“Hate to say it, Seren, but most warsarewon with steel—I’ve seen it,” Jax snipes. She wasn’t always such a contrarian. But the fall of Zerynthia—her part in it—broke us all in different ways. And Jax? She’s made herself hard and impenetrable—incapable of getting hurt, again. Or so she’d have you believe.
Therion lets out an annoyed huff. “Most wars are won with intelligent strategies before we’ve even drawn our blades, Jax—I’veplanned it.”
She scowls, and I can feel the tension in the air thickening. Itfeelslike a war council meeting. Hot tempers, bold opinions.
“I don’t give a fuck if it’s strategy, blades or books we draw first. All I care about is getting it right so Zerynthia still stands at the end of it all,” Daelen cuts in with no fuss. “We need the right decision, not everyone’s preference.”
He makes a good point.
“Can I hear the list of options again? I’ve got steel, books, strategies…” Ronyn lists them out on his fingers.Fucking Ronyn. Though, I’m grateful for his endless ability to cut tension.
“Brask,” Rubi adds. “No one has mentioned brask. It’s solved a lot of my problems.”
Therion grunts in agitation at his sister, and the room breaks off into pairs of debate.
Mavyrn’s eyes gleam with victory. Why? I have no fucking idea.
I snap.
“We’ll take it to a vote,” I announce gruffly. “Before we take the vote, does anyone want to put forward other strategies?”
I pan around the room, waiting for suggestions.
Mavyrn pushes off the wall, stalking slowly towards the table.
Her crooked finger adorned with that silver ring and a too-long nail stretches out, pointing right at me. “Before you weigh your options, boy, consider that breaking the Marked spell needs more than just the Arcanist that cast it and Maldrak—you’ll need the spell itself; the ingredients, the sequence, its reversal. And a spell like that exists in onlyonebook. That book has been outlawed for decades. Impossible to find,” she croaks, and the room listens.
I give her a curt nod, and begin the vote.
“I’ll lay out the options. Then, we vote,” I direct without waiting for an answer, though the room nods in agreement, anyway.
“Option one: we rely on ourselves. We ready our own small army without allies and track down the fifth relic for Elyssara to strengthen our defenses—and maybe even have a chance at taking down The Decay.” The words sound fucking weak and taste bitter as they spill from my mouth.
“Option two: we head for Nymeris and take the Archivist at his word—trust that whatever knowledge Lady Sylvaine believes can ‘change everything’ is enough to turn this war.”
No one breathes. The Hollow is silent, the air thick.
I push on.
“Option three: we call in the rebellion. We rally The Shield’s forces and push to take back The Wastes before Thalmyr and Maireth make their move.”
Merrik and Daelen nod at that. But I’m concerned that without being able to take down The Decay or break the spell, that option is futile. A bandage over a gaping wound.
“Option four: we chase the spell itself. We find this outlawed spell book, and we break the Marked spell before Dravara andCaeloria carve up our homeland. We’d take back Kryntar Castle—at least then we’d have a stronghold to defend from.”
The room falls silent. I know the options aren’t compelling, but they’re the ones we’ve got, and if my father taught me anything, it’s that you play the hand you’re dealt.
Elyssara leans forward, her lips parting like she’s about to say something.
The room stills, waiting for her, like even her silence can command a room.
I can feel her sifting and sorting through memories and thoughts via the tether, but on the outside, her face is unreadable. I raise my hand, asking the room to wait.
And then finally?—
“I believe I know that spell book. And, I believe I know where it is,” she whispers, still trying to decide if she can trust her memory.
My eyes flick to Mavyrn, and though her face looks the same, I can see a spark in her eyes. The spark that tells me her plans are working.
