Chapter 5
“Unity’s never simple. Sometimes the cost is only clear after you’ve made the choice.”
~Tamsin
Syndra hadn’t meant to let two days slip by without checking in on Lisa.
She told herself it was because of the book.
Because of the vibrating unease that had settled over the palace since its light had brightened and then begun to falter, but even as she stood in Trik’s study, the mirror dormant on his desk, she knew it was partly avoidance.
Lisa would hear the strain in her voice and know something was wrong.
And Syndra wasn’t ready to tell her that something ancient was stirring again.
The Book of the Elves sat in the center of the room, its faint golden glow breathing in uneven pulses.
The air hummed faintly around it, heavy with old magic and discontent.
Syndra folded her arms, her jaw tightening.
Magic shouldn’t feel this uncertain, it was like listening to a heartbeat falter and not being able to do anything to steady it.
The door opened softly behind her. “You’re still here,” Trik said. His voice was steady, but the rest of him wasn’t. He lingered in the doorway, tension in every line of his shoulders, the set of his mouth betraying exhaustion. In the low light, the silver of his eyes seemed almost brittle.
“Someone needs to be,” Syndra replied, keeping her voice level, though she didn’t turn from the book. “And you need rest.” She looked back at the book, before again looking at the king. “It’s growing worse. It’s like the whole palace is waiting for something to break.”
Trik hesitated, glancing at the book as if it might bite. “Cassie used to say this room felt safe. Now she says it feels like ants on her skin.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a rare, unguarded gesture. “The book’s not the only thing that’s changed.”
Syndra turned, finally, catching the flicker of pain he tried, and failed, to hide. “She’s worried about you.”
He barked a hollow laugh. “She shouldn’t be. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her. Instead, I shut her out.” The words scraped out of him, raw and unvarnished. “It’s like every time I reach for her, there’s something in the way. Something I put there.”
Syndra’s chest tightened. She wanted to tell him he was being too hard on himself, but she’d learned better than to hand easy comforts to kings. “She’s not asking for a shield, Trik. She’s asking for you.”
He met her gaze, searching her face for something, absolution, maybe, or a map to a place he’d lost. “What if I can’t be what she needs right now?”
Syndra stepped closer, her voice lowering. “Then be honest with her. Even if the truth isn’t pretty. Cassie’s stronger than you think.”
The ache in his eyes deepened, but he nodded once, a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. “I’ll try.”
The door opened again, and Tamsin strode in, arms full of scrolls and rune stones that glimmered faintly with their own light.
His golden hair was neat, his expression anything but.
He set the scrolls down with a sigh. “I’ve been through every record of elfin magic I can find.
Nothing like this. The book’s resonance isn’t dark, it’s .
. . conflicted. Like it’s being pulled in two directions at once. ”
Trik turned away from the window, jaw tight. “Blending with something that shouldn’t exist?”
“Something that doesn’t belong,” Syndra said softly. “I can feel it. The magic’s trying to right itself. But it’s wrong-footed.”
Trik’s gaze fell to the book, the light flickering across his features, sharpening the hollows beneath his eyes.
“Since Lorsan’s demise and the reunion of our races, we’ve done everything we could to restore unity.
Light and dark in harmony, that was the promise.
But this feels like a debt. A price we never knew we owed.
” He sounded older than his years, haunted.
Tamsin looked between them, his voice gentle. “Unity’s never simple, Trik. Sometimes the cost is only clear after you’ve made the choice.”
A quiet knock. Oakley pushed the door open with his shoulder, hair askew, the scent of damp forest and steel clinging to him. “Sorry,” he said, a little breathless. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Trik straightened, the mask slipping back into place. “What is it?”
Oakley hesitated, glancing at Syndra for a heartbeat before focusing on Trik.
“Been out in the woods since dawn. The trees . . . they’re on edge.
Whispering. But not to me, more like to each other.
” He shifted, uncomfortable. “I tried listening like Beligtaught me, but it’s like they’re warning each other. Not sure what about.”
Tamsin’s brow furrowed. “You can sense them, even when they shut you out?”
Oakley shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. “Sort of. Sometimes I feel like I’m standing outside a locked door.” He gave a crooked smile, half apology, half challenge. “Beligsays it’s because I’m half dark. But even he’s uneasy.”
Syndra caught the edge in his tone, the old wound of not belonging anywhere, and her heart squeezed. “You hear more than you think, Oakley. The forest doesn’t trust easily, but it’s learning you.”
Oakley ducked his head, a hint of color on his sharp cheekbones. “Cush says the same. But something’s wrong out there. The air’s heavy. Like before a storm.”
Trik exchanged a look with Tamsin and Syndra, his voice brisk. “Then we can’t ignore it. Go. All of you. Find out what’s happening and report back.”
Tamsin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming?”
A muscle jumped in Trik’s jaw. “Not this time. Cassie . . .” He hesitated, then forced the words out. “There’s distance between us. I need to—” He broke off, frustration raw in every word. “I need to fix it. And the book, someone needs to watch it.”
Syndra searched his face, weighing compassion against honesty. “You don’t have to carry it all, Trik. Not alone.”
His laugh was soft, bitter. “That’s what Cassie tells me, too.”
Tamsin rested a hand on Trik’s shoulder, just for a moment. “We’ll handle the forest. You figure out a way to fix what’s going on between you and your mate. Remember, she is strong where you are weak and vice versa.”
Trik nodded, but Syndra noted that the shadows in his eyes didn’t lift.
The forest grew stranger the farther they walked. The air pressed close around them, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and something older, something that made Syndra’s skin prickle. The quiet wasn’t just quiet. It was listening.
She should have been checking her mirror, pestering Lisa about Rezer and romances and human cafés. But the forest’s tension had stolen even her mischief. Something was wrong in the roots, in the breath of the trees, and it tugged at her memory like fingers through cobwebs.
Tamsin walked beside her, movements controlled but wary.
She felt his unease through their bond, steady, threaded with vigilance.
Oakley led the way, shoulders set, gaze flicking from branch to branch with that strange mix of human instinct and elf-taught discipline.
He was learning to use his elf senses quickly and seemed to be developing more abilities the longer he stayed in their realm.
“Feels different today,” he said quietly. Not fearful, but cautious. “Like the trees are paying attention to us.”
“They always pay attention,” Syndra murmured.
Oakley shook his head. “Not like this.”
They rounded a rise in the trail and stopped.
What she’d first taken for a knotted outcrop of stone and root resolved into a dwelling.
Half carved from the hillside, half grown out of it, as though the earth had decided to make a house and never asked permission.
Moss coated the stone, ivy hanging in long green ribbons.
The windows glimmered faintly as if the entire structure breathed.
Tamsin stepped forward, brow furrowed. “I don’t recall this being here.”
“Neither do I,” Syndra whispered. Which meant either the forest had grown it recently . . .
or someone didn’t want to be found.
Oakley lifted a hand, cautioning them back a step. “Someone lives here. That smoke means someone was warming the place or cooking not long ago.”
Before Syndra could reply, the door opened.
A man stepped into the threshold like he owned the place and the forest that grew around it. Tall, dark hair mussed by the breeze, sharp features untouched by time. He wore a long coat, unbuttoned, posture loose with that practiced ease she recognized instantly.
Rezer.
Syndra stopped breathing for one single, startled beat.
Not because she feared him, though he was dangerous, but because he was the last person she expected to see stepping casually out of an elven hillside like he’d been carved into it.
“Well, well,” Rezer drawled, mouth pulling into an infuriatingly smooth smile. “The royal retirees out for a stroll. Should I bow, or is this more of a casual encounter?”
Tamsin crossed his arms. “We thought you were still running a casino in the human realm.”
“I was.” Rezer spread his hands like that explained everything. “Then Lorsan died, the world shifted, and I realized I hate slot machines. So here I am.”
Syndra narrowed her eyes. “You neglected to mention you were living here, of all places.”
He flashed her a grin, too sharp, too knowing. “You never asked.”
Oakley blinked between them. “Wait. You know him?”
Syndra resisted the urge to rub her face. “Unfortunately. He’s a dark elf with a talent for questionable life choices.”
Rezer pressed a hand to his chest. “I prefer ‘creative.’ And I owned a very successful casino, thank you.” He looked at Oakley, “Your mother enjoyed the company if I remember correctly.”
Oakley stiffened. “My mom? As in Lisa?”
Rezer looked over him more carefully now, eyes narrowing. “Though you have some of your father in you, you definitely bear resemblance to her.”
Oakley’s jaw ticked. “And you’ve been visiting her.”
Syndra winced. There it was.