Chapter 63 – Dain
DAIN
By midday, we rode through Tempest’s gates. Horses were stabled, gear stowed, and the squad dismissed for the rest of the day; all except the five of us. Azaria wanted us in the common room that evening to discuss the prophecy.
First, though, she needed rest. The wolf had been pestering her about it all morning, and for once, she actually listened.
She curled up on the sofa in the common room, still in her travel-stained clothes, too tired to make it to her office.
The wolf settled on the floor beside her, massive head resting on his paws, eyes fixed on her like a sentry.
I left them there and went to clean up. An hour later, when I returned with tea and a plate of food, she was awake, groggy but functional. The wolf hadn’t moved an inch.
“Feeling better?” I asked, setting the tray on the low table.
She rubbed her face. “A little. Still tired, but I’ll manage.”
“You don’t have to push yourself, Az.”
“I know.” She reached for the tea. “But the prophecy won’t decode itself.”
By evening, the five of us gathered around the table. Scrolls and books littered the surface, half-covered in Quin’s notes and Azaria’s neater hand. The fire in the hearth had burned low, shadows stretching long across the walls.
Kael sprawled in his chair, mist curling around his fingers as he twirled a quill. Kalias sat silent and watchful, hands folded in his lap. Quin leaned forward, shoulders tense.
We’d been at it for nearly two hours. The prophecy resisted us the way it always did—each line splitting into a dozen possible meanings, none of them settling into certainty.
Quin and Kalias had identified the structure weeks ago: ancient fae, duality woven through every verse.
Creation from destruction. Light from dark.
But structure wasn’t meaning, and meaning was what we needed.
The early lines had given us the most traction.
Blood magic, a binding, a suppression of something or someone, by a traitor’s hand.
Quinton was certain about that much. The middle verses were harder: wings of dawn, heart of ember, two lights twined in one vessel.
Kael thought it could be a shifter. Quin argued for dual magic: light and fire bound in one person.
Kalias said only that it was uncommon and dangerous.
It was the final lines that hung heaviest.
The flame shall fall into shadow, yet another’s soul shall kindle the spark. One will pass, one will rise. The vow of earth will pay the price.
Kael tapped the passage with his quill. “’Vow of earth’ could be symbolic. A pact, a promise. Or an earth mage.”
“Or a spell, or a place,” Quin said. “It could be anything.”
“‘Kindle the spark,’” Kalias said quietly. “That implies restoration, a revival. Something dormant being woken.”
The room went still for a moment.
“There is one thing that troubles me,” Kalias added, quieter still.
“We are reading this as though it speaks of one person. One flame, one vessel, one path.” He paused, silver-blue eyes moving across the parchment.
“Fae prophecies were rarely so narrow. The flame, the shadow, the vessel, the spark: these may not be the same soul. And if they are not, then we are not deciphering a fate. We are deciphering a web.”
Azaria tilted her head, brow furrowing. She pressed fingers to her temple—just briefly—before dropping her hand and refocusing on the parchment.
Quin leaned closer, his magic thickening in the air. She shifted, almost imperceptibly, like something had brushed against her skin.
Tired. She’d said she was tired. But this looked like more than tired.
“We’re no closer than when we started,” she muttered, rubbing her temple again.
“Closer,” Quin corrected gently. “We’ve ruled out some interpretations. That matters.”
She shot him a look, but didn’t argue.
Something about this prophecy sat wrong with me. Not the words themselves, but the weight of them. Like they were pressing against something just out of reach.
Azaria’s hand went to her chest, rubbing absently, before she caught herself and dropped it.
“You all right?” Quin asked.
“Fine,” she said too quickly. “Just stuffy in here.”
But the fire had burned low, and the room wasn’t warm at all.
Quin’s eyes tracked her, concern flickering across his face before he smoothed it away.
His magic pulsed, thick in the air around her, and I wondered if he felt it—the way she was starting to sense him, even if she didn’t understand what it was yet.
He still hadn’t told her. And judging by the way his jaw tightened when she shifted away from him, he knew he was running out of time.
Azaria finally pushed back from the table. “That’s enough. We need fresh eyes.” She let out a slow breath. “Go home. Get some rest. Me and Dain still have papers to catch up on.”
Kael gave a dramatic groan, stretching his arms overhead. “Finally. Thought you were going to keep us until dawn.” He slid out of his chair and stalked toward the door, mist trailing in his wake.
Kalias inclined his head once. “As you wish.” And slipped out, silent as ever.
That left Quin.
He lingered a moment, then stepped closer to her. I watched the tension ease from his face as he bent, brushing his lips against hers. His voice was low, meant for her alone. “I’ll see you later.”
Her eyes softened, just for him.
Once they’d gone, I crossed the room. She was rubbing her face, breathing deep. Not the alarming kind of tired, but tired enough that it showed. From her spat with the wolf this morning, Kalias had sensed it too.
I set my hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right?”
She slumped a little. “I need a nap.”
“With the wolf?” I teased.
She snorted. “No. He’d take over the whole bed and kick me right off it.” She looked up at me, blue eyes weary but still sharp. “I’ve got council letters and some missives from Velmara. Could you handle the mission report?”
“Of course.” I squeezed her shoulders. “I’ll get you some tea. And something sweet.”
She disappeared into her office, and I brewed tea, dug up a handful of sweets Lyra had left behind, and set them on a tray. When I slipped into her office, she glanced up. I left the tray on her desk. “I’ll check in a couple of hours,” I said.
She gave me a tired smile. “Thank you.”
I settled at the desk in the common room and pulled fresh parchment toward me. I didn’t like when she worked while she was tired. Those fae instincts screamed: get her out of here, wrap her in blankets, take her home.
I shoved the thought aside and focused on the report.
Half an hour later, rough sounds came from the door. The handle clattered, then it swung open to reveal Kalias’s wolf. He padded inside, and with a flick of his hind leg, shut the door behind him.
“You know,” I muttered, “you could’ve stayed a man long enough to use the door properly.”
The wolf ignored me, scanning the room and sniffing the air.
“She’s in her office, working,” I told him. “Let her be. She needs space and quiet.”
A huff. Then he padded closer to her door anyway.
“I know you worry. I worry too. Ask her to let you into her house, guard her bedroom if you like.”
His head snapped up, ears pricked, and he let out an excited yelp.
I shook my head as he stretched out on the floor, body angled protectively toward her door. “You’re hopeless.”
He lifted his head, fixing me with an unimpressed stare. I didn’t need to hear his voice in my head to know exactly what he was saying: Speak for yourself.
She had two shadows now—me and the wolf. Neither of us moving far, neither of us willing to let her out of sight. She’d probably roll her eyes if she saw it, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Time dragged on. I worked, scratching out lines of neat script, but my gaze kept flicking to the wolf. He hadn’t moved an inch since he lay down.
Until he did.
The wolf sat up abruptly, ears pricked forward. Then he stood, muscles taut, tail stiff. He began pacing back and forth across the room. Each time he turned, his eyes cut to Azaria’s door, a low rumble caught in his chest.
My quill stilled. I watched him circle again, tension rolling off him in waves, and unease prickled down my spine. “Are you going to pace like this all night?” I asked, half a growl myself.
He didn’t glance at me. Just kept circling, each pass rougher than the last, the rumbles deepening.
Then he stopped. Every muscle in him went rigid—ears pricked, body taut, eyes locked on Azaria’s door.
He moved closer with a predator’s ease, sniffing hard at the wood.
A scratch of claws, then a low, guttural growl.
My stomach dropped.
I was on my feet in an instant, crossing the room in three strides. “Az? You all right?” I knocked hard, pulse hammering.
Nothing.
“Azaria?” Louder this time.
The wolf snapped his head toward me, lips curled back. The sound that tore from him wasn’t a warning—it was a command: open the damn door.
I shoved it open, barely having time to step aside before he barreled through, his weight slamming past me, nearly knocking me flat. I caught myself on the frame and stormed inside. And froze.
My chest exploded with pain—sharp, vicious, and white-hot.
The fae bond screamed. Wrong. She was sprawled across her desk, pale as ash.
Her pen still in her fingers, ink smeared across the page where the sentence trailed off mid-word.
She hadn’t even had time to fall properly—just crumpled on her desk.
“Azaria—” The word broke out of me.
Kalias was already there. The shift must have ripped through him the second I opened the door, because the man was kneeling by her side, hands sliding under her with steady, practised ease. He lifted her like she weighed nothing and laid her carefully across the sofa.
The air changed, thick with his magic: damp earth and rain-soaked forest. A steady pulse of something old moving through the room.
“I have her,” Kalias said, voice low and certain. “Go. Find your healer.”
I couldn’t move for half a breath. Just stared at her fevered skin, the shallow rise of her chest. Then my legs remembered how to work.
I turned and ran.