Chapter Forty
KAEL
Elyssara’s fiery rage should frustrate me, or at the very least, make me nervous.
But for some fucked up reason, it turns me on.
There is nothing more beautiful than a woman who isn’t afraid to show her dark side.
Even more so when she is covered in the blood of her enemies who dared to stand in her way.
Therion clears his throat and gives me a pointed look as if to say focus, you fool. I sit up straighter, making eye contact with Elyssara. “Where would you like to start?”
She all but snarls at me, and says, “Let’s start simply, seeing as even simple truths have proven to be difficult for you.”
Ronyn snorts a small laugh before covering his mouth and forcing his features into submission.
Elyssara shoots him a look that I’m glad to evade for once, and he says, “What? I’m just glad you’re not directing it at me!
” For all his jokes and playfulness, I like him.
She spins back around, eyes searing into me.
“Who is Torvyn?”
I make a silent promise to tell her the truth for as long as I can.
“He is the Galreth leader of the rebellion. He is also Finnick’s father, and a long-term friend of mine.”
She seems to mull the answer over, deciding if she’s content with it. “Okay. And who is Finnick to this rebellion? What does he do?” Some of the bite—but not much—has come out of her tone, seemingly soothed by my honesty.
“Finn acts as the Innkeeper at The Broken Stag—here, where we’re staying.
He’s also a messenger between The Shadow Wastes and Dravara.
I’m sure you noticed that he can move without notice quite easily.
” I keep my answers stripped back and raw, hoping that the more honesty I offer her, the sooner her curiosity will be satisfied.
She huffs a sigh, expression unreadable. The air is thick with tension, heavy and loaded with meaning. This moment feels like a tipping point. “And The Broken Stag? It’s not a regular inn, is it?”
Clever girl.
“No. It’s a safe house and meeting point for the rebellion.”
“And you? Who are you in all of this?”
Fuck. I let out a shaky exhale. She’s starting to ask more of the right questions, and I know everything is about to change. “I am the leader of the rebellion.”
She presses on, taking what I’ve just revealed—no doubt for later—and pushes on, hungry for answers. “And Merrik? Jax?”
Her questions come in a flurry, desperate, adamant.
“Merrik and Jax have been with the rebellion since it began ten years ago, and I’ve known them both since I was a child. They’ve infiltrated the Dravari Guard at The Joining, and they transport goods to The Shadow Wastes, spy, that sort of thing.”
For whatever reason, this seems to hit Elyssara harder. I’m such a fucking bastard. I can feel the trust we’ve built dissolving between us every moment this conversation continues.
“Why? Why do they need to infiltrate The Joining? Are you resourcing The Shadow Wastes? Arming their soldiers?” she spits the words as if they repulse her.
Whatever she thinks she knows about The Wastes is likely wildly inaccurate fallacies and indoctrinations.
Everything she knows about the realms will be obliterated when she finally knows the truth.
“There is so much you don’t know, Elyssara—”
“Then fucking tell me! Stop treating me like a vacuous little child and tell me the godsdamned truth!” She cuts me off, screaming the words. Years of living in the dark have taken a toll—and it’s unfurling out of her in real time. Her skin glows a bright, golden yellow. Beautiful.
“Duskae,” I stand to soothe her, her breathing now ragged and fast.
“Don’t fucking patronize me, Kael. Just tell me,” she sobs the words, and clenches at her chest, as if that will somehow soften the pain she’s feeling. All I want to do is go to her.
“No passage is granted across the continent unless sanctioned by both kings. We need to be able to move around without notice, build up our numbers for the rebellion. We have good people who have given up everything to fight with us, and we need to feed them, arm them, care for their families.”
She’s nodding, as if starting to piece some of this together.
I continue, “We’re also piecing together trade routes between the realms. Dravara has been resourcing The Wastes with food and medicine for decades.” I pause, breathing heavily—I know I’m about to crack the foundations of her reality.
Therion is looking at me with hesitant eyes, as if begging me to just tell her what I want her to know. But I can’t. I have to keep going.
“But what does Dravara get in return? Why are tensions building between the realms?” I ask, urging her to figure it out.
“I’ve wondered this for a long time,” Seren whispers, eyes focussed on the floor, piecing it together.
“Well, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy thieving scraps from others that are starving to be worrying about greedy kings and their fight for control,” Elyssara bites, and I can feel her rage about to snap.
But I can’t stop now. I’ve come this far. Therion sucks in a breath, already aware of what I’m about to say.
“Threvenar,” I say.
Here eyes snap to mine. “Threvenar?”
“It’s a plant. Native to The Wastes. It’s used in a complicated memory suppressant,” I say.
Her breath hitches, realization beginning to strike.
“Have you ever wondered why no one can remember who came before Thalmyr? What Dravara was like before his tyranny?” I press, my voice strong and unyielding.
“We can’t remember,” she breathes, eyes wide.
“No one in Dravara can remember, Elyssara. All it would take is a single withheld shipment of threvenar. And the entire kingdom would remember what it was forced to forget,” the heavy implication falls from my lips. I know I’ve said too much, but I don’t regret it.
“What the fuck?” Ronyn asks, and for once, he’s serious.
“It’s in the water supply,” Therion clarifies.
“Our memories are being stolen? Our history rewritten?” Elyssara clenches her fists, knuckles turning white.
“We don’t know how it works. Not entirely. We know it’s selective to specific time periods and memories, but nothing more. It’s complex magic. Old magic. That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Therion explains.
Elyssara is reeling. Pacing, panting, unstable.
“So, why do you care about Dravara?” She spits the words like accusation.
I pause, selecting my words carefully. “The true King of The Wastes—Aurius, the King usurped by Maldrak—was on peaceful terms with Dravara. We want to get back to that. Return Aevryn to peace.”
Truth. That’s the truth.
She stares off into nothingness, piecing information together, joining dots, making sense of it all.
Her eyes snap to mine. Her voice is low, breathless. “You want the throne.”
I swallow thickly—there is no coming back from this.
“The Shadow Wastes are not what you’ve been led to believe.
There is more to the story. To its history.
King Maldrak killed King Aurius and usurped the throne ten years ago.
He has murdered, captured, and raped his way to power,” my voice rises in volume, stronger and more vicious.
“He has plunged The Shadow Wastes into further decay and degradation. He is the man who has my sister. He is the man that took everything we all love,” I throw my arms out, gesturing to the people—my people—around the room.
“The Shadow Wastes are your home,” Elyssara whispers again, and I can sense the thoughts rushing through her mind, trying to make sense of everything.
“Yes, we are from The Shadow Wastes. But our rebellion is continent-wide. Every single town and village has our rebels in it. We are growing, and we are becoming powerful, and we will get what we want,” menace slips into my tone, and I can feel Therion’s stare burning into me.
“I thought everyone in The Wastes was deranged. Distorted and cursed,” Elyssara shakes her head, trying to reconcile what she has always known with the new information.
“The Wastes have been cursed for as long as anyone can remember. Our capital, Kryntar, and all its surroundings are shrouded in The Decay—a blighted barrier that has cast it into death and darkness. Morrathys cursed our lands after the century-long war between Starborn and Earthbound. Our mission is to take the throne from King Maldrak, and restore The Wastes to what they once were.”
“Kael,” Therion warns in a low growl. “Enough.”
Elyssara’s face is blank, devoid of emotion and expression. “So, what do you want with me? I’m assuming it’s more than the compass?”
I clench my jaw. Steeling myself. What I’m about to say will make or break this alliance... or whatever this is.
“Yes,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
My gut roils, and I can hear my pulse pumping in my ears.
“We do need the compass. And… we want you to help us take down The Decay,” I pause briefly, weighing my words.
“The Shadow Wastes is my home. Our home. The Decay keeps our people cursed, and the entire continent locked in the trade agreement that’s killing us. ”
“Hmm,” Elyssara’s non-committal response sets me on edge, like a predator about to strike. “When were you going to tell me this?”
“When you started to trust us... perhaps even started believing in our mission.” The words feel empty and feeble on my tongue.
“How would I do that, Kael? You don’t fucking tell me anything!
You just use me!” Her rage returns with force.
“I am nothing more than a pawn in a game between powerful men who seek to use me. I am nothing but a vessel for power to be taken and exploited. A body to be fucked and used. A human to be cast out and starved. You are no different to these kings, Kael. At least Maldrak doesn’t hide who he is! ”
Her words slice through me in a way that no blade ever could. She’s right. I have used her. I am using her.
“Elyssara, please. There is so much more that you don’t know.” What sort of response is that? I can’t think of anything else to say that will salvage this conversation.
“Oh I fucking believe that,” Elyssara’s words are dripping with sarcasm.
I think she’s going to continue handing me my ass, but she wheels around, eyes locking on Therion.
“And you,” she stabs her finger in his direction, “don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.
” Fury has taken her over now, and all any of us can do is hold on for it to pass, as we watch magic crackling at her fingertips.
I resist the urge to snuff it out with my shadows, and let her release some anger.
“What is it that you do for our King of Rebels here?” She mockingly sweeps an arm out, as if addressing someone royal.
Therion, for the first time in our lives, looks genuinely stunned by the entire turn of events. “I’m Kael’s General of War,” his tone even and clipped.
“Oh, just a General of War,” her eyes roll indignantly, “Of course you are. Another puppet master pulling strings while I dance to your tune. You are fucking complicit in all of this, too. Another power hungry man who is completely okay with using and abusing me, no matter the cost!”
“None of us are okay with this, Elyssara,” Therion’s expression is sincere and almost downcast.
“Lies! I have been nothing but a pawn to fucking everyone my entire life! I was starting to believe that this was different.” Everything about her changes in an instant.
Her rage, her fury, her anger, all acquiesce to what is living underneath—betrayal.
Agony. Heartbreak. Her body slackens and she drops to her knees, sobs tearing from her throat as her head falls into her palms.
Despite my better judgement to let Ronyn take her, I can’t help myself.
I’m a bastard. I know I shouldn’t be the one to pick her up when I’m the one who put her there, but I’m selfish and I want to be there for her.
I want it for myself. I scoop her into my arms, and to my surprise, she melts into my chest, braids hanging over my arms, tears running in rivers down her blood-speckled cheeks. Beautiful.
“I’ll take her to her room,” I murmur to no one in particular on the way out, blocking out the sound of Seren’s sobs, Jax and Merrik conferring about being right, and Therion not saying anything at all, which is quite possibly the loudest.
Yes. Trust is definitely broken.