Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The air shifted, as heavy as a storm breaking. Kaelith’s growl curled through my mind, deep and furious. I don’t like this. Her voice vibrated with a primal kind of rage, her power prickling against my skin even through the distance.
I know, I sent back, swallowing against the ache in my chest. But it couldn’t be helped. Her reply was nothing but a hiss, her agitation pressing at the back of my mind.
We stepped from the narrow, damp tunnel into a cavernous chamber.
Our boots echoed against smooth stone, the sound eerily loud in the emptiness.
Torches burned along the walls, spilling their orange light across the room’s breadth.
It was massive—wide enough for dragons to walk through, tall enough for their wings to stretch, though the air smelled stale, as though no beast had passed here in some time.
“This must be a holding room for their dragons,” I whispered, glancing at the iron rings embedded into the stone along the walls, places where chains had likely held dragons once. A shiver ran down my spine.
Zander’s gaze swept over the chamber, pointed and calculating, before lifting to the far side. “There.”
I followed his gesture. Stone stairs, carved broad and steep, climbed toward unseen heights. My stomach knotted. “These must lead up to the throne room.”
The others fell in around us, boots muffled on the gritty floor, the silence broken only by the crackle of torch flames. We started forward—toward the stairs, toward Veralin. The Blood King.
Then—darkness.
The torches extinguished in unison, like a great exhale had sucked the fire from the room. The sudden blackness was absolute, swallowing us whole.
Ferrula hissed, sword whispering from its sheath. “That wasn’t natural.”
“No shit,” Jax muttered, the scrape of his boots telling me he’d stepped closer to her.
I stilled, heart hammering. My storm magic flickered against my skin, desperate to ignite. Kaelith—
Her growl tore through my mind, louder now. Something waits in the dark.
The chamber breathed around us, vast and unseen, and I realized the torches hadn’t just gone out. The air itself felt heavier, darker—like the shadows themselves had come alive.
“Zander?” My voice cracked the heavy dark that had swallowed the room, but there was no answer. My pulse jumped. Ferrula? Jax? Naia? Nothing. Not even an echo of footsteps. Only silence.
Kaelith?
I am here, her voice thundered in my head, firm and grounding.
“What is going on?” I whispered, my own voice sounding small against the oppressive weight of the dark.
Dark magic. It is isolating you.
“Why?”
That is yet to be—
Her voice cut off as pale light flickered before me, spinning into a shape that made my lungs seize.
A woman—her hair like mine, but glimmering with a silver sheen, lavender eyes glowing, ears pointed with delicate sharpness.
She wore a gown of deep-violet, and her hands trembled as she reached for me.
“Ashlyn,” her voice was soft, broken, aching. “Why have you forsaken me? I died for you. Protected you.”
My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. “Mom?” The word slipped from me before I could stop it, before reason could slice through the ache clawing up from my chest.
That is not your mother, Kaelith’s voice cut through, calm, anchoring. This magic is meant to break your will. It is similar to the dragon trial.
I clenched my fists. “You are not my mother.”
The woman’s image wavered, then melted like smoke dissolving in the wind. In her place, another shimmered into existence.
“Ashlyn.” Veyna’s face—my sister’s face—stared back at me. Her smile was soft, eyes brimming with tears. “I love you. You know I would do anything for family.”
My breath stilled, rage tightening every bone in me. “You are Severeth, and you betrayed me.”
The apparition recoiled, her shock intense and unfeigned, like the words cut too close to a truth she hadn’t known. Her lips parted in confusion.
Strange, Kaelith murmured. It does not know what Severeth has done.
Why? I asked in my mind, glaring at the ghost that wore my sister’s face.
Because it is Veralin, Kaelith said. Severeth was revealed after she left the isle. He is not aware of current events in Warriath.
“Ashe!” Zander’s voice cut through the haze, and he came sprinting out of the shadows, Dark Fire glinting along his shoulders. Relief pierced me powerful enough to steal my breath. He skidded to a stop, his chest rising and falling quickly. “Where were you? I called for you—”
I lifted a hand, still shaking from the illusions. “I was here. Alone. Something tried to—”
He stepped closer, reaching for me, and Kaelith’s hiss rattled like iron chains inside my head. That is not Hein’s rider.
My pulse stumbled. How do you know?
Because my mate is beside me, and he is in contact with his rider. They are all experiencing these illusions. But this one… this one was intricate. I was fooled for a moment.
The shape before me faltered, his eyes burning too bright, his smile too extreme.
“You aren’t Zander.” My words came out low, cutting, and the face I loved stretched into a grin that chilled my blood.
“Well,” it said, the tone shifting from familiar to taunting. “It seems the Hall of Illusion will not work on you. Or the other riders.”
I curled my fingers around the dagger at my hip. My heart thundered, but clarity steadied me. “In all honesty, I thought those trials were to test us. To ensure our bond with our dragons was unbreakable.”
The false Zander chuckled, the sound echoing strangely in the vast chamber. “How sweet. But you’ve guessed the truth, haven’t you?”
I narrowed my gaze. “Those weren’t trials. You’ve been using these tricks on riders for generations. It wasn’t about proving ourselves—it was training. A way to prepare us for this.”
The thing wearing Zander’s face tilted its head, its smile widening as the shadows writhed behind it.
The false Zander’s eyes glowed like coals as I forced myself to meet them. My voice came out steady despite the cold dripping through my veins. “Tell me something, Grandfather. Are you afraid of us? Is that why you twist shadows into masks and hide behind illusions?”
He laughed, the sound wrong—mocking and hollow. “Afraid? No, child. Persistent. I had hoped you had finally come to join me. I’ve given you every opportunity. Every temptation. And still, you spit on the gifts I offer.”
My hands fisted at my sides. Stay calm, Ashe. Don’t give him what he wants. “Because I’d rather die than bend to your will.”
His grin widened, razor-sharp. “That can be arranged. But you should know…” he leaned closer, shadows lapping at his shoulders, “…your mother said the same thing. And we both know how that ended.”
My breath stuttered, but I locked my jaw. “I don’t know what happened to her. And nothing you, or Severeth, says is worth a grain of salt.”
The form wavered, the beloved lines of Zander’s face dissolving like mist. In its place, crimson eyes opened—inhuman, cruel, burning with something ancient and wrong. My grandfather’s true form stood before me, regal and monstrous all at once.
“She died horribly once I recaptured her,” Veralin said, his voice layered, echoing as if spoken from a thousand mouths. “That is all that matters.”
A blade of ice pressed into my lungs. “Because she wouldn’t bend to your will, either.”
“Precisely.” His lips peeled back in a smile devoid of warmth, his red gaze devouring me as though he were already planning my ruin.
The false Veralin’s red eyes glowed brighter, the heat of them searing into me as if he were trying to peel back my skin and crawl into my bones. But I refused to flinch. My voice came out as firm as steel.
“We’re wasting time. You know why we’re here. You know we won’t stop until you’re dead.”
His lips curved in that terrible, cruel smile. “Then walk to your death, Granddaughter. The symphony of your screams will fill my castle, and your blood will run in its halls.”
His form unraveled into smoke, the crimson glow fading as though it had never been there. A shiver ran down my spine as the shadows fled, and in the blink of an eye, the torches on the walls flared back to life, flooding the chamber with light.
I turned in place, breathing hard. The room was no longer empty.
The others were scattered around its edges—Ferrula crouched low with her blade raised, Jax pressed against a column as though he’d been preparing to strike, Naia clutching the stone wall with wide eyes, and Tae standing straight-backed, his gaze scanning calmly. Zander stood like a statue.
At the same time, they all looked toward me. Without a word, we jogged to the center of the room, the thud of boots echoing off the stone.
Ferrula was the first to speak, her tone unsettled. “What in Charrem’s name was that? I saw my sister. She begged me to come home, to leave this war behind. Then she turned on me, and I swear to the gods, if Narvea hadn’t been in my head—”
“I saw my best friend,” Jax cut in, his fists clenching. “Or I thought I did. He told me I’d fail, just like before, that I’d get everyone killed. I nearly believed him.”
Naia shook her head. “Mine was a child. A little boy. He called me mother. I—” Her voice broke and she pressed her hand to her chest. “I didn’t even know what was real for a moment.”
I drew a steadying breath. “He came to me as my mother first. Then Veyna. Then himself. He tried to break me with lies. Tried to convince me her death was meaningless.” My throat tightened. “But he didn’t succeed.”
Ferrula spat onto the floor. “Coward’s tricks. That’s what it was.”
All eyes turned to Tae. He shrugged, expression unreadable. “I didn’t see anything.”
“What?” Naia’s head snapped toward him.
“Nothing,” he repeated. “No illusions. No tricks. Just the dark and then the light again.”
We stared at him, stunned into silence until Zander finally spoke, his voice low but certain. “It’s your mind magic.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Veralin couldn’t touch you. Your influence shields you. That must be why.”
Tae lifted a brow, trying for nonchalance, but I caught the flicker of pride in his gaze. “Guess that makes me useful after all.”
“More than useful,” Zander said grimly. “If his tricks can’t touch you, then maybe that’s the edge we need.”
Ferrula nodded once. “Then let’s use it.”
We exchanged glances, each of us still rattled, but steadier now that we knew we weren’t alone in what we’d faced. Zander looked to the stairs at the far end of the chamber, his hand flexing over the hilt of his sword.
“Let’s move,” he said.
Together, we started toward the steps that would take us up to the throne room. Every bootfall echoed, every breath seemed too loud, but none of us slowed. We had seen through Veralin’s illusions—and now we were coming for him.