snapping the seal in half, I unfurl the parchment. Penned in a strong hand:
The memories live on.
Beyond our shores.
All is not forgotten.
Elandor knows.
— The Shield of Dawn
“Well?” Merrik questions impatiently.
I pass the missive around, and run my hand down my face, scratching at my overgrown stubble.
“It’s about threvenar,” I explain.
“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna need more than that,” Ronyn quips, and I try not to read into the lightness in his tone. Because I know forgiveness isn’t so easily offered. No, this is a truce for the sake of Elyssara—and I’ll take it.
“The Shield of Dawn is our rebel leader in Dravara, and we’ve tasked him with finding out every intricacy of the memory suppression spell,” Therion answers simply.
“If only Elyssara knew there was an entire rebellion in Dravara when we were there,” Seren whispers, tucking into Ronyn’s shoulder. “She’d have joined them. Weallwould have.”
I know.Gods, I fucking know.
“We know Thalmyr gets threvenar from The Wastes to suppress selective memories about Dravara’s history?—”
“You’re telling me a simple old plant controls our fucking memories?” Ronyn interrupts.
Therion’s mouth presses into a thin line, and he nods. “Plants, yes. But a spell, too. Something that makes it target specific memories.” He runs his fingers through his dense stubble in thought.
“And if we can somehow stop the shipment of threvenar, will the memories come back? Or will it simply pause the suppression of new ones?” I contemplate out loud.
Realization dawns on Seren’s face. “Because if Dravara knows of Thalmyr’s deceit—stolen history, toppling the monarchy, taking our choice away—the people won’t just resist,they’ll rise. They’ll turn on him… and you’ll have an ally. Attack Maldrak from both sides,” she says with startling clarity.
“Okay, I didnotpick that up from what they said,” Ronyn scratches his head for dramatic effect.
For the first time in days I smile at the bastard, genuinely pleased to hear his usual shameless irreverence, and not his seething rage.
“Okay so how the fuck do the memories live on? And who in the Stars is Elandor?” Jax snipes in her usual brusque tone, the rasp of her daggers along the whetstone almost drowning her out.
“I’m not sure, but we don’t have the luxury of time to travel across the seas to find out more right now. We can’t wait for Dravara’s alliance—we have to trust that The Shield is doing what he must to dig deeper. We have to move on Maldraknow. Every heartbeat we sit here is another minute she’s withhim,” I say with conviction.
