10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Ifeared everyone had been right. It turned out fourteen moonfalls weren't as long as I thought.
Fourteen of the same rites, the same faces, all staring as though I were a jewel locked in a vault.
The soul-bonding left me wrung out with visions of bonds so horrific they hollowed me out for hours.
The Oracle’s riddles, the High Priestess’s watchful eyes—each pulled the noose tighter.
Even the Shaman’s lessons seemed harsher.
He continued dragging me into the liminal, forcing me to face what I never could cage: my anger.
Every time I thought I’d mastered it, it slipped its leash and I saw her again.
That angry woman who lived in the darkest parts of my mind.
So I put all my frustration into training.
In shadows, in silence, in the forgotten places of the forest. I’d stolen fragments from forbidden scrolls—guard stances sketched in ink, half-legible notes on balance and breath—and tried to stitch them together into something usable.
My grip slick with sweat, the dagger skittered across the cave stone. I’d scrambled after it, furious with myself, furious with the gods who thought Sight was enough to keep me alive.
Two nights before, I’d snapped at Elder Brannach.
Again. He’d corrected me, of course. Anger is not authority.
It is weakness, dressed in flame. Your uncontrollable emotions are pathetic, Seer.
If you cannot contain them, I will have to strike them out of you with my cane.
I’d wanted to spit back that weakness was being chained to a role you never asked for.
But the words stayed lodged in my throat, I would avoid that cane at all costs.
Still, the inner fire refused to die.
I did what they told me. Every step felt less like mine, and more like one they’d carved stone by stone. Beneath it all, the threads of the Weave still screamed around me. Wrong. Louder. Like thunder rolling where no storm should be.
Now, I went to the library with purpose. Davorin Kesh, whatever and whoever he really was, had called Tairngire by a name not his own, like it meant nothing—Eryndor Vale. But it had still struck in my chest like a shard of obsidian, dark and holding mysteries of its own.
I went to the Elder Sgàthánwing, hunting answers from the only one who seemed willing to give me any real ones these days.
“Tell me about the god Tairngire,” I asked.
Its silver eyes shimmered, patient and unblinking. “He is the Awakener. Keeper of the Wild Groves. His roots twine with the Weave. His breath carries its very essence. But knowledge of him is like water in a clenched fist, Seer. It does not stay where you want it.”
So much for getting real answers.
My jaw tightened, temper gnawing at its leash. “Then tell me about Eryndor Vale.”
That made the Elder stir. Its wings whispered on a breeze that I couldn’t feel. “That’s a different story.” And with no more, it glided between the shelves.
I followed until we reached the same alcove where I’d found the tome on the realms. Another book waited there, bound in worn leather with symbols I didn’t know.
I arched a curious brow. “Is this where magical tomes I’ve never been permitted to read make an appearance?”
“This is where tomes reveal themselves when they wish to be known.”
Well, that's not foreboding or anything.
I sighed and reached for the book despite my reservations. It was heavy in my hand, the spine stamped with letters dark as pitch.
The Chronicle of Eryndor Vale.
I glanced at the Elder with an eyebrow raised. “So, this is allowed, then? More knowledge I've just now just been deemed worthy of?”
The Elder’s wings struck together like chimes. It narrowed its eyes. “Hmm, not necessarily worthy. But it is necessary that you have it, nonetheless.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to roll my eyes at its pretentious tone. Sometimes, I truly loathed this creature. Regardless of its invaluable knowledge.
“The tome chose you,” it continued, ignoring my attitude per usual. “But books that walk from their shelves always demand a price.”
A prickle ran down my neck. “What kind of price?”
“The kind you cannot name until it has been taken.”
Fabulous, another riddle that could very well end in my demise. Surprise, surprise.
I slid the tome into my satchel, rougher than I meant to. The leather seemed to vibrate against my palm.
Before I could turn to go, the Elder’s voice followed, a strange lilt to it.
“Eryndor Vale was once a king who never wore a crown. His realm was not ruled by stone, but by silence. Some call him Fae, though his…kind, walked closer to the Weave than most care to acknowledge. Remember this, Seer. Kings who claim no throne are the hardest to unseat, for nobody can find them should they wish not to be found.”
Ominous. I gripped my satchel tighter, knuckles white.
A Fae king. A name borrowed by a god.
And for what? I was about to leave this damned library with more questions than answers.
The Elder’s strange eyes blinked, leaving nothing there to read. “Do not expect this book to tell truths plainly. It will guard them. Test you. Only what you bleed for will stay.”
“Is that a warning?” I asked between clenched teeth.
“Not a warning,” it murmured, wings folding shut. “But a certainty.”
I pushed open the door to my hut and the smell of peat smoke and lavender wrapped around me like an old cloak. Saorla waited against the wall, her arms crossed with a folded scrap of parchment in her hand and trouble in her eyes.
She wagged it in front of my face. “Found this sitting on the step. No seal. No name. Which of course, means I read it.”
I sighed. “Of course, you did.”
Her grin was sharp when I reached for the letter, only for her to wave it just out of reach.
“And you’ll forgive me for it, because whoever left this has a flair for the dramatic I haven’t seen in ages.
And an old woman deserves a bit of entertainment every now and then.
” She cleared her throat and read, voice mocking: "When the last star crowns the night above Anam Lac, the forest will open its mouth.
Step inside…" she paused dramatically, a cat-like grin taking her mouth. "If you dare."
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Gods’ sake.”
One brow arched at my curse, she prattled on. “So? A secret admirer? Or another one of Branwyn’s pranks?”
I finally wrenched the parchment from her greedy hands, already knowing exactly where it had come from.
The script was unfamiliar, but the cryptic flair reeked of a certain incorrigible forest god.
I’d spoken with him twice, once in the Elder’s hut, once in the tavern under Branwyn’s glamour.
Both times, he’d acted like a man amused by secrets only he would ever be privy to.
Saorla’s eyes twinkled as she hummed. “You’ve been on edge these past moonfalls, Aurenya, snapping like a fox in a snare. Now this cute little letter lands on our doorstep.” She leaned forward and tapped the parchment, now safely in my grasp. “So—what aren’t you saying?”
My jaw locked. I couldn’t tell her about the Old Gods sending their so-called protector, nor could I say anything about the realms bleeding into each other. The Oracle’s word was law, and my duty was silence. Mortals were not permitted this knowledge.
But Saorla always knew things she wasn’t supposed to—and I knew she’d find out eventually. But not from me. Not tonight.
I waved her off. “It’s nothing. Another fool with too much ink and too little sense. Everyone knows the sacred Seer is bound only to her duties.” I muttered.
Saorla snorted in response. “A fool, maybe. But riddles left at your door rarely mean nothing.”
She turned back to the fire but her teasing expression had slipped, and the lines underneath her eyes seemed deeper. She knew I was hiding something from her, and although she had no desire to push the subject, I could read the hurt all over her face.
I stood there, cursed parchment in hand, knowing she was right.
Knowing that she wanted more from me. But I was forbidden to give her what she wanted.
So, I walked away muttering some pathetic excuse for an apology under my breath and didn’t look back.
Even when I practically felt her calculating gaze burning through the back of my head.
My room was quiet when I slipped inside, the heavy door muffling the crackling hearth.
The tome weighed solid in my hands, older than it had any right to feel—like the leather itself remembered being alive.
I wanted nothing more than to sink into the pages, but the words on that ridiculous parchment still pulsed in my chest: when the last star crowns the night above Anam Lac.
Of course, it couldn’t be simple. Of course, he couldn’t just say meet me at dusk. No, it had to be riddles wrapped in theatrics.
I set the book on my table, then hesitated.
Leaving it there felt…wrong. Not that Saorla would ever rifle through my things, but this wasn’t just another temple volume.
It deserved more than casual neglect. After a pause, I slid it beneath the wooden chest at my bed’s foot, tucked between the floorboards where shadows lingered.
Only then did I pull the pins from my hair.
My braid fell loose, waves slipping heavy down my back.
I shrugged on my darkest cloak. Its hood was deep enough to swallow me whole.
My hands brushed against the empty leather sheath at my hip—and I placed my dagger in it.
It was beginning to feel more natural having it there.
I hadn’t seen anything in the forest since the beast, but I wanted to be careful.
I was starting to get used to its weight in my training sessions as well—I knew that if another creature made itself known, I would at least be less clumsy in dealing with it. I grinned at the thought.
I caught sight of myself in the bronze mirror across the room and almost laughed.
Shadowed, hair wild, jaw tight with anger I could never banish.
Seeing myself like this, I could almost understand why the Old Gods thought I needed further protection, maybe even from myself.
But I still couldn’t accept it from him, of all divines.
He woke something fierce inside me. The smug bastard he was, grinning in the Elder’s hut like he owned my Fate, teasing me across a tavern table.
Infuriating. Impossible. And now, entirely unavoidable.
I pulled the hood over my head and turned to leave.
Saorla was blocking the door, silver hair wrapped in a bun, a fox’s grin curving her mouth. “Off to trouble?"
I let out a sharp breath, half-laugh. “I wish. And if I was, do you truly think me stupid enough to leave through your front door?” My hand tightened on the cloak’s edge. “No. This is…something else.”
Her eyes hardened, but she didn’t pry as she moved away from the door. “Duty?”
I simply nodded once.
Saorla leaned back, lips pursed like she wanted to say more. Her smirk returned, thinner, riddled with intent and insolence. She didn’t particularly enjoy being left out of prophetic business. “Then go, girl. And keep your head steady, even when your restless heart wants to drag it.”
I didn’t answer. I just pulled the door wide and stepped into the night, the stars already kindling above.