“I haven’t used it much, but I think it responds to… my will,” Elyssara explains, still trying to make sense of it.
“Of course Duskae gave you magic that becomes whatever you want it to become,” Jax huffs a laugh, but it’s not rude. It’s intrigued.Awed.
“I’ve built mental walls, I’ve hurt people… it seems to be connected to me. To my emotions,” Elyssara continues explaining. “She seems to give me what I need most.”
Warmth floods me. She’s fucking breathtaking.
“Duskae didn’t play by the rules of the gods,” Therion offers, voice low and reverent. “She created her own fate. Her own way of expressing magic. It seems you play by the same rules, El: none.”
Elyssara doesn’t move. Her emerald-green eyes taking it all in, hungry for more stories of Duskae.
“This is why they banished Duskae, girl,” Mavyrn croaks. “Too unpredictable. Can’t be controlled. So, what will you do with all that power?”
The words hang heavy in the room, and Elyssara looks unnerved by the Arcanist. But in a heartbeat, she shifts into something godly.
“I’ll do good with it. And you? What will you do withyourpower? Will you hide in the mountains or choose a godsdamned side?” She stares down the old woman, and Mavyrn returns a smug, expectant glare, but says nothing.
“Is this a good time to also mention that Seren World Walked? Yep, pretty impressive, isn’t it? They’re my best friends, by the way,” Ronyn quips, nodding and smiling like he’s won a hand at the poker table.
Seren’s face blazes red, and she sinks back into herself at the compliment.
“Fuck’s sake, lad,” Merrik grouses. “We’re planning a war here.”
“Actually, we were questioning the loyalty of Correk—big guy over the back there,” Ronyn throws a casual thumb over his shoulder in Correk’s direction. “We hadn’t decided yet, in case you were wondering. As you were,” he signals casually, encouraging us to keep going.
I take a long drag on my tankard, steadying myself before making a plan. I suck my teeth, and let the room go silent again, commanding attention and deference.
“Nalya trusted him,” I finally say. “It’s good enough for me.”
Merrik’s head tips back in exasperation. He wants blood. He wants war.
Jax doesn’t look overly pleased, but that’s neither here nor there.
But ultimately, they don’t decide the fate of this nation or all of Aevryn.
I do.
“The verdict from the Sword?” I ask, turning to Therion, my tone clipped.
He pauses, weighing his decision with the intricate workings of a strategist. “Nymeris is our best chance—we have to trust that Lady Sylvaine has done her part.” He nods, signaling his final verdict.
I return a nod, and swing my attention to Elyssara. “The verdict from the Heart?”
Without waiting, she stares at me with an intensity that makes me still. “The Underbelly for the book. Rally the rebellion. Then, Nymeris,” she says, looking around me to Therion. “We need to know our chances of breaking the spell and engaging the rebellion first.”
Despite the slight, Therion nods once, acquiescing to her word.
And just like I promised, Elyssara’s word is law.
For the first time in a decade, I feel the odds tilt towards us.
“We leave for The Underbelly when the moon dips below the treeline.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ELYSSARA
I wander aimlessly through Thornewood,making friends with the vines and conversation with the trees that shimmer in the night. The canopy blots out the bright, round moon, and the only light left is the bioluminescence that flares underfoot and runs like veins through the trees.
