Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aurelia
The tunnels widened the farther north we went.
The walls that had once felt close enough to suffocate now arched high above our heads, forming a vast corridor of black stone veined with white and green.
Every sound—the scrape of boots, the soft hiss of torches—echoed like the mountain was listening.
We’d been marching for hours already today, each turn and descent taking us deeper. I wasn’t sure how far we’d come anymore. Time lost meaning down here. There was no sun, no wind, no scent of open air. Only the steady rhythm of our steps and the whisper of magic in the rock around us.
I’d begun to feel it more strongly the longer we walked—a subtle pulse beneath the stone, like a heartbeat. I thought maybe it was the rune on my throat responding to whatever ancient power lived in these caverns. Or maybe it was just my imagination feeding on exhaustion.
Late in the afternoon, Daegel halted suddenly, lifting a hand. “Look here,” he said. His voice carried low but clear through the tunnel.
We gathered around him. The light from our torches flared across the wall ahead—and revealed what had caught his attention.
Symbols.
Dozens of them, carved deep into the rock, spiraling outward from a central point like constellations etched into the earth. They shimmered faintly, reflecting the light in shades of green and gold.
I stepped closer, brushing my fingers along one of the grooves. The stone was smooth, the carvings worn down by time but still sharp enough to catch at my skin.
Eirnan came closer and lowered his torch, the light rippling across his weathered face. “They’ve been here since my people first found these tunnels,” he said quietly. “No one knows who carved them. Or why.”
“They’re not natural,” Keres said. “Too deliberate.”
Daegel crouched beside her, squinting at the nearest markings. “Could be an old trade route message. A warning, maybe.”
“They’re not warnings.” The voice came from Thorne, who stood a few paces back, the torchlight catching in his pale hair. His tone was steady, certain.
Eirnan turned. “You know this script?”
Thorne stepped forward, eyes scanning the wall. “Some of it. The center symbol—the one shaped like an inverted crescent—that’s the Verdant mark for throne.”
I frowned. “Verdant runes? Here?”
But now that he mentioned it, I did notice the familiar curves and lines.
Thorne nodded. “After the Great War, the Verdant were driven out, scattered to the four corners just like all fae were.”
“Except they never formed a new court like the other fae tribes did,” I said, thinking of Meerdra, the oracle from Grey Oak.
For seven years, I’d searched the lands surrounding Sevanwinds for some trace of the Verdant healers; our only hope of breaking Heliconia’s curse on the Summer Court.
But none had been found. Not alive. They’d been scattered and then lost.
Had they come this way?
Deep beneath the Concordian Mountains?
Keres straightened. “If their runes are here, that means so were they.”
“What does the rest of it say?” I asked.
Thorne traced a hand over the next few runes. “Summer, Winter, Autumn, Midnight, Spring.” Thorne pointed. “This one here—see how it intersects the others? It’s not just a word. It’s a number.”
Rydian moved closer, his shadows flickering across the markings. “What number?”
“Seven.”
A low murmur passed through the group.
“But there are only five courts,” Keres said.
“Six if you count Calidium,” Thorne explained. “Look, this rune is for the Marble Throne.”
“Six courts,” Keres said, “So, what’s with the seven?”
“Seven thrones,” I said softly, looking at Thorne. “Summer has two thrones.”
Thorne nodded. “That would be my guess. The Verdant used numeric sequences to represent governance—their structure, their power hierarchy.”
“But the Verdant ruled at a time when there was only one throne,” I said. “The Marble Throne that ruled the Calidium Empire. Back then, there were no other courts in Menryth. No other thrones.”
“That’s true,” Thorne admitted.
“So, how are the other six thrones depicted here?”
“Look.” Keres had drifted further along the wall. Now, she pointed at a set of runes larger than the others. Their position represented a point earlier in the story, if this was truly meant to be carved in a specific order.
“What does this one mean?” Daegel asked.
Thorne met my gaze then turned to the others.
It was the rune from the book I’d chosen in the cabin’s library. The one Thorne had warned me about then let me keep. I’d paged through it and noted these exact runes inside. But I hadn’t been able to read the inscriptions.
“Life,” Thorne said quietly. “But not a mortal life, the Source that all life comes from.”
“A god,” Daegel said.
“Not just one.” Keres pointed. “Six total. Three Fates, three Furiosities.”
I stared at the carvings. Six courts. Six gods. Seven thrones imbued with Life.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Rydian’s voice found me through the haze. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated. The Withered were all listening now, their gaunt faces lit by torchlight, hungry for answers.
“Just that the Verdant left more behind than we thought,” I said carefully. “They somehow knew the continent would scatter into all these new courts and kingdoms. Their Seers were incredibly gifted, not to mention their connection to the gods. They clearly knew more than we did.”
“You think these thrones mean something?” Rydian pressed.
“I think they represent a power that we shouldn’t ignore.”
One of the Withered, Brist, snorted under his breath. “And you’d know that, would you? From all your time sitting on a throne of your own?”
Eirnan turned sharply. “Enough.”
Brist lifted his chin, defiant. “You saw what she did to that creature. Drank its life like a leech. Now she’s down here in the dark, talking about ancient thrones and gods’ power. How long before she decides we’re next?”
The Withered beside him murmured his agreement.
Rydian stepped forward, shadows curling at his feet like smoke ready to burn. “Watch your mouth.”
Brist’s hand went to his blade. “Or what, Prince?”
Shadows leaked from Rydian’s hands. “Or you’ll lose your tongue.”
“Rydian,” I warned, but he didn’t take his eyes off the Withered who’d spoken out.
The shadows thickened, stretching toward the two dissenters like serpents testing the air. They didn’t flinch, but I saw their throats work as the dark tendrils coiled closer.
Eirnan moved to intervene, but Rydian’s power lashed out faster than any of us could stop it. The shadows struck, forcing their way down the men’s throats in a blur of black mist.
They gagged, choking.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Rydian’s jaw was clenched, eyes burning like twin storms.
“Rydian, that’s enough!”
Still nothing.
I stepped forward, furyfire sparking beneath my skin. “That’s a command,” I said, my voice sharper than steel.
The shadows froze mid-motion then recoiled like wounded things, ripping back into the dark around his boots.
The two Withered collapsed, gasping, coughing up black smoke. They were alive, barely.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Rydian turned away first, his face unreadable. The air still trembled with leftover magic.
I knelt beside the men. “You’re all right,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Brist looked up at me with eyes that burned—not with gratitude but resentment. “You order him around like a trained hound. Is that supposed to make us feel safer?”
“Safer than you deserve,” Rydian muttered.
“Rydian,” I said again, lower this time.
He said nothing, only stared into the dark, his shadows curling restlessly.
Eirnan helped the men to their feet, but his expression was tense. “Get to the back of the line, and stay there.”
They staggered off without another word, their glares lingering on me before they disappeared down the tunnel.
When they were gone, I exhaled slowly. Keres, Slade, Daegel, and Thorne stood nearby. Not a single one of them had moved to stop what had happened.
“What in the gods’ names was that?” I hissed.
“They threatened you,” Rydian said flatly.
“They spoke out of fear,” I said. “That’s not the same as drawing steel.”
“They would have. Eventually.”
I stared at him. “You don’t get to decide that.”
His jaw flexed. “I won’t stand by while someone plots against you.”
“I’m not asking you to stand by,” I said. “But I am asking you to trust me to fight my own battles.”
His gaze met mine then, sharp and unyielding.
Finally, he turned away, muttering something to Daegel about scouting the next passage. Shadows trailed after him like the tail of a storm.
The rest of us stood there in uneasy quiet.
Keres sheathed her daggers with a faint metallic sigh. “He’s not wrong,” she said. “But he’s not right either.”
I looked at her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning people like them will always look for someone to blame when they’re scared. If it isn’t you, it’ll be him. Or me. The trick is to make sure they stay more afraid of the enemy outside than the one beside them.”
I frowned. “That’s not exactly the kind of leadership I was going for.”
She shrugged. “It’s the kind that works.”
Eirnan cleared his throat. “We should move,” he said. “If my memory serves, we’re not far from the exit now.”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
But as I turned to follow him, my gaze caught on one of the throne runes.
The lines of it seemed to pulse with awareness.
A memory stirred—Callan in his tent, his eyes dark and tired as he said, Heliconia wants my throne.
The pieces were starting to fit together, and I didn’t like the picture they made.
Rydian’s voice came from somewhere ahead, distant but clear. “Aurelia.”
I tore my eyes from the glowing mark and followed the sound.
The tunnel narrowed again, forcing us into a single line. The quiet stretched, broken only by the drip of water and the scrape of boots against stone.
No one spoke. Even Slade kept his jokes to himself. The tension hung too heavy for levity.
When we reached the next junction, Thorne found me. “You were right to stop him,” he said quietly. “But it won’t be the last time you have to. Not with how determined those soldiers are to stir trouble.”
I sighed. “I know.”
He hesitated, then added, “The others won’t say it, but what you did back there—the serpent, the healing—some of them see it as proof of what you are. Not a curse. A sign.”
“Of what?”
“That the gods haven’t abandoned us after all.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
We left the chamber behind, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the mountain was watching us. That the runes weren’t relics at all, but eyes—old, patient, and very much awake.