Chapter 22
The next morning, I wake with sunlight in my eyes and a strange but welcome lightness in my chest. For the first time in what feels like forever, I am not weighed down by fear or pain.
It was the first night in ages that I slept with no disturbing dreams jolting me awake.
My muscles still ache, but it’s an ache I know—earned from use, not abuse.
I roll to my side, watch Lowan still half-asleep, and I let myself smile, just for a heartbeat.
Then I slip out to feel the sand on my feet and breathe the salty air, because today I need to feel like myself again.
Lowan humors me when I insist we spar, though his grin makes it clear he’s been waiting for this as much as I have. “Alright,” he says low. “Show me what you can do.”
The rhythm comes back quickly—the clang of metal, the push and pull of movement, the quickening of my breath. My arms tremble, but my instincts don’t falter. When I finally disarm him, blade pressed to his neck, he bares his throat to the edge, smiles darkly, and says, “There she is.”
The days blur into a pattern of slight comforts. We train. We eat. At night, the four of us gather outside the huts with a fire crackling low between us, the ocean whispering at our backs. It feels almost like old times, except safer, warmer—like a circle of trust I can finally sink into.
We talk through everything—what happened in the dungeon, what we know of the king, what we don’t. I share the things that still gnaw at me: his questions about portals I’ve supposedly opened, and the name he threw like a dagger—Nova Donovan.
“Do you know who that is?” I ask, watching Selene across the firelight.
Her mouth tightens. “I don’t. But if anyone might, it’s Elaris.”
“Who’s Elaris?”
Selene leans back, eyes on the stars. “The eldest of our elders. She’s been here longer than anyone can remember. Knows the history, the lore, all of it. If there’s truth to be found, she will know it.”
“Great,” I say. “Where do we find her?”
Selene smiles faintly. “Closer than you think. She’s here, on this island.”
I glance around the fire—at Lowan, at Zillah, at Selene. For the first time, our next step feels clear. “I’d like to go to her,” I say. “Tomorrow, if possible. I need answers.”
The fire is burning low when Selene finally says, “Then we’ll go to Elaris in the morning.”
We all rise, brushing sand from our clothes, the night air warm with salt and smoke.
I’m about to turn toward the huts when the fire cracks—louder than it should.
The flames twist, flaring high into a shape that steals the breath from my lungs.
The flame coils upward until a bird emerges, talons glowing like hot iron, eyes burning gold.
“A fire falcon,” Selene whispers. Her voice trembles. “No one calls one unless…”
Zillah leans forward, wide-eyed. “That’s a once-in-a-lifetime use of magic.”
The falcon lands on the driftwood, smoke curling from its feathers, and drops a scroll into the sand. For a heartbeat, its ember eyes meet mine—then it bursts apart, a rain of sparks swallowed by the night.
The scroll is still hot in my hands, which shake as I unroll it. The seal bears Kyler’s hawk. I break the seal and read aloud: He has Sirona.
The night is still around us. The waves keep breaking, but all I hear is the pounding of my pulse. Lowan curses low under his breath. Zillah’s hand goes to her dagger, as if she could fight the truth of those three words. Selene’s face has gone white.
I crumple the parchment in my fist. “Elaris will have to wait. We go for Sirona.” There’s no debate, no hesitation. The fire hasn’t even finished dying back when Selene’s mother is already in motion, her face pale but determined.
“Inside,” she says briskly, ushering us toward the huts. “You’ll need warm clothes. Food. Water.”
We scatter, grabbing what we can. She moves like she’s done this before—pulling wool cloaks from cedar chests, packing bundles with dried meats and herbs, filling water skins. Her hands tremble, but she doesn’t falter.
When everything is ready, she steps outside, lifts two fingers to her lips, and unleashes a shrill, piercing whistle that splits the night. For a moment, there is only the hush of waves and the crackle of our dying fire. Then—wingbeats. Heavy, thunderous, like drums rolling across the sea.
I stumble back as shadows descend. Two massive shapes break through the clouds and sweep low, landing with enough force to send sand whipping into our faces. Griffins.
I’ve only ever seen sketches in storybooks, but here they stand—half eagle, half lion, their golden eyes bright with intelligence. Their wings spread wider than the length of a ship’s mast, feathers gleaming like burnished bronze in the moonlight.
Selene’s mother steps forward without fear, laying her hands on their beaks and whispering words I don’t understand. The creatures rumble deep in their throats but lean into her touch, like hounds greeting a master.
“Kael. Veyra.”
The names ripple through the air like a blessing. The griffins rumble in answer, feathers shivering with restrained power. She glances back at us. “Ancient magic forbids all but ships upon the water—but these creatures will bear you swiftly to the port. Trust them.”
Tears shine in her eyes as she turns back. She hugs Zillah tightly, murmurs to Selene with her hands resting firm on her daughter’s shoulders, a mother imprinting every detail before letting go. She folds Lowan briefly into her arms. “You’re a good man,” she tells him. “I’m glad to have met you.”
Then her gaze finds me. For a long moment, she only studies me, the firelight painting her lined face in gold and shadow.
Finally, she says softly, “I see strength in you. I saw it the moment you pulled your hood back. I don’t know your destiny, child—but I feel it reaching further than even I can imagine. ” My throat tightens. I can only nod.
“But you must go,” she whispers. “Hurry. Be safe. Look after yourself and the others.”
“I will,” I promise. “Thank you for everything.”
She brushes a hand across my cheek, then steps back. The griffins kneel, wings folding to the sand. Lowan helps me climb up, hands locked around my waist protectively. I settle in front of him on the broad curve of the beast’s back.
Selene and Zillah mount the other. With one last look at the woman who gave us refuge, the griffins launch skyward. Wind tears at my hair, the ground vanishing beneath us as we rise into the night. We are flying toward Sirona—and toward whatever waits for us.
The days pass both agonizingly slowly and strangely quickly. Time is a blur of endless water and restless thoughts. We can’t make the ship move faster, can’t shorten the distance across the sea, and the helplessness gnaws at all of us.
Lowan paces the deck like a caged predator.
I join him, no longer bothering with hoods or cloaks.
Let them see my hair. A few sailors cast glances at the red curls, but most of them look away quickly.
Maybe because Lowan’s glare is sharp enough to cut them to ribbons.
For once, I don’t feel the old fear of being recognized. I feel tired of hiding.
He stares out over the waves, jaw clenched.
“I knew they would be in danger. I should have gone back myself.” His voice is ragged, torn between fury and guilt.
Then his eyes flick toward me, and something breaks in his tone.
“But I don’t regret for one fucking second bringing you to safety.
I don’t know how I could have split myself in two. If I could have—”
“Lowan.” I touch his arm. “You did nothing wrong. You sent Kyler. Kyler would not have allowed Sirona to be taken unless something beyond our control had happened.”
He drags a hand through his hair, feathers bristling at the edges of his form. “What if she’s in the same state I found you in?”
The words land like a blade to the gut. My stomach lurches.
I can still taste the stone and blood, feel the chains biting into my wrists.
But Sirona doesn’t even have her full magic, and what she has is healing, not fighting.
She’s younger, softer. My mind reels with all the ways she could already be suffering.
“Maybe,” I say carefully, though my throat burns, “maybe they’re just using her as a lure. Maybe they’re keeping her alive and unharmed to draw us back.”
He says, “Maybe,” with a raw voice, but his eyes look haunted.
Zillah joins us at the railing, her face pale and drawn. “We should have taken you to the port, then turned back,” she mutters. “Made sure Mother and Sirona were safe. This is as much my fault as it is yours, brother.”
“No.” Lowan’s answer is fierce. “You were only doing what I asked. The blame is mine.”
The two of them sink into silence, drowning in what-ifs and should-haves. I feel myself slipping with them, the weight of guilt pressing like stones against my ribs. But there’s nothing we can do but endure the waiting.
By the time we reach the mainland, no one has the luxury to dwell.
We pick up our horses from the port stable and ride hard, barely stopping except to let the horses breathe, and our bodies collapse for an hour at a time.
Lowan never rests long. As soon as we dismount, he shakes into a storm of feathers, taking flight to burn off his anxiety.
Sometimes he soars above us as we ride, a dark-winged sentinel keeping watch from the skies.
The horses slow beneath us, and a prickle crawls across my skin. The air feels different. Dense. My magic thrums faintly, as if brushing against something unseen.
“We’re close,” I murmur. “The wards.”
Before Lowan can answer, movement flickers at the edge of the trees. Steel flashes—then a familiar form shifts into sight.
“Remli.”
She hurries out of the shadows, dust and leaves clinging to her. “Stop here,” she says quickly. “I’ve been waiting.”
Lowan is already off his horse, feathers rippling at his shoulders like he wants to shift. “Talk. Fast.”