Chapter 27 The Vessel #3
Her gaze moved to the thirty-foot tree surrounded by a pool of reflection. She understood it was the hatchling, transformed and permanently bound to the Vaerdium matrix at the center of the well beneath its roots. Lark felt its consciousness there, watching them.
Lark noticed two knots in the tree that were pure white, rimed in the golden-brown bark that formed the tree trunk.
She stared at it, somehow knowing that it was the hatchling watching her.
“Thank you,” she said, knowing that it understood despite its inability to respond verbally. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
The tree bowed slightly, slowly creaking, an acknowledgment that transcended words.
As the fae emissaries departed through their respective gateways, as Hardin and Sasja moved to secure the sanctuary entrances, as White Eye and Ingamar settled protectively around the tree at the central well, Lark allowed herself to lean more heavily against Venrick.
“You knew,” she murmured. “Somehow, you knew I wasn’t meant to be the vessel. That’s why you fought so hard to reach me.”
Venrick looked down at her, the silver-traced corruption in his blood glowing softly in the sanctuary’s magical light. “I didn’t know,” he admitted. “I just refused to accept it. Refused to lose you.”
The honesty in his voice, the depth of feeling behind his words, threatened to unravel what little composure she had left. “The corruption in your blood,” she said instead, focusing on something tangible, something she could understand. “It’s changed.”
“Yes,” he agreed, examining the silver light that now traced the black lines permanently etched into his skin. “It connected me to you when you were between realms. I think it’s left me with an understanding of the spaces between worlds.”
“Another gift,” Lark observed. “Unexpected help at the moment we needed it most.” She glanced around the sanctuary, taking in its transformed state.
“All of this feels like it was somehow destined. The hatchling with its immunity and ancestral connection. Your corrupted blood creating bridges between realms. Hardin’s ability to manipulate the sanctuary’s wards.
My celestial bond with White Eye. All of it, converging at exactly the right moment. ”
“Perhaps it was,” Venrick suggested. “Or perhaps we simply found our way to the right solution when all other options failed.”
Lark nodded, too exhausted to philosophize further. The stars beneath her skin had faded to barely visible points of light, but they remained. A reminder of what she had discovered about herself and White Eye in those moments between existence and non-existence.
“What now?” she asked softly.
Before Venrick could answer, a violent tremor shook the sanctuary, not from the binding ritual, which had stabilized, but from above. Dust and small fragments of stone rained down from the newly formed ceiling.
Yarla appeared at the top of the stairs, her usually composed features tight with urgency. “You need to come up here. Now.”
“What’s happening?” Venrick asked, his arm tightening protectively around Lark.
“Everything,” Sasja replied grimly. “The King of Lamar has regained consciousness and is coming back into his own right mind. He’s in shock and confused. He’s babbling about betrayal and corruption to anyone who’ll listen. Half the Paragons believe him, half think he’s lost his mind.”
Another impact shook the Keep, stronger than the first.
“What’s happening outside the Keep?” Lark pressed, forcing herself to stand straighter despite her exhaustion.
Yarla’s expression darkened further. “Nordraven forces at the gates.”
“It’s my cousin, Greggor,” Lark frowned.
“They’re carrying Skol’s banner,” Yarla confirmed. “Cheyanne says that King Greggor is demanding we surrender. He’s here to take the city and the King of Lamar’s crown. Stormwatch continues to refuse to come to our aid. They’re still dealing with the fallout of the Flashover’s effects there.”
Lark exchanged a glance with Venrick, fatigue momentarily forgotten as resolution hardened in both their expressions.
“The binding is complete?” Yarla asked, looking at the tree that had grown over the center of the well.
“It is,” Lark confirmed.
“That explains why the rimeshade and their corruptive powers have vanished,” Yarla said.
“What about the Archmagus and the Magi Order?” Venrick asked.
“When I rode the last rimeshade-corrupted dragon down, I saw the Archmagus fleeing the Keep.”
“He’s going to Greggor. He’ll try to convince him that we’ve killed his father in this ritual,” Lark said.
“You don’t know that. He could be fleeing the Kingdom,” Venrick said.
“I should go and speak with Greggor. I might be able to talk him out of attacking the city,” Lark said.
“Are you strong enough to go to battle if it comes to that?” Venrick asked.
White Eye lowered his head, positioning himself beside Lark in silent offering. Despite his own exhaustion, he offered to carry her into whatever awaited them above.
Lark set her foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up onto White Eye’s back. “I won’t being doing it alone,” she said with a slight smile.
Venrick and Hardin joined her, mounting their dragons as well. “We’re with you, Lark,” Venrick said. “No matter what,” Hardin added.
“Then let’s finish this,” Lark said, her voice steady with determination as White Eye launched upward toward the opening in the sanctuary ceiling.