Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rydian
Ilay on the cot Talthis’s people had given me, staring at the roof of the tent while the sounds of the Lightshore camp slowly thinned.
At first: low-voiced conversations, the clink of armor, someone laughing too loudly.
Then: the occasional cough, the rustle of bedrolls.
Eventually, only night remained—crickets, the distant rush of the river, the whisper of leaves.
My body was exhausted, but my mind refused to quiet.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the endless cascade of furyfire.
A valley turned to ash. Frostwights crumpling. Obsidians screaming. Aurelia, standing alone on that slope, her mark blazing like a dark star while the world burned around her.
And then nothing.
Smoke. River. Hands dragging me down.
I gritted my teeth against the fragmented memories. Nali and her people had saved my life. They’d done what Aurelia had asked and provided a safe retreat. Problem was, they’d also ripped me away from her.
I dragged a hand down my face and pushed up to sit.
The tent Talthis had loaned me was large enough to stand in, but not by much.
A single lantern swung from one of the center poles, its light turned down to a faint glow.
My boots sat neatly beside the cot, cleaned and dried again by some Spring fae soldier with more patience than I had.
My sword leaned against the far wall.
The mark on my ribs burned.
A dark, angular rune inked into my skin years ago. The one that tied me to a vow I couldn’t stop thinking about these last few weeks. One that was made of the same magic as Aurelia’s. Gifted from the same dark god.
I promised him I’d die for her.
I’d meant it when I’d said the words all those years ago. I still meant them now.
What I hadn’t anticipated was what it would feel like to love Aurelia and know every day brought me closer to the moment I’d lose her forever.
For all I knew, that moment could be happening right now. What if I wasn’t there when she needed me? What if she burned herself out, alone in those mountains, while I lay in a pretty tent in the Emerald Forest, drinking spring wine and waiting for news?
I slid my boots on and rolled my shoulders, testing the stiffness in my muscles. The naiad’s touch still lingered, a cold deep in my bones.
I buckled on my sword and turned the flame down on the lantern until it was nothing more than an ember. Then I loosened the tent flap and listened.
Silence.
Good.
I slipped out into the night.
The camp was a spill of low tents tucked beneath massive trees with a canopy that glowed faintly with filtered starlight.
Ancient magic hummed in the roots and branches, a gentle, living thrum that made even the shadows feel softer than they should have.
It was a comfort, knowing the magic of the Emerald Forest had not begun to fade as the rest of Sevanwinds had. Not yet at least.
At the perimeter, sentries stood, spears in hand. I recognized one or two from earlier—scouts who’d stared at me like they were still deciding whether I could be trusted.
Better they kept thinking about it.
I let my shadows loosen.
They slid from my feet like spilled ink, pooling across the ground, then crept outward. Not enough to be visible as anything but a deep patch of darkness. Enough to bend the edges of sight, nudging gazes away from where I moved.
They’d grown stronger these last weeks. Since I’d found Aurelia again.
The way I’d used them to slide through those Obsidians’ throats at the war camp; that had been new for me.
Slade’s shadow-walking, too, had grown stronger.
He’d never carried anyone with him such a distance before.
I wondered if he’d noticed the way his own gifts expanded in her presence.
If Ire had done that or if it was something our own bond had brought.
One of the sentries glanced in my direction, blinked, and turned away.
Good.
I stole along the camp’s edge, breath slow, steps careful. In another life, I might have slipped out of camp like this to meet some lover in the trees.
Now, I was going to pick a fight with a god.
The forest thickened as I left the last of the tents behind. Emerald leaves arched overhead, drinking in what moonlight it could find among the clouds. Moss muffled my footsteps. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called.
I walked until I’d left all trace of the camp behind. Where the trees grew older, wilder. Here, the air felt less curated. Less safe. A thin ribbon of the Osphanis whispered somewhere farther off. Hopefully, far enough to avoid its listening ears.
When I was sure I was out of range of the patrols, I stopped in a small clearing where the canopy opened just enough to show a slice of overcast sky.
I drew my sword.
Darkness rushed in, choking out the starlight.
For a long moment, I stood perfectly still, listening to my own pulse. The mark on my ribcage thrummed in time with it, hot and insistent. As if the god who’d imbued it already knew what I intended.
“Fine,” I muttered. “Let’s do this, then.”
I unbuttoned my shirt and shoved the fabric aside, exposing the black-inked rune carved into my skin. The lines were sharp even after all these years, looping around my ribs like a brand. At the center of it, a small, circular knot of ink.
I pressed my thumb there.
Heat flared. The rest of the rune answered, coming alive under my skin like a nest of serpents stirring.
I turned the tip of my blade inward, and without giving myself time to think, I sliced the tip across the knot of ink.
Pain lanced, sharp and immediate.
Blood welled, dark in the night.
I pressed my palm to the cut, smearing my own blood across the rune. “Ire,” I said, voice low but steady. “Get down here.”
The forest held its breath.
Wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of brimstone and storm.
Shadows thickened around the edges of the clearing, pooling at the bases of trees, creeping inward. My own shadows twitched warily.
Then the night… bent.
A figure stepped out of nothing.
The youngest king of Hel looked exactly as he had the last time I saw him—tall, lean, dark hair falling in careless waves, eyes hard as iron. He wore no crown, no armor. Just a long, dark coat lined with starlight.
“Most mortals offer prayers,” he said by way of greeting. “Or at least address me with more respect than my first name.”
“Most mortals are afraid of you.”
“And you’re not?”
“I carry your mark on my body. I would think that makes us well enough acquainted for first names.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Fair point.” His gaze swept the clearing, then returned to me. “Traveling alone rather than at my daughter’s side. You’re far from your post, Shadow Prince. Lose your way?”
“You know exactly how we were separated.”
“You say that as if I had some hand in it.”
“You say it as if you don’t have your hand in everything that happens in Menryth.”
His expression hardened.
I sheathed my sword with deliberate calm. I wouldn’t need it. If he wanted me dead, steel wouldn’t make a difference.
He watched the motion, one brow lifting slightly. “You know what calling me like this costs.”
“Usually,” I said. “This time, I’m trying something different.”
“Ah.” He folded his arms, eyes gleaming. “You’ve come to bargain.”
“I’ve come to break a bargain,” I corrected.
Ire’s attention sharpened. “Go on.”
“The vow,” I said. “The one I made to you. To die in her place when the Fates come to collect.”
He nodded slowly. “I recall.”
“I want it undone.”
He tilted his head, studying me with the intense curiosity of a predator puzzling over an interesting new prey. “Regretting your heroics? I did not take you for a coward, Rydian Nytherra.”
I met his gaze, biting back my own temper. Cursing a god would get me nowhere. Besides, he was already cursed to Hel. “I am only regretting that I might not be there when she needs me most. All because I thought martyrdom was the only way to save us all.”
A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—passed through his eyes. “The boy grows into a man.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I said evenly. “I knew what I was offering. I still do. But I swore that oath when Aurelia was an idea more than a person. A prophecy. A symbol.” I stepped closer, ignoring the way the air around him felt thinner, hotter.
“Now, I’ve bled beside her. Watched her wake up, cursed and alone, and still choose to fight.
She doesn’t deserve any more loss than she’s already endured. We can find another way.”
Ire watched me like he was reading every thought I tried not to show.
“You care for her.”
I didn’t flinch away. “Enough to do anything to keep from hurting her. As should you.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Do you think insulting me as a father will help your cause, Prince?”
“You and I want the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“Her happiness.”
“And you think you can be that?” he asked quietly.
“I intend to be,” I said. “But I can’t if this blood vow drags me into an early grave.”
His gaze drifted once more to the rune on my ribs. Blood still trickled slowly from the cut, tracking along the lines of ink.
“You misunderstand the nature of the vow,” he said at last.
“I understand it well enough,” I countered. “Death comes for her; I die instead. So she can live to free the realm.”
He shook his head. “The vow says that, if the Fates choose to claim her, my power will offer… an alternative. A trade. It will not force you into that grave. It will make you available to choose.”
“Available.” The word tasted bitter. “Like a weapon pulled off a rack.”
“Like a king sent to the front line so his people might live,” he said. “You didn’t object to that part when you asked me for the strength to protect them. Or her.”
“I didn’t know her,” I shot back.
“And now you do.” His gaze softened in a way that wasn’t comforting. Gods’ pity never was. “That doesn’t make the bargain invalid. It just makes it hurt.”
I clenched my jaw. “Undo it. Find another way.”