Chapter 39
THE BLOOMLESS
Gavrel
“Caelora’s hiding more than she lets on,” Seryn announced, arms crossed as she stood beside Neoma’s desk. During Helos’ reconstruction, the citizens had built a hut near the leader’s for larger rebellion meetings—a war shanty nestled between bridges, blending in among the surrounding homes.
“Obviously,” Marek muttered from his corner.
Inside was simple: a desk, a table, and scattered parchments.
Neoma insisted most Korax plans stayed in people’s heads, exchanged as coded messages much like the Bogs’ history, only rarely written.
Parchment—easily destroyed by shifting landscapes or attacks—was used sparingly.
The rebels would burn the cabin with everything inside before letting it fall into enemy hands.
The older woman tapped the pile of weathered maps, lips pursed.
“If I may,” Jace began, stepping into the dim light of the cabin. “It isn’t my place to speak for her, but whatever secrets Miss Aundyne keeps, she must have her reasons.”
Marek scoffed. “Yes, well, last time she had her reasons, half the city burned.”
Jace’s jaw flexed, but his tone remained calm; patient in that dangerously composed way he so often used on disobedient students before he flayed them with his words. “Forgiveness isn’t blindness, Marek. It’s strategy.”
Marek’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” the Magister continued, turning to Neoma.
Seryn arched an eyebrow. “Ah, so now she needs two men shadowing her every move?”
“I assure you,” Jace replied smoothly, “It’s for her own safety. She means to leave for the Ourea Peaks—to find Ryboas. Ascension is the priority, after all, and that can’t happen without all the Elders.”
“But she’s not going there to reason with him,” I asserted. “She’s going to kill him.”
A murmur spread across the room.
Jace held up one hand. “Which is precisely why it isn’t unreasonable for Lark and me to accompany her. A few ravens as well. The more caution, the better.”
The nickname caught my ear, and I shifted my scrutiny to the Magister.
Kaden wasn’t even here to bristle over it, yet Jace said it too naturally for a man who spent half his time pretending my brother didn’t get under his skin.
I didn’t know what to make of that—or of him.
For turns, I’d suspected he was Druik, but I also had been relieved he’d worn his lies like armor. It had spared me from hunting him down at Melina’s behest.
I glanced at Neoma. “I agree. Did your last scouting party ever report back? The one that followed your man Oren’s group?” Not long ago, Marek mentioned winged creatures had attacked them in the mountains.
The Korax leader exhaled, rubbing her temples. “No. No missives since.” She looked at Jace. “Fine. Take what you need and in a few days’ time, leave at dawn. Find Ash and the others if you can. If not—find answers.”
Jace bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
Marek’s scowl deepened, though I couldn’t tell if he directed it at Jace, his grandmother, or no one in particular.
Just then, Breena burst through the door, a pint in hand. “What’s this? A party and no one thought to invite me?”
“Precisely,” Marek mumbled. He gave her drink a pointed look. “Starting early? It’s only half past noon.”
Breena’s eyes sparkled. “And you’re drinking what? A tall glass of misery? How shocking.” She glanced at Neoma, adding, “You must be so proud he can tell the time.”
The older woman’s lips twitched, but she dipped her head before a smirk could fully form.
Rhaegar strolled in with a bright smile and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I see we’ve already lost control of this meeting.” Then, he lowered his voice. “Yaya, some chaps at The Boggy Grog were asking for you. Quite insistent they were. Didn’t look like locals.”
Breena cocked her head. “Definitely not from the Bogs, that’s for damn certain.” She lifted her pint, using it to gesture—not so subtly—toward Marek. “Maybe someone should fix the illusion barrier so every stray knobshite can’t just wander in.”
Marek glared at her. “What’s the point? You’re already here.”
Breena’s grin cut deeper. “You bloody bas—”
“For the love of Ancients, enough!” Neoma snapped, slamming her palm on her desk. The room stilled. “We’ll meet them at the pub. If they’re trouble, I’d rather have witnesses—and half the Korax at my back.”
They were trouble.
The pub quieted when we entered, the smell of charred peat and ale hanging heavy in the air.
In the far corner, a group of men and women in pure white robes sat in unnatural stillness, their eyes following us. As they rose in unison, their uniforms rustled like baleful whispers.
A tall, pale man with colorless hair stepped forward. “Through Dormancy, we blossom,” he intoned, bowing his head and touching his chin, then his heart.
Neoma raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No, we bloody well don’t. Who are you, and what do you want?”
I bit back a smile. The Korax leader had clearly lost all patience for ceremony.
The man stiffened, affronted. “I’m Ahlux. Speaker for the Bloomless. We were sent to petition for Elder Harrow’s release.”
Marek moved closer, planting his staff beside his boots. “Who is we, and who sent you?”
Seryn squinted, releasing her gift and studying the zealots. “They’re all human. No Druiks among them.”
Ahlux lifted his chin, nose scrunching. “We are the faithful. The Elders are the chosen of the three sisters. To chain them, to exile them from Surrelia, is blasphemy. Elder Lucan Craven has given us sanctuary in Evergryn—and the authority to retrieve Elder Harrow and locate Elder Ash.”
“How do you know all this—remember all this?” I asked, tone clipped.
As one, the Bloomless raised their unmarked palms.
Seryn’s eyebrows lifted, seeing what no one else could. “They have memory runes. Silver decagons with an eye at the center.”
Breena tilted her head. “They just handin’ those out like sweeties now, eh?”
“We, the devoted, are blessed by the Elders indeed,” remarked a short, dark-haired woman at Ahlux’s right. Her words were almost dreamy, reverent in a way that sent a chill crawling up my back.
“You, the devoted,” Neoma retorted, “will need to move along. Petition denied.”
“This is most unacceptable,” Ahlux bit out, his composure cracking.
Breena snorted. “Life’s unfair, which you’d know if you didn’t have your heads up the Elders’ arses.”
Marek stepped forward, dark flames licking at his bare torso. “Melina Harrow will face her judgment here—and here she’ll stay until her sentence is fulfilled.”
Seryn cupped her chin, eyes imploring. “If you truly worship the Elders, tell me, doesn’t it strike you as odd that there hasn’t been an Ascension in nearly a century? Doesn’t that defy your sacred doctrine?”
A few of the Bloomless wavered, uncertainty flickering across their countenances. But most stood unshaken, with petulant glares and rigid spines.
“Don’t speak of what you cannot comprehend, heathen,” one hissed.
My jaw ticked, but Seryn grabbed my wrist before I could do something I wouldn’t regret.
Ahlux’s voice rose over the wave of mutters. “The Elders are law. They will lead us through what is coming, along a righteous path. You’ll see.” His mouth puckered. “I am disappointed in this encounter.”
Something between a growl and a grunt vibrated in Marek’s chest, but Ahlux held up his palms.
Word had not spread beyond the Korax about Seryn’s Ascension. Admiration filled me at how organized and enigmatic the rebels were.
The cult turned in eerie unison, exiting the pub like a fog retreating.
Silence lingered in their wake. Even the barkeep stopped pouring drinks.
Neoma propped her hands on her hips. “We’ll need more ravens guarding Melina. They’ll be back sooner than we hope.”
My heels dug into the floor. “Then we make sure they don’t get what they came for.”
She looked at Seryn. “Your Ascension. It happens tomorrow, as soon as the Mireberry Moon calls to you.”
My fated nodded. “My parents will meet me at the Elysium Tree. I’ll need Melina close. But I can’t have her distracting me.”
“I can help with that,” Jace offered.
“As will I,” I added.
Breena slung her arm over Seryn’s shoulders. “We’ll all be there, Firefly. Wouldn’t miss watching you go full demi-Ancient on the bastards.”
Seryn chuckled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Neoma’s gaze lingered on the door, where the white-robed cult had vanished. “The devoted don’t wander without a shepherd,” she murmured. “If they’ve come this far, someone’s pulling the strings. Someone other than the Elders.”
The Korax leader looked at Seryn, pride and warning mingling in her hazel eyes. “So be ready, granddaughter. Tomorrow won’t just be your Ascension. It’ll be a reckoning.”