As we climb higher, the air grows thinner. The Noctrals’ breathing becomes labored. Tallulla begins to struggle, swaying in her saddle. Her face has gone pale and she clutches the reins desperately.
Darstan wordlessly guides his massive mount closer. He positions himself behind her so he can catch her if she falls. “Breathe slowly,” he instructs.
She nods, focusing on his voice. Gradually her color improves.
Despite holding her newborn, Lady Siofra guides her Noctral alongside Lenna. “Fix your eyes on the horizon instead of the path. It helps with the dizziness,” she says softly, reaching out to steady the handmaiden.
Lenna does as instructed and her breathing evens out.
The fortress sits on the highest cliff. We dismount in a courtyard of black stone and stable hands appear to take our Noctrals. They wear dark robes and guide us deeper into the fortress without speaking a word. The entrance is a massive arch, unadorned except for a single symbol carved above the threshold.
The spiral crest of Kraethys.
We descend now, following stairs that wind deeper into the mountain. The temperature drops with each step.
“How deep does this go?” Red asks.
“To the roots of the mountain,” our guide answers.
The stairs finally end and we emerge into a corridor. Rhianelle’s hand finds mine in the darkness. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly. I squeeze her hand gently. I’m here.
She doesn’t respond in words but her fingers tighten around mine. I know she’s not worried about this visit.
It’s the war.
The seadragons will arrive the day after tomorrow.
From a shadowed alcove near the great entrance, a figure steps forward.
“Cousin.”
The voice comes from a tall, lean Kashran warrior clad in black. Long dark hair falls loose down his back, blending almost seamlessly with the volcanic stone behind him. His features are sharper than Rhianelle’s but the resemblance is unmistakable.
This is Kahedin Kashran.
Sole heir to Kashran and commander of its fleet. Back in Völundr the sailors whispered his name the way they whisper about sea monsters. His gaze finds me and I understand why.
Rhianelle releases my hand and embraces him briefly. He leans back just enough to study her face. “You really did marry a vampire,” he murmurs to Rhianelle.
The prince levels me another stare. I hold his gaze. He’s not hostile, but there’s nothing welcoming in it either.
At last, Kahedin’s attention shifts.
Something in his face eases when he finds Rainer.
“Uncle.” The word carries weight, real respect in it.
Rainer inclines his head slightly in return. “We require an audience with Rhydan.”
“Of course.” Kahedin steps back. “Grandfather is eager to see you, cousin.”
I know who waits beyond those doors. Everyone who has spent any time in Aelfheim knows the name Rhydan Kashran. He was there when Casimir drew the first borders of the unifiedkingdom. Old enough to remember a world before Aelfheim existed, the same breath of age that clings to the Aeonian. The stories say he bargained with a sea witch once, bound his life to her Kraethys somewhere in the deep. The creature hasn’t died yet, so Rhydan still lives.
We reach a set of massive doors carved from single slabs of volcanic glass. They swing inward without a sound, pulled by unseen hands. Cold air spills out from whatever lies beyond.
The wolf whines, pressing flat against the floor. It won’t come any closer. I don’t blame it.
I step through. The frigid air wraps around me like a second skin. The room opens into something vast, carved from the mountain itself. At its far end, Rhydan Kashran sits on a throne of silver. Even in that position, his head nearly touches the vaulted stone above.
