Chapter Forty-Seven
ELYSSARA
The silence in the air lingers, and so does the eye contact between Kael and me.
His expression is stoic and unreadable, hardened over years of keeping a careful mask in place and solid walls around his heart.
But I know better. I saw the way he fought the truth from the heavens.
The way he flinched. And the way he slipped his mask and walls back in place before meeting my gaze.
He pauses, as if figuring out what to say. “So, you heard it then?” He asks in a voice that’s far too even and calculated.
“The compass first,” I say, clipped, in lieu of an answer. “And then I’m assuming you’ll hear my truth, anyway.”
Something in his eyes belies his calm exterior—a moment of panic, or realization dawns on him as I get the words out.
He gives me a brief, emotionless nod and sets off to locate the compass.
“Ah, Kael?” He spins around to face me once again, “I can feel it calling to me. Just like the blade.” I don’t wait for his response, before saying, “This way, come on.”
Across the star-drenched stone where ancient memories float on the wind, I lead Kael to the jagged edge of the plateau.
It’s here. There, resting atop a raised slab of stone—like an altar abandoned by time—is the Astral Compass.
It makes sense now, why the Vaythari and Velmara made themselves known as we approached; they guard Skaedor’s Crest with their lives, leaving the compass untouched for the rightful heir.
For me. And cutting down anyone who isn’t.
We both slow our approach, as if we might spook it if we make any sudden movements.
“It’s here,” Kael whispers, awe lacing his words, as we come up to it, eyes beaming.
The Astral Compass is not merely an object—it is a remnant of something beyond time, beyond mortal understanding. It does not sit passively upon the slab; it feels placed with purpose, as if waiting for the right hands to claim it.
It is large enough to demand reverence—crafted from a metal that is neither gold nor silver, but something older, something celestial, shimmering with an iridescence that shifts with the light.
The surface is etched with constellations, some familiar, others long forgotten, their lines carved so finely they seem to glow from within.
At its center, a floating core of shifting metallic liquid pulses with slow, rhythmic light—like the heartbeat of the heavens themselves.
Without further thought, I reach for it, hand outstretched.
I wrap my hands gently around the outside of it, and hiss—the pain sears through my palm like molten fire, and I jerk back with a sharp gasp.
My breath stutters, the raw sting latching on to my nerves like claws.
I pull my hand back and see scorch marks on my palm—the same kind Kael had on his after touching the Starforged Blade.
“Fuck,” I grit out, blowing on it to ease the sting.
Kael reaches for my hand, tenderly stroking around the burn. “You can heal this, you know.”
“How the fuck can I do that?” I bite.
“You were born under The Eye of Lireal constellation. You are imbued with the magic of shielding, destruction,” he pauses then, blowing on the burn for me, “and healing, Duskae.”
“Well, I don’t know how to do that, obviously,” sarcasm turning my words into something bitter.
He chuckles, and I’m not sure that I’ve heard anything as sweet.
“I’ll teach you. Close your eyes,” he prompts with a gentility that comforts me.
“Find that place inside you where your magic resides,” he gives me a moment.
“Got it?” I nod, “Now, imagine a small thread of your magic—Lightborne magic—unweaves from the center, and makes its way down your arm.” He traces a faint line down my arm towards the burn, and my skin turns into gooseflesh under his touch.
I hear his breathing shift, barely, but it’s there.
“Now, you want to slowly, patiently, pull your magic to the surface of your skin. Not like when you push magic outward towards something—or someone,” he says with levity in his tone, “but delicately. As if you want the magic to just kiss your skin.”
It takes great effort and concentration to not let the magic shoot out from my hands, and for the first time since we left the inn in Galreth, I feel warm.
“Good,” he encourages, and I’m embarrassed by how much his approval turns my insides molten. “Now that it’s on the surface, let it ripple across the palm of your hand where the burn is.” I do as he bids and drag my Lightborne magic bit by bit across my palm.
“Open your eyes, Elyssara,” he says, approving.
I glance down to see a faint shimmer of my magic still lingering on my palm, and underneath it, healed, fresh skin.
Awed, I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s— It’s gone!”
A genuine smile of warmth spread across his face, “You healed yourself.”
“Holy fucking Stars!” A laugh bursts out of me, and for a moment, I forget what’s at stake as we stand here.
He watches me, eyes lingering for a moment too long.
I snap myself back to the task at hand, “Okay, so obviously the compass doesn’t want me to touch it. The Velmara let you pass, maybe the compass wants you—maybe it knows our deal for you to use the compass, anyway.”
“I don’t think so, El. I think it wants your truth first,” his expression now back to cool indifference.
“What do I do? Just... speak to it?” This feels fucking ridiculous.
“I guess we’ll find out. Go on, then. Make your royal decree,” he says with mock regality.
I shoot him a withering stare, but turn back to the compass, exhaling the weight of this moment.
The truth rests in my throat like a stone. The moment I speak it aloud, there is no turning back. But the compass will accept nothing less. So I exhale and let the words carve my fate into the Stars.
“I... would like to offer you a truth in exchange for use of the compass... please,” I tack on.
“I have magic of the gods in my blood,” Kael startles, his eyes boring into me, and the compass itself begins to faintly glow, as if I’ve awakened it.
“I am to find a way to bring the gods back to the realms after being sent away, somehow, by King Thalmyr,” the glow illuminates further.
“I am to change the fate of the realms—restore the gods, reunite the Vaythari, and bring Aevryn back to peace.”
I think that’s what I’m meant to do, anyway.
I hear a gentle click, as if the compass itself is unbound from its own restraints. I don’t make the same mistake twice, so this time, I place the pad of one finger on the side of the compass to test it.
“Fuck! Again!” I hiss, as the compass brands me with its heat yet again. “Can you offer the Starsdamned thing a truth? I think it has enough of mine.”
Kael nods tightly, as if he was expecting this, and steps forward.
He hesitates for a moment, holding his breath.
He looks unsettled. “My truth is that I will keep Elyssara safe and protected, no matter who tries to stop me, or how many people get in my way. My blade is her blade,” he directs his words at the compass, but his eyes never stray from mine, as if he is making an oath.
For a long moment, nothing happens. The air between us holds still, heavy with expectation. And then—click. Click. Click. A sound so soft, yet final.
I know I can’t trust him. I know he will always keep secrets.
But the compass recognizing his words as a truth worthy of unlocking it, does something to me.
It makes me want to reach for him, to bury my face in his neck, to let him wrap his arms around me.
But I slip on my own mask, and go for indifference instead.
I reach for the compass again and the metal is cool in my palm, soothing the burn on my index finger.
“We have it,” I breathe, wonder coating my words.
“We did it—” but before he can continue, my magic surges, searing through me like lightning through a storm cloud.
Shimmering white-gold light sprays from my fingers, reaching to the Stars themselves, as if it recognizes its kin.
My Lightborne marking illuminates with phosphorescence, etching another portion of the marking permanently into my skin.
As if an unseen hand is branding me, the lines of my skin marking continue in from the edges.
Stars etched with permanency, the mark encroaching on the center of my chest, beginning to form The Eye of Lireal. The constellation of the Lightborne.
My magic explodes out of my hands once again, coursing through me with such ferocity that I can do nothing but let myself burn.
My skin is on fire, or at least, it feels like it.
It surges, seeking, devouring, searching for something to burn.
It twists through my veins like a storm with no anchor—until I feel it.
A ripple of something cool, something steady, curling up my spine like a tether to the world.
Not a command, not a restraint, but a question. Asking if I will let it in.
I acquiesce, allowing the coolness to balance my heat, and free fall into the whim of whatever is taking over me.
It feels like cool silk rippling up my body—rapturous.
I tip my head back and lift my face to the Stars, reveling in the crisp ripples.
For a moment I think it is the winds of Skaedor’s Crest, but I can feel him.
This sensation of soothing, comforting, unwavering presence is Kael.
I bring my eyes back down, and see him through the chaos, shadowed mist seeping out, controlled, from his hands.
He pins me in place, and I see him direct his shadows around my magic, as if our magic is dancing, tangled in each other, playing.
He is not trying to drown me out, or suppress my magic, he is.
.. complimenting it. Shaping it from wildfire into a weapon of both destruction and healing.
I can’t hear him over the roar of our magic moving together, but I make out the words he mouths to me, “Breathe, Duskae.” I breathe a deep inhale and let it fall gently from my mouth. “Find one thing to focus on.”
Stars save me, but he’s the only thing I want to focus on.
I stare at him, then. His ocean eyes, his unruly hair that falls into his eyes when he’s concentrating, his sharp jaw, his sun-warmed skin, the mouth that speaks words that threaten to be both my ruin and salvation.
Kael makes his way towards me, “I love seeing you become more unbound. More powerful. You’re beautiful when you let go.”
I look around to the calm, peaceful plateau—no trace of the turquoise channel, no trace of our magic. Just us. I almost don’t say anything, wanting to hold on to my anger over his secrets and omissions, but there is something about this man that draws me in, makes me want to give him everything.
“You’re beautiful, too.”
It’s the first real compliment I’ve given him, and somehow, it doesn’t even begin to convey how I feel.