Every horrific scenario flashes through my mind: the enemy killing Maldrak before we break the spell on the Marked, bringing down The Decay and reaping our resources for their own gain at the cost of our people, wiping Zerynthia from history entirely. Or worse: taking our lands without lifting The Decay and locking us in eternal rot.
A cold sweat breaks out across my skin.
Fuck.
Council Hollow erupts in outrage—words of revenge and war against a nation built on advanced weaponry and armies that could swallow us whole with the sheer number of them.
Therion leans in close, the voice of reason in a room of reckless rage. “Our only options are Nymeris’ alliance and summoning the rebellion. Or, less likely; breaking the spell and regaining the Marked soldiers into our ranks—if they’re even redeemable,” his low rumble of reason blocks out the emotion from the room. “That, and we need the fifth relic to unbind Elyssara’s power—she could take down over a hundred in an instant. But regardless, war seems to be coming from all angles. Maldrak will likely strike back at us, word from The Joining is that Thalmyr’s forces expand every day indicating animpending play at The Wastes, and now Caeloria? We need to do something.Fast.”
I give him a curt nod, taking his words under advisement. I explore them all internally. We don’t have updated information on the rebellion—they may not be ready. Nymeris’ answers lies in the missive in my hand. The fifth relic is an answer we don’t have yet. Breaking the Marked spell might be our best option, depending on what lives behind Queen Ilyra’s wax seal.
Fuck.
I’m made for battlefields, not political games. I’d rather bleed an enemy than slide pieces across a board.
“Silence,” I announce with quiet command, holding a single hand up.
The room falls silent almost instantly, awaiting my instruction.
Without a word, I break the wax seal, sliding out the parchment that underpins everything that comes next—and could doom or direct our fate.
Lady Sylvaine’s no-fuss handwriting marks the parchment, and with that, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.At least she’s safe.
Your Highness,
The memories have not been lost—Dravara lives on. Nymeris wish to aid in the rise of Zerynthia, but what they offer is not weapons or armies, but knowledge that will change everything. And I do mean everything. The Archivist awaits you.
No trace,
Your servant.
I pass the missive around, but this time, no rage ensues. No, this time, curiosity does.
The recent missive from The Shield whirls in my mind:
The memories live on.
Beyond our shores.
All is not forgotten.
Elandor knows.
— The Shield of Dawn
Elandor. The Archivist. Knowledge that will change everything. It bends and melds in my mind—a crashing wave of incomplete information. Lady Sylvaine is calculated and doesn’t tolerate nonsense. I know I can trust this, even when it doesn’t make sense.
“‘Dravara lives on’, what does that mean?” Seren asks impatiently, seemingly frustrated by the half-cocked information, too.
But Merrik ignores her questions, emotions running high. “We need weapons and armies, Kael. You can’t win wars with dusty books and strongly worded missives,” he complains gruffly, insulting the typical ways of Nymeris—the scholars. He throws his hands up and lets them thud to the table.
“Not all wars are won with steel,” Seren counters, dismissing the seasoned warrior with a quick flick of her wrist. “What we learn can inform how we strategize. How do we get to Nymeris? As in, where in the Stars is it?”
They’ve never left Aevryn. Never left Dravara, or likely even the slums, until Therion and I. They know nothing about the world beyond our shores.
Elyssara’s face is a mask of indifference, but I know better than to think she’s sitting idly. She’s thinking. Plotting. Weighing.
The Heart of Zerynthia.
