Chapter 18
Eldric
T he basement chill had Eldric crossing his arms, thankful for the sweater he wore beneath his cloak; frost was beginning to bite at night and the leaves had already turned to fire on their branches, soon to crumble into brown ash scattered upon the ground. Candles and lamps lit the reinforced clay walls in flickering yellow light, casting shadows that danced over every surface. The ink-black darkness within the Athera’s basement at night had always set his hair on edge, but these days it reminded him more of the gallows noose and the scratch of a dark canvas hood. His breath coming in short bursts, the feeling of unseen eyes lingering upon his skin.
He studied the layers of soil along the farthest wall, searching for words scattered throughout the clay and loam if he looked hard enough. Words he had been trying to say to Daeson these last two months, but couldn’t. The timing never right and every rehearsed speech echoing only in the cavern of his chest that tremored, threatening to collapse if the pillar of their friendship was removed.
Regret washed over him in waves as he looked down at the plans and strategies he had crafted laid out before him, encrypted to protect them from prying eyes. He had made them, keeping an oath made long ago to Daeson to see the kingdom of Athera restored. A vow to see the Order of Ostara pay for its sins. All of it in direct opposition to what his heart now yearned for. A garden in bloom, a warm fire, a life enjoyed at Lorali’s side. Being with her, seeing how she lived with faith and sure steps, made his resolve waver. Guilt ate at him as he saw that every document detailing the Veridian festivities strewn across the table had one haunting signature at the bottom of the page.
“I’ve looked at this every way I can, Eldric, but we can’t do this without you.”
“There has to be a way. Please.” His throat was tight. He’d beg if he had to. There had to be some way to keep his oath to them both, an angle they hadn’t considered.
“There is no other way. We need you there, beneath their noses. You are the key.”
The unspoken truth was there, though. Lorali is the key. There was no other way for them to enter the vault without a high cleric and, as the Sun Bearer, she was their best bet .
Eldric shook his head, lips pressed tight as his hands raked through his hair in distress.
“Why are you so caught up on involving not only me, but Lorali in these plans?” His voice rose to meet his thundering heart.
“There’s no need to get worked up. We agreed that this was the right path.” Daeson’s voice had that edge to it, the one that usually would stop him in his tracks, have him check his temper that still threatened to rise above his training. Eldric’s teeth grit together, his own words from months ago stinging.
“You are trying to bring an innocent person into this.”
“She is with the Order.” Daeson’s dark eyes narrowed, statuesque as he watched Eldric.
“She has no reason to be involved.”
“I won’t do it,” he whispered. “I want out.”
His breaths heaved as the words left, hanging in the air. He expected Daeson’s own temper to spike, for them to fight until nothing but shreds remained of their tapestry woven together through the years. But somehow, stewing in the unnatural silence was worse; Daeson’s dark gaze pinning him to the spot as his lips pressed into a firm line. His hands against the table curled into fists as he closed his eyes and took measured breaths—in, hold, and out. Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence .
He stood in it, uncomfortable and sticky like it was summer once again. Clothes heavy with the humid air, clinging to his skin. It was done; there was no taking these words back. Daeson’s promise from years ago when he had joined the cause and sought to tear the Order down. If Eldric wanted to stop, he could. Daeson would let him go with no questions. While Eldric had made an oath, he was free to break it when he chose. His friend had made sure that any help Eldric gave, he gave freely. That he could step away at any time. But until now, neither of them had anything to live for except their own whims. No one they were beholden to that hadn’t believed in their cause.
Daeson finally broke the lengthening silence in a voice that, while whisper soft, was deafening in the quiet stretching between them. “Do you remember the reason you broke your oath to the guard? Why you deserted your post and began fighting at my side? To bring about justice and restore Athera?”
Eldric’s jaw worked, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth as he struggled to maintain composure. He didn’t know if he could trust his voice, if he could speak without trembling in anger and rage. At the past that brought him here, at Daeson for implying he’d forgotten.
He would never, could never, forget the raging flames that burned unnaturally bright against the rain. The weight of leather armor and the seal of the city emblazoned on his chest. Captain Sorin’s sure voice commanding their squadron to look for survivors as the cart before them burned with flames that never spread. A young girl with rain-darkened hair beneath a tree, unscathed and left with nothing but the soot in her lungs. The feeling that something was not right as he brought her to the Order’s doorstep, her silver eyes gleaming with tears beneath the awning when she didn’t want to leave him. His gut telling him not to let go, but his orders making the choice for him. He would never forget how she stretched up onto the tips of her toes, hugging him goodbye and whispering the words that would change his life forever.
Who did this to you? he had asked before he knocked on the temple door. It didn’t sit right with him; everything seemed so unnatural. Too perfect. Planned. She’d been quiet and dazed; he didn’t think there’d be an answer. He was only fourteen with an imagination that ran wild, searching for something that wasn’t there. But then she stood up on the tips of her toes after the archcleric arrived to collect her, arms wrapping around his neck as she whispered an answer in his ear before she was whisked away and shut behind large double oak doors. The words that would send him down a path he could never come back from.
The man with the star .
“The fires, the illnesses, the accidents. You were right, they were all connected,” Daeson continued, rummaging through the drawer beneath the table. “If you leave, you should know everything. I finally found proof—I found her .”
His breath stilled as Daeson pulled out a large, brown envelope and crossed the room with deliberate steps. The ridges of the wax seal creating the Order’s emblem.
“How?” he breathed, eyeing the envelope as if it would bite him. If he took it, if he opened it, would he be able to maintain his resolve in the face of everything he had been fighting for? His heart warred with itself. Logic telling him that if he took this envelope, there would be no turning back. That life he longed for would be even farther out of reach.
But justice had his fingers tearing the seal, the envelope falling to the floor as he pulled out a file inked in that same emblem that had haunted his thoughts for the last eighteen years. Chill settled over him like a blanket as he opened the file. Narrowing the world to nothing but the very first page, a portrait on top of a personnel file.
Silver eyes stared back, framed in dark lashes and surrounded by freckle-smattered skin. But the hair was not the light brown he remembered that had been darkened by rain. The person staring back had fair hair spun of light, braided into a coronet that kept her long waves manageable while she worked. Fringe that brushed just below her dark brows in need of a trim that irritated her to no end. The same locks he had assured her no one but her would notice.
“What kind of sick joke is this?” His voice caught in his throat, thick with confusion.
“Turn to the back. Look at the first portrait. The records of her arrival at the Order.” Daeson’s voice was soft as he came to his side, a hand resting feather soft on his back.
Years of reports passed as Eldric tore through the pages, watching as she aged in reverse before him with each portrait. Her light hair gradually turned dark, but those silver eyes remained until the girl he’d left on that rainy doorstep stared back at him, a distant memory rendered in brushstrokes.
Lorali Wynmar, age 9.
Guardians: deceased by design.
Magical aptitude: remarkably strong despite her age. A destined cleric.
Progress Report
Conscript from Istarr, Korinth. Sent to the Order in Athera for training. Despite the loss of a cleric in the flames during transport, it was a sacrifice made for the Star .
Surrendered by guardsman Eldric Lorecaster as noted in receiving report, see next page for signature. Conscript’s memory altered to protect the sanctity of the Order.
Instruction proceeding as planned with excellent results.
Report compiled by Sage, Archcleric of Ostara.
Eldric’s hands shook. His throat tightened. He could not stop reading the words over and over, though he knew they would forever be burned into him.
Deceased by design. Memory altered. See next page for signature.
“Was I right? It’s her, isn’t it? She looks just as you described her here. Those silver eyes are piercing, even in portraiture.” Daeson tapped the worn painting with his finger, sounding distant as Eldric could focus on nothing else but the roaring in his ears. The questions and regrets pounding within him as he gripped the pages tighter.
“How did you get this?” he whispered.
“I had my contact in the Order go through the personnel files. After seeing her, seeing her powers, I knew something was—”
“You investigated my wife ?”
Eldric struggled to breathe as the words left his lips, the thought striking his core. Exactly when had he begun thinking of her as his? Or was he hers? He was fascinated by her kindness, enraptured by her heart. Longed to be at her side. But he had never thought of them as belonging to one another until now. In an instant, the realization washed over him, and there was no denying its truth. As if that is how it had always been. How could he be anything but Lorali’s when he had let her into the depths of his tender heart, allowed her to plant flowers with such vibrant blooms? When she had done the same in return?
“I have to know every aspect.” Daeson’s voice was sharp, eyes narrowing. “Every loose thread must be accounted for. After I saw her power, I had a feeling. The goddess works in mysterious ways.”
But it was no goddess who manipulated the strings of fate bringing them together. Athanasios had heard her plea. Had saved his life. Bonded them beneath his very hand. Did the god know that this would be the tipping point, the thing that sent him onto a path he might not walk back from? That would irrevocably change him? Eldric swore he could hear the god’s deep voice in answer: Yes .
“One last time, Eldric.” Daeson’s voice was low, calloused palms cupping his face with a softness that portrayed all the years they had known each other. Moments where it had been only them and their racing hearts. The uncertainty of evading the guard and the thrill of a plan coming to fruition. Grief and anguish shared for the ones they’d lost. The search for justice as they tried their best to fix a broken city beneath a corrupted faith. “For me.”
His brown eyes were deep and fathomless, holding in them every hope they had ever worked toward. He would execute this plan with or without him. With him, they stood a chance. They could expose the Order’s corruption and start the city anew. Without him, they’d be caught and sent to the gallows. There would be no high cleric to save them. Eldric closed his eyes with a sigh, relaxing into the touch.
“Okay,” he whispered as his heart tore itself in two. “One last time. Then this is it, Daeson. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Then it’s over,” Daeson agreed, a small smile on his face and a familiar gleam in his eye. “Thank you, Eldric.”
“Of course,” Eldric smiled back, weary as his hands raised to rest atop Daeson’s. “What are friends for?”
***
As he walked the path back to what had become his new home, Eldric’s mind was quiet in contemplation. It was her. It had always been her he was running towards, the hand that guided him even on his darkest nights. Everything he had fought for and believed in until now. He knew then what he had known the moment he saw the portrait of her younger self. He would do this, even if it meant it would be his last action under the night sky. Within the grace of her touch.
One last time.
For her.