Chapter 49 Emory
THEY SET OFF TOWARD THE Sunforge the next morning, hiking their way through the hilly desert while Gwenhael took to the skies, keeping a lookout for the Fellowship who had followed them from Heartstone.
Their two Golden Helm escorts—Ivayne, the youngest, and Vivyan, her mother—were familiar with these parts and knew how to avoid being seen, by both draconic knights and eldritch beasts who might be roaming around.
Ivayne was relentless in asking them questions about their respective worlds, at first sounding like an interrogator, but eventually succumbing to her curiosity enough that she lost a bit of that hard exterior.
Her mother regaled them all with stories throughout the day, tales of the first dragons and the knights-errant that served them.
At one point they came upon a rocky mound that moved, the rock itself shifting and groaning until a stony giant was staring at them. Tol brandished his sword, and Emory had her magic at the ready despite vowing not to use it. But Ivayne and Vivyan told them to stand down.
“It won’t harm us,” Vivyan said.
“But it’s an eldritch,” Virgil argued.
“Yes, and not all eldritch are out for blood, contrary to what everyone believes.” Vivyan bowed at the waist in front of the stony giant, whose responding groan sounded like the splitting of the earth itself.
But it made no move to hurt them, merely watching them as they passed by it.
Tol was mesmerized and spent the rest of the day listening to Vivyan speak of the rule of balance, and how the Golden Helm upheld this by protecting both dragons and eldritch alike.
They spent the next few days going over all the myths about their respective gods and the origins of their magic, trying to piece together how it all connected, to find all its common threads to weave a tapestry they could make sense of.
In her mind, Emory kept going back to Song of the Drowned Gods, in which the heroes were lured to the sea of ash thinking they would free the drowned gods, only to be trapped there in their place.
Surely if most of Clover’s story was playing out now in real life, chances were they, too, were walking into a trap.
But there was no convincing Romie and the others of this.
“I hear the song clearer every day,” Romie argued. “So do Aspen and Tol. The Tides, the Sculptress, the Forger… Putting the pieces of her back together is the answer to the worlds dying.”
“How can we be sure?” Emory asked. “If she’s anything like the drowned gods, then that means she’s luring you all to her.”
“She has a point,” Nisha said. “The heroes in Clover’s story felt certain they were following their destiny, and they ended up being played in the end.”
“So you think we should believe the Shadow instead?” Romie bit back.
“Need I remind you that in the book, the drowned gods were keeping a dangerous beast trapped in the sea of ash? Obviously referring to the Shadow.” She pursed her lips at Emory.
“Maybe he’s the one luring you into some ulterior plan of his. ”
The comment stung more than Emory cared to admit, probably because there was some truth to it.
She’d learned her lesson with Keiran and would never let herself be lured by anyone again.
But she couldn’t deny this drive she had to understand the Shadow and this bond they shared.
Why he alone seemed to have the power to soothe her magic—magic she hadn’t let herself touch since the Chasm, even though they weren’t traveling on a ley line.
The pressure building in her veins was becoming unbearable. Not even bloodletting soothed it.
Emory wanted answers. When she got Virgil to make her faint again, hoping to find the Shadow in that liminal space of his, nothing happened. He wasn’t there. In fact, there hadn’t even been a there. One minute she was conscious, then it was oblivion, and finally she came to.
It was almost like the Shadow’s magic was being blocked. The same way, perhaps, that Tol’s ability to shift had been blocked by that damper around his neck.
It remained like that every day. A terrible inkling settled in her gut, later confirmed by Gwenhael.
The Knight Commander leads the company following us, the dragon said. She and her knights have captured the Night Bringer.
Emory wanted to kick herself. She had left the Shadow to fend for himself against the knights, thinking he’d be strong enough to escape them after she’d healed him.
How long would the Knight Commander let him live?
Could the Shadow even be killed, or would he survive Keiran’s death to find another vessel?
“You want to go after him, do you?” Virgil asked her, as if reading her mind.
And though she did, Emory couldn’t possibly do that to her friends. Not when they had a door to find—a door they needed her to open.
But the idea haunted her like one of her ghosts.
The pressure in her veins protested at her abstinence from magic, and Emory could only imagine what might happen if she stumbled upon a ley line—the kind of destruction she would unintentionally wreak on the keys if all this unused power inside her came out.
She had to fix it before it was too late.
That night, she found herself in a familiar, idyllic dream.
Chasing waves and seagulls with Romie and Baz.
Laughter and salt spray and the sighing of tall grass in the breeze.
The real Romie wasn’t beside her like last time.
In fact, she hadn’t visited Emory in dreams since the Chasm, as if she were afraid Emory might hurt her even here.
A tear rolled down Emory’s cheek as she watched their younger selves in this moment of levity. She’d do anything to get back to that.
The skies grew dark. The gulls fell, suddenly flightless, shattering on the sand, swallowed by the roiling waves. Emory watched her younger self dissolve to ash along with Romie and Baz. The scene gave way to a dark expanse full of stars, and Emory turned to find she was not alone.
“It’s you again,” she breathed.