Kennedy (Council Assassins #19)

Chapter Twelve

Ariella

Asharp sting radiates over my hip, painful enough that it wakes me. I groan and roll to my back, barely slipping back into unconsciousness before another sting forces my hand. I shove at Caspian before murmuring, “Prince, I told you I don’t fucking cuddle. Stay over there.”

He doesn’t respond, nor does the pattern of his breathing change.

That may have been enough to satisfy me and allow sleep to take me once more, but something fresh and pungent settles in the damp air. A mere heartbeat later, I have my blade against the throat of whoever the fuck thought it was a good idea to step into our tent.

Unlucky for them.

My eyes are quick to focus, marking the two people who are crouched over me and Caspian. The one I assume was poking me drags his blade over my hip until it’s pressed deeply into my abdomen. I glance between the two and note the elongated blade the second holds over my sleeping prince.

If I slit this one’s throat, the other will get to Caspian before I can. If it were only me in here, they’d already be dead. But with him? That is not a risk I am willing to take.

The three of us remain quiet as we study each other. If they invaded our tent to hurt us, they could have done so when we were sleeping instead of waking me. They must want something.

But that is not a conversation I will have with Caspian’s life at risk, so I hold the knowing eyes in front of me and nod toward the entrance of the tent. He nods, barely perceptible in the lack of light. He pointedly looks at my arm that holds the blade, but I shake my head and tip it at the other person.

We watch each other, both of us trying to determine if the other will hold their word when weapons are drawn back. The man makes a decision and nods at his friend, who withdraws his blade and scuttles out of the tent without question.

My heart pounds as the remaining figure eyes the blade in my hand. I can sense Caspian’s tension behind me, the way he instinctively shifts, though he still remains unaware of our predicament. “Now,”

I whisper, voice low and dangerous, “your turn.”

The intruder’s lips twitch into a smirk that serves to fuel my anger. “You’re just as they say,”

he concedes, but there’s a sly glimmer in his eyes. Who? “Careful with that edge out here, love.”

“Do they teach you to mock your captors where you come from?”

I counter, pressing the blade just hard enough to draw a bead of crimson from his throat. It slides down and mixes with the sweat pooling on his skin. “You’re still here because I’m generous. But that generosity has limits.”

His eyes flicker, momentarily darkening as the bite of my blade registers. But the smirk remains, twisted as if he finds humor in the unpredictability of the moment.

“Generosity, is it?”

he muses, voice low enough not to wake Caspian, but taunting enough to push my patience. “We’ve heard much of your…benevolence.”

“Then you know not to test it further,”

I reply, my voice a taut threat.

The man’s gaze darts past me, settling on Caspian. “If I were here for the Prince of Eldoria, he’d be gone by now,”

he says with a strange mix of resignation and conviction. “But we do not want him.”

His words prickle under my skin. I shove him back and follow as he removes himself from the tent. I stand at guard, protecting what's mine, surveying the area to find at least two dozen men. “Then who sent you?”

“We are not sent, silver one,”

he answers, a hint of offense coloring his tone. “The forest heard you coming long before you arrived. They are not pleased, yet they are curious and eager to meet you.”

My eyes narrow. “They?”

“The Seer,”

he clarifies, his expression softening for the first time. “They wish to speak with you both. But understand this: our people do not welcome outsiders lightly. Your people have already disturbed the balance of the realms. However, the Seer believes you will restore what has been stolen, so you and the prince are permitted to enter our home.”

I study his face for signs of deceit but find none. The Palmluvela are rumored to be nearly mythical, with a connection to the land that borders on sacred—I’m certain that is who I’m dealing with right now. And they don’t waste time with empty threats. But I can’t let down my guard, not even for a moment. I’d be forced to use much of my essence to kill them all if they attack, but I’m prepared for just that.

“And if I say no?”

I press, my grip steady on the blade. Caspian and I began this journey to find them, to gather answers. But they do not need to be privy to just how desperate I’ve been for this moment.

“You won’t,”

he states as if it's that simple. “The forest has its ways of guiding even the most stubborn souls.”

The unsettling calm in his voice leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

The blade twirls through my fingers.

He smiles, the movement a little eerie. “It means that the forest does not ask twice. But you already know that, don’t you?”

he adds, his voice full of peculiar certainty.

I shake my head as my eyes roam the group forming a half-moon around me and the tent. Their skin isn’t painted—it’s marked, almost like the veins of leaves, pulsing with deep greens and browns that seem to shift with the light just as the forest around us. Not tattoos. Something more…alive.

Their clothes are practical but strange, woven from fibers that shimmer faintly like dew on grass at dawn. No bright colors or bold patterns; just soft, natural hues that let them blend seamlessly into their surroundings. It’s clever. Calculated. Every movement is silent, each step deliberate, like the forest itself gave them permission to exist here.

But it’s their eyes that stand out—sharp, vivid, knowing. There’s a weight in the way they look at me, a kind of judgment that doesn’t need words, and I cannot decide if I should consider it a threat.

“Where is your leader?”

They stare. It’s difficult to hold in the product of my irritation. “Surely you weren’t sent to find me without a leader?”

A low rustling comes from the tent behind me. I tense, prepared to defend Caspian as he stumbles out and rubs sleep from his eyes.

“Was it really necessary to have this party without me?”

he mumbles, blinking at the scene like he’s just walked into a casual conversation. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so on edge.

I risk stepping back to his side, finding an alert prince waiting. “Stay next to me.”

The words barely leave my mouth, but he hears them all the same.

He nods and glances around at the gathering of the Palmluvela, his expression shifting to something malignant. “And here I thought the morning couldn’t get any better,”

he quips, offering a lazy grin to the nearest person.

If I could strangle him…

“Your prince is bold,”

the man I’ve been speaking with observes, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Foolish,”

I correct, shifting in front of Caspian without hesitation. “And under my protection.”

Before Caspian can retort, a figure emerges from the shadows—a tall, imposing man with sharply lined features and a solemn presence. His skin is painted in swirling patterns of green and gold, streaks that shift through his black hair and blend into the surrounding forest as if he is a living part of it. He moves gracefully, but his silence is fucking commanding. This is who I asked for.

“This is Rael,”

the man who led me out of the tent announces. “Our leader. He will speak with you.”

But Rael does not speak. Instead, he begins moving his hands in a fluid, deliberate series of gestures. His eyes, sharp and discerning, stay fixed on mine as he does so.

Another man steps forward to translate. “Rael greets you as the Silver One—the Serathis—and the Prince of Eldoria. He apologizes for the intrusion, but says it was necessary to ensure your intentions. You have entered sacred ground…words can lie, but the flora cannot be deceived.”

Rael’s gaze is intense, but I don’t waver. “We’re here for answers,”

I remark, keeping my voice steady. “To understand what’s happening to the realms.”

Curiously, the translator does not relay the message, Rael seeming to have either heard me or read my lips, though it’s much too dark for the latter.

The leader’s response is quick, his hands a blur of graceful motions. “The answers you seek come with a price,”

the translator says. “The forest does not give without taking something in return. You must be prepared to face what is required.”

My jaw tightens at the cryptic answer. “What price?” I demand.

Rael’s hands move again, slower this time, as if choosing each word with care. “The price is not just the past, but the present. You will be tested, not just by the essence but by the choices you make from this point forward. Only then will you earn the full truth.”

“Fuck’s sake, this is ridiculous,”

I murmur to myself. A chill settles in the air, mingling with the damp grass beneath us. “Fine,”

I say louder, straightening my stance. “But know this: if I sense any deceit, you won’t have time to regret it.”

Rael’s lips twitch into a faint smile—one that holds no malice, only acknowledgment. He raises a hand, motioning for us to follow. The others step aside, parting like everyone does when I amble in their direction.

“Walk ahead of me,”

I instruct Caspian, handing him his pack and thanking the fucking Angel he doesn’t challenge me this time.

He chuckles, peering over his shoulder. “I love your domineering side.”

I roll my eyes, already regretting bringing him into this mess. “Just try not to die before we get some answers.”

He grins, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

With Rael leading the way, we venture deeper into the forest, my unease growing as it feels like a living presence that is watching and calculating our every move. My senses remain sharp, every step intentional. I don’t trust this place—or its people—but I trust the urgency that’s driven us here. Whatever answers lie ahead, we’re too far gone to turn back now.

The walk is long, with Rael leading us deeper into the forest’s belly. It’s not silent—far from it. The rustle of leaves overhead, the occasional creak of old wood, and the faraway creatures fill the air. But there’s a strange rhythm to it all…like the forest itself is breathing, keeping pace with us.

Every so often, Rael’s hand flicks in a quick gesture, answered by soft murmurs from those who follow in our wake. I listen, trying to pick up pieces of the language, but it’s nothing like the common tongue.

Caspian’s footsteps are steady beside me. I glance at him occasionally, searching for any hint of unease, but he holds himself like he was born for this kind of uncertainty. I suppose he was. I’d be impressed with his mask if I wasn’t too busy trying to keep us both alive.

The ground shifts beneath us, becoming softer, almost spongy. It’s the first hint that we’re approaching something new. Then the forest parts, revealing the city hidden above us.

The homes are invisible at first glance, built into the thick canopy. They’re not crude huts, but complex structures made of thick wood, branches braided into walls that twist upward like massive vines. Their placement is precise, interconnected by bridges of twisted roots and translucent vines that reflect light like the Khyla. It’s a stunning sight—nothing like the stone walls, musty smells, and hard angles of Valoria.

But it’s the gardens that strike me. Even from here, I can smell the heady mixture of unfamiliar herbs and flowers. There are clusters of vivid plants, their colors shifting as the breeze separates the leaves, allowing the sun to enter. Fruits hang heavy from some branches, their shapes irregular and foreign. Strange blue ferns curl along the ground, releasing a sweet, loamy scent as we pass. Each step feels like walking through a living maze—one that’s trying to make sense of me as much as I’m trying to make sense of it. At least that is what it feels like with the dozens of eyes that peek from in between the gardens and buildings.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Caspian whispers, his voice a low murmur beside me.

I give a sharp nod. “Distracting,”

I correct.

He just shakes his head with a faint smile, but he knows I'm as awed as he is. We’re not meant to see this world; that much is clear. It’s a sanctuary for the Palmluvela—and suddenly I understand the secrecy and strange moths.

Rael guides us through a series of narrow paths, weaving around gardens filled with iridescent flowers that shift between shades of purple and blue. Finally, he stops in front of a hollowed-out trunk, wider than five men standing side by side, and motions us inside.

The space within is dim, lit only by small fire-filled lamps spread throughout. I wonder if they worry of burning down their city…

Rael moves to a low table in the center, gesturing for us to sit. His movements are precise, and there’s a solemnity to his eyes that was not there before, as if the silence here allows him to shed the guise of ritual and authority.

He begins to sign, his hands moving slowly. Deliberately.

It doesn’t appear so different from weavers who need more exaggerated gestures to access their essence; only he's weaving words, not commanding strands.

“He welcomes you to our community,”

the translator says, stepping forward. “He says the time has come to speak of the Accord.”

My eyes narrow. “Right to it, I see—I appreciate the lack of facade.”

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. “What do you know of the Accord? And why tell me?”

Rael’s response is swift, his hands a blur of emotion and urgency. “The Accord, as our ancestors have described for centuries, is the binding entity between the Aether realm and ours. It balances the essence between both realms, so that no one place—or person—has too little or too much.

“We know that it is weakening,”

the translator continues. “The balance has shifted too far, and the essence that sustains the realms is being drained faster than it can be replenished. The Accord was meant to maintain harmony, and we believe someone—or something—has been taking too much, leaving everything else unbalanced.”

My chest tightens. “Who would dare to do that?”

I already know the answer, but I keep my stare blank.

Rael’s eyes meet mine, steady and certain. “That is not for us to know,”

the translator says. “We hear whispers from the flora—they speak of a time when the Accord could have been repaired, but now…it is too late. The damage is irrevocable.”

“What does that mean?”

I press, trying to keep my voice steady. “If the Accord can’t be fixed, then what?”

Rael’s hands slow, each gesture heavy with the same kind of resignation I feel in my soul. “It means a new Accord must be forged,”

the translator says, his voice carrying a note of finality. “This one is beyond repair. The balance has been shattered, and we've already seen the effects through the unnatural weather phenomena.”

I can feel the weight of Rael’s gaze as I chew on my lip and cross my arms, the unspoken question hanging between us. “Why tell us this? Why invite us here and throw this information at us without any hesitation?”

The leader smiles, his dark eyes flitting between Caspian and me with a strange warmth. He appears to consider something before lifting his hands, speaking. The translator attempts to hide a smile before meeting my cold stare. “As we’ve said, the flora whisper to us. We knew who you were before you had even decided to find us. Thava Serathis éna, aneth éri Aetarys. Thava utela lira esthara. You will be given any help we can offer for your role in forging a new Accord.”

I scoff, so fucking ready to rip my hair out. “Of course you have more languages. What does that mean?”

The translator speaks himself, offering a gentle smile. “You will know when time decides.”

Groaning, I give up trying to understand. “And how do we create a new Accord?”

I ask, my voice low.

Rael shakes his head slowly, his hands making a small, helpless motion. “We do not know,”

the translator admits. “Our knowledge comes from the land, who know of the Accord’s purpose, but refuse to share its creation. Rael believes the Seer can help you.”

He pauses, watching the leader’s movements. “He says that it is imperative you destroy that which has shifted the balance. A new Accord will be a wasted effort if the evil is not removed first.”

“Obviously,” I mutter.

I lean back, feeling the frustration churn low in my gut. “So, let me get this straight,”

I drawl, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “You’re telling me I have to forge a new Accord without knowing how, and also deal with an unknown threat that’s powerful enough to destroy the realms’ balance, and subsequently the Accord that has remained perfectly intact for centuries. Sounds perfectly achievable.”

Rael’s expression remains unchanged, but there’s a frustrated glimmer in his eyes. The translator’s voice is steady as he relays Rael’s next words. “The task ahead is not easy, but you are the Silver One. The Accord chose you as its guardian for a reason.”

My gaze shifts to Caspian, who’s been unnervingly quiet throughout the conversation. His eyes are sharp, focused—taking it all in with that calculating look I’ve come to know too well. It’s the look he gets when he’s weighing the odds, trying to decide if we can survive what comes next.

“Save the chosen shit. What really makes you so certain we’re capable of this?”

I ask, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

Rael’s response is immediate, his hands moving with fervor. Is it possible that I recognize some of his gestures already? The sign for flora has become obvious, his fingers pressing together before stretching open. The translator hesitates to speak, but one look from Rael and he sighs. “The flora have spoken. They say the Serathis éna éri Aetarys are bound by more than fate—you will both succeed in this.”

A laugh escapes me, bitter and raw. “Fate? You think fate is going to help us stop whatever the fuck is ruining the realms? And why isn’t the Aether realm helping if this is so important? Where is the damn Angel?”

Caspian finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “Ariella, maybe we should listen.”

I whip around, heat coating my chest. “And what, Caspian? Just accept that we’re pawns in some ancient game that must be played by the rules, but somehow no one knows what the rules even are? That we’re supposed to fix a broken Accord we didn’t even break?”

This is far more than I expected to find here—it’s overwhelming and frustrating.

He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. “We came here for answers, and we’re getting them. Maybe not the ones we wanted, but it’s more than we had before.”

His tone softens, his hand sliding over my thigh and squeezing. “Clearly, we made the right choice coming here.”

The weight of his words presses down on me, and the air in my lungs thickens. I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that I feel it, deep in my bones—the pull of something I never asked for, something I can’t refuse. My mother referred to it in her letter, but that was so vague it could have meant anything. Why this?

A deep sigh flows through me as a finger taps against the prince’s hand. “Where do we find this Seer?”

Rael nods. “The Seer will find you when they are ready,”

the translator explains. “For now, we will have housing prepared and food made for you.”

Caspian smiles. “Thank you.”

I exhale through pursed lips, the reality of everything settling over me like a suffocating cloak. “Great,”

I mutter. “How many Seers are there?”

The thought of too many makes me nauseous.

Rael’s gaze doesn’t waver, but he studies me for a moment before signing. “There is one Seer. Their visions do not assume a gender, and neither do they.”

I nod, relieved. “Okay. I'm done with this conversation.”

Rael motions for us to rise and step back outside; the soft, shifting light of the city seems colder.

Everything feels colder.

“Well,”

Caspian says, breaking the silence as we begin to follow Rael’s lead once more, “at least we’ve got a direction now.”

“An ill-defined direction doesn’t mean much,”

I retort, my voice hard.

He chuckles. “True. But it’s a start.”

My fingers do not resist when his slip through and hold on to me tightly. It’s a needed comfort—something else Caspian just knows how to interpret perfectly.

I don’t respond, my mind too tangled with thoughts of the Seer, the Accord, the balance, and I’ve no doubt Thalion is behind shifting the latter. But beneath it all, a small, stubborn part of me believes we can do this. We have to. Because if not us, then who?

We move back through the winding paths of the city, my senses still alert as my mind struggles to process everything Rael has laid before us. I wanted answers, but this is absurd.

The people of the Palmluvela are more visible now—no longer hiding in the gardens. They seem curious, almost bold, as we pass. Some whisper to one another, while others offer hesitant smiles.

But it’s the look in their eyes that strikes me most. It’s not fear or suspicion. They’re not angry at my and Caspian’s presence. No, they almost look to be regarding us with grateful fondness. Reverence, even. I catch a few murmurs that sound much like those I hear in Valoria. I focus ahead, doing what I’m best at and ignoring everything around me.

“They seem to like you,”

Caspian murmurs beside me, his voice quiet.

I grit my teeth, unwilling to be comforted by the misplaced faith of strangers, and shrug.

He lets out a small, amused huff. “I mean, I can relate. I had the same reaction the first time I saw you, too.”

I shoot him a sidelong glare. “If you think you’ll gain my favor with nice words, just know it’s the opposite.”

He grins, and for a moment, the weight of our future feels a fraction lighter.

We continue deeper into the heart of the city, the scent of cooking fires and unfamiliar spices filling the air. There’s a tanginess to it, and I have the urge to run over and ask what it is. My stomach growls in response—another reminder of the long days without proper food.

Rael stops before a large tree with a spiral staircase carved into its trunk. He gestures for us to ascend. The translator lingers at the base, watching us carefully. “This will be your housing during your stay,”

he explains. “It has been prepared for you and is separate from all others.”

I can’t help but snort. “Is that to keep your people from me, or me from them?”

The translator raises an eyebrow at me, but Rael just smirks and dips his head before turning back and leaving.

I ignore Caspian’s amused expression and start climbing the stairs. Each step creaks under my weight, but the wood holds firm. The air grows cooler as we ascend, the thick canopy blocking out the remaining daylight.

When we reach the top, I pause, taking in the small living quarters. It’s surprisingly homey, though simple, with furniture carved directly from the living wood. A bed made of woven vines is set against one wall, and a low table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by cushions. There are shelves along the walls filled with potted plants—some familiar, some strange, all glowing faintly. A common occurrence here.

“Cozy,”

Caspian comments, moving past me to inspect the room. “And look—there’s even wine.”

I glance over, spotting the bottles stacked in a corner. “If it’s not poison,” I mutter.

“Always the pessimist.”

He uncorks one of the bottles and sniffs it. “Smells decent enough.”

He chuckles at my incredulous stare and swallows some, humming to himself. He mutters something about how it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and offers me the bottle.

My head shakes, too tired to argue. “I’m not interested in drinking around strange people who probably just want to make us comfortable so they can kill us.”

Almost as if summoned, a soft knock sounds at the door, followed by the entry of a woman carrying a large tray of steaming dishes. She’s young, with the same markings on her skin, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes me pause.

“Essara,”

she murmurs, offering a small bow. Her eyes catch the confusion in mine before she stammers, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be familiar. It means welcome in the common tongue. This is for you.”

She presents the tray, setting it lightly on the table.

Caspian stands and offers her a gracious nod. “Thank you.”

The woman grins, but lingers for a moment, her gaze flicking between us. “The Seer is not far,”

she adds, hesitant. “When they are ready, you will be called.”

I nod once. “Understood.”

She retreats quickly, leaving us alone. Caspian settles next to the table, grabbing my waist and yanking me down next to him. I don't resist, my body too fucking tired to care. The prince lifts the lid from the tray, revealing an array of unfamiliar foods—steamed vegetables, roasted meat that smell faintly of the same spices I can’t identify, and a collection of roots and herbs that are foreign to my senses.

“At least it’s not the dry meat and bread we’ve had for the past few days,”

he says, settling into one of the cushions.

I sit next to him and lean my head against his shoulder, barely able to keep my eyes open. I should not be this tired—something feels wrong.

I force my body to move and pick at the food with more caution than hunger. “Do you think this Seer will be able to help?”

He chews thoughtfully before answering, adjusting until his hand grips the back of my neck and begins massaging. I moan into his hold. “I think they’ll have more answers we don’t. Whether those answers are what we need…I’m not sure.”

“Always the diplomat,”

I mutter, but there’s no real heat behind the words.

We eat in silence for a while, the food surprisingly good despite my wariness. The spices have a kick to them, a slow burn that lingers on the tongue. It’s oddly satisfying.

When we’re done, Caspian leans back, pulling me with him. “Ariella,”

he says, breaking the stillness. “Are you okay? You seem down.”

I stare at the shifting light outside, my voice low and raw. “I’m just tired.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then his hand reaches across my abdomen, brushing the line of exposed skin below my shirt. He lifts me effortlessly, and I laugh as I lean into him. “Well, we cannot have a tired assassin when the Seer calls for us.”

His tone is light and comforting. It’s not just his words or his gentle actions. It’s everything I can’t explain—but something inside me shifts toward him.

“Rest,”

he says after a moment, pressing a kiss to my head. I’m placed on soft blankets, warmth covering me as he lies next to me, cocooning my body with his.

I nod, the exhaustion too much to fight. I don’t trust the Palmluvela, don’t trust their cryptic words or utter willingness to share exactly what I need. But for now, there’s nothing more I can do. And for the first time in days, the thought of sleep doesn’t seem like a luxury—it feels like a necessity.

My head rests against the thud of Caspian’s heart, something I didn’t think I’d find calming. I don’t speak, and neither does he. There’s nothing left to say.

As my eyes drift shut, I can almost hear whispers, faint and distant. It’s a promise, a threat, a question that I can’t yet answer—things that they want me to know but are hesitant to share.

But one thing has become shockingly clear these last weeks: whatever lies ahead, Caspian and I are in it together. Stubborn bastard he is, but at least this is something real and tangible I can hold on to.