Chapter 25 Rykr #2
“You and your wife are expected in the keep with your prisoners … and only them.”
Dammit. Word must have traveled before we’d arrived.
Seth circled to the back of the wagon, his somber gaze flicking toward Amahle. “Say your goodbyes now.”
Amahle dismounted, handing her horse to a groom waiting in the courtyard.
“Will you be all right?” Amahle asked Seren, worry lining her features.
Despite the nervousness humming through the bond, Seren smiled bravely.
“We’ll be fine. I’ve uncovered something in the books I borrowed that might give us an edge.
” She leaned forward and hugged her friend through the bars.
“Book us a room in the Bellwether—it’s the only inn in Emberstone my father trusts.
We’ll meet you there to celebrate our win. ”
Amahle’s shoulders flexed with defiance. “I should go with you—see for myself if they’ll let me in. That’s what I came for. You need an ally.”
“I need an ally outside of the keep, too,” Seren said gently. “If we don’t get thrown in the dungeon, it would be good to have a room waiting. Tell my mother and Tara that I’ll find them when I can.”
Seren squeezed Amahle’s forearm. “I’m not going down without a fight, Amahle. Remember that.”
The wagon started again, an enormous iron portcullis looming ahead as we moved deeper into the mountain. Armed guards stood at the entrance, clutching spears. Emberstone wasn’t just fortified, it was a fortress.
“What’s the intriguing information you found in the book?”
“I didn’t find much.” Her eyes were dark and troubled. “I barely had time to read under Darya’s orders.”
“But you did find something, right?”
She gave me a weary smile. “Some. I learned that the trial isn’t just against the Skorn warriors. They usually prepare a surprise or two. Flesh-eating scarabs, poisonous vines—whatever they feel like throwing in.”
“I’m beginning to regret I asked.”
Her hand slid over mine. “Whatever we face, we’ll face it together.”
Somehow, the idea didn’t seem as ludicrous as it had when I’d first woken in her encampment.
I’d expected Emberstone to be a dimly lit keep, with dusty, narrow passageways cut into the stone, maybe even a grand hall.
Instead, a sophisticated, colorful city sprawled before me, vast beyond anything I’d imagined.
The entrance had led us to a high vantage point in the road, flanked by guards in gleaming silver-plated armor.
The wide, paved path cut a zigzagging switchback down into the city.
From here, a labyrinth of streets twisted between alleys, the tiled rooftops of two- and three-story buildings glistening in the glow of streetlamps.
A cacophony of sounds and smells wafted toward us as we descended.
In the distance, a majestic castle loomed, towering over the city, its white marble walls gleaming, ivy climbing the sides, as if sunlight streamed in during the day.
The Unbound Viori weren’t as wild or savage as Liriens believed. The entire city brimmed with enchantment and ingenuity.
I tried not to gawk as the silver-clad guards escorted us down the switchback. At the bottom of the path, the cart creaked onto a cobblestone street. “This is the heart of your territory?” I asked.
A shy look crossed Seren’s face. “I know it’s nothing compared to what I’ve heard of Lirien but—”
“This is beautiful, Seren. A city to be proud of.” Never in my wildest dreams had I expected this. Or thought I’d compliment the Viori on anything.
The cavernous ceiling arched high above the city, its finely hewn layers of stone smooth like a sky. Somehow the builders had found ways—through magic or sheer skill—to carve enormous shafts into the rock. The last rays of sunlight from the sunset filtered through.
I’d read about cities like this in old texts—tales of Murkhold, the dwarven realm of wealth and magic, carved into the mountains before Vornfall shattered the nine realms. But wasn’t that all just myth? A long-dead world, lost to time?
Magic clearly existed, but everything else? Ancient texts, reading like fairy stories, hardly seemed like a reliable source of truth. Only Ibarrans truly put stock in the old gods and their legends.
Even they believed most of their gods had died … which meant what exactly? If gods could die, who was to say the ones they still worshipped existed? Especially if their realms had been sealed off, forever out of reach.
The thought troubled me for other reasons now.
If I survived this and returned to Lirien as heir, my powers would be considered divinely granted. I would be the head of the faith.
The king’s heretical youngest son. Troublesome. Inconvenient.
The king himself being a heretic?
Disaster.
“What is?” Seren’s voice came through my head.
I stiffened, giving her a sidelong glance. Dammit. I needed to be more careful. “I don’t like not knowing what lies ahead.”
“I understand.” Her eyes reflected that concern.
But what could we do? We were trapped, moving endlessly toward a fate neither of us could escape.
The wagon stopped abruptly.
“We’re here,” Seren said. Her dread only amplified my own.
More guards in silver armor were stationed here, standing before two massive, gated doors to the keep. The leader of the Viori clearly ruled like a king, even if he didn’t call himself one—and this was his castle.
Green and black pennants hung beyond the gate, the crest emblazoned with the Everspire—the tree of life—its tangled roots curled into the shape of a dragon. I’d seen the symbol before—on Viori Vangar banners when they raided the border.
Seth and Darya, together with the silver-clad guards, helped us out of the wagon. The astonishment on Seth’s face as I stood told me he hadn’t expected to see me standing. Darya, however, narrowed her eyes in suspicion. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t trust her, either.
They led us inside, my chains dragging against the stone floor with a sinister scrape.
Deeper within, sentinels stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the torchlight. Rich tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes from a history unfamiliar to me. From behind one, a boy darted out, clutching a ball, his wide eyes fixing on the irons around my wrists.
I pulled my gaze away, only to catch Seren watching him. A faint smile curled on those lips, sweetly.
She’s Viori. These are her people.
It wasn’t just Seth and Darya who were leading me here.
She was one of them.
I couldn’t even trust her enough to tell her who I really was … could I? Even Lucia had warned me not to.
Seth and Darya exchanged a glance, unreadable, their unease disquieting. Who waited for us beyond those doors?
Whatever confidence Seren had shown earlier was gone, too.
The doors swung open, revealing an opulent, breathtaking throne room packed with onlookers.
Nearly the opposite of the throne room in Suomelin in colors, but no less impressive, the room shimmered with dark, decadent splendor.
I’d expected to be deep in the mountain but, instead, the throne room was cut into the rock face, a row of floor-to-ceiling glass doors at the far side, open to the crisp mountain air.
Golden sunset light streamed in, gleaming on the polished obsidian walls, where more green, silver, and black pendants hung.
Silver thread embroidered the dragon sigil, its eyes sparkling with emeralds.
Massive black stone pillars veined with silver flanked the chamber, rising to a vaulted ceiling where chandeliers hung like constellations, each crystal shard gleaming like starlight. And yet the Viori in the Dreadwood live so primitively.
Most stunning of all, perhaps, was the majesty of the throne itself, carved from onyx inlaid with diamonds and perched atop a polished marble dais.
The man seated on the throne looked so much like my father that my breath caught, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“Kneel before Lord Haldron,” a sentinel declared.
The name struck me like a blade.
Haldron.
The ground seemed to sink below my feet as Seth, Darya, and Seren knelt. A thick, oppressive silence settled over the chamber, all eyes turning toward me.
I hadn’t seen Haldron since I was eight, but I remembered him well. Once, he’d been my favorite uncle, my father’s youngest brother—until he’d became a traitor.
He had tried to kill my father. Had left his own wife in a coma. My father had barely survived the knife wounds my uncle had plunged into his torso.
The Regulation had hunted him down, chased him to Ibarra, where he was supposed to have died—trapped in a temple they’d burned to the ground.
But here he was, seated on a throne, alive and in power. Holding the fate of the Viori in his hands. Seren’s and my fate in his hands. If I wasn’t so shocked, anger would be flooding all my senses.
Like a lock sliding into place, the precision of the strike against my family suddenly made sense. Haldron hadn’t just survived—he’d plotted, waited, and now seized power in a way none of us had seen coming.
He was behind their deaths.
With my nephew too young to be a legitimate heir, Haldron’s claim to Lirien’s throne was stronger than anyone’s.
Except mine.
I tried to shield the surge of rage and dread, but it leaked through the bond, too strong to hide. Seren flinched, a ripple of unease echoing back at me. Her eyes shot to mine, concern flickering before she quickly looked away, as if sensing this was something I couldn’t yet share.
It had been twenty years since the man on the throne had seen me, and given he thought I was dead, he wouldn’t be looking too closely. But would he see the color of my eyes and see his brother? Would he see the shape of my nose and see my mother?
He’ll kill me on sight if he recognizes me.
I had to survive this meeting.
I was the only one—the only Warrick—left to stop him.
And now my true purpose was clear.