Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
As we reached the heavy door that led out of the Warder Tower, Quinn suddenly stopped short, turning so fast the torchlight flickered across his face.
“Wait,” he said, voice tight with urgency. “Do you think… the fae prisoner would know a way to boost the pool’s power?”
Zander and I exchanged a look.
That was a dangerous question.
“He’s secretive,” I said carefully. “Clever. But he knows more than he lets on.”
Zander stepped forward, jaw tense. “If anyone could help, it would be him. Ashe and I gave the pool a little power, but my father is full fae. If the pool still responds to ancient magic… he might be able to do more.”
Quinn’s eyes widened, fear and hope warring in his expression. “Then you need to bring him. I may have signed my death warrant by showing you this, but if the wards collapse… my family, everyone in this realm, they’ll be vulnerable.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “You did the right thing, Quinn. And no one will know. We’ll keep this between us. We’ll speak to Alahathrial. We’ll find a way.”
His shoulders dropped, his choice clearly bearing down on him.
“Can you bring him now?” he asked, glancing toward the spiral staircase. “We have maybe an hour before the next warder takes over for the rotation. We’re so understaffed, everyone’s pulling longer shifts.”
I looked at Zander, heart already pounding.
He met my gaze without hesitation, then gave a single, sharp nod. “We’ll get him.”
The castle corridors were eerily quiet this late, the usual patrols reduced, thinned by shifting tensions and the aftermath of Belana’s assassination.
Zander walked ahead of me, shoulders straight, cloak brushing his heels with every purposeful step.
The guards at the inner gate barely glanced at him, only offering a stiff nod of deference before stepping aside.
No one questioned a prince wandering the castle at night.
And no one noticed me walking just behind him.
We descended into the lower levels, the chill deepening with every flight of stairs. The scent of stone, old parchment, and faint incense clung to the air as we reached the dungeon level, but this was no prison. Not for him.
Alahathrial’s rooms were set apart, carved into a separate wing lined with enchanted locks and more guards than the treasury vault. But none stopped us. Zander’s presence opened every door.
We stopped before the final one—smooth, whitewood etched with ancient fae script that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. Zander lifted his hand and knocked lightly, twice.
A few seconds passed before the door creaked open.
Alahathrial emerged from the inner chamber, his silver hair slightly tousled, his silken robes clinging to one shoulder as though he’d been roused from sleep. But even disheveled, the ancient fae radiated elegance—his golden eyes sharp, curious.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Zander said gently, “but we need your help.”
Alahathrial blinked once, then inclined his head with calm grace. “I am always happy to help you, son.”
He says that so easily, I thought. So casually, as if he hadn’t upended Zander’s life just days ago.
“Come to the pool with us,” I said before the moment could press in too deep.
At that, Alahathrial arched a brow. “I’m surprised Emlem told you about that.”
“He didn’t,” Zander replied. “A warder did. One who’s terrified for the pool’s integrity.”
Alahathrial’s smile faded. His lips thinned, and for the first time in months, I saw something close to unease flicker across his face.
“Then we must go,” he said. “Immediately. The pool should not be failing this soon.”
Alahathrial lifted a hand as we slipped into one of the side corridors near the eastern courtyard, moonlight bleeding through the lattice windows.
“Wait,” he murmured, his voice like velvet laced with thunder.
Magic shimmered through the air, coiling from his fingers in threads of silver-blue light.
It draped over his form like water over glass, reshaping the contours of his face, dulling the gold of his eyes, shortening his height and softening his elegance into something utterly forgettable.
When the spell settled, he looked like any other court courier, plain, pale, with ink-stained fingers and a hunched gait.
“Convincing?” he asked.
Zander gave a quiet nod. I just blinked. “That’s unsettling.”
He smiled. “Good. That means it worked.”
He led the way now, posture slouched, voice clipped and businesslike, as if he were delivering orders from the castle interior.
No one stopped us as we passed through the lower halls and out into the open stretch of the Ascension Grounds.
The air was cold and heavy with dew, the stars sharp overhead.
We cut across the stone square, past sleeping dragons and watch posts where guards stood in near-trances, and made our way to the base of the Warder Tower.
Quinn was waiting just outside the door, arms crossed, his face pulled tight with anxiety. He barely spared Zander and me a glance, his eyes locked immediately onto the stranger between us.
“May I help you?” he asked warily.
Alahathrial smiled, and then, with a flick of his wrist, let the glamour fall away.
The spell peeled back like smoke, revealing his true form—silver hair falling to his back, ancient eyes burning gold, robes stitched in a language that pulsed with latent magic.
Quinn stumbled back a full step. “That’s… impressive.”
“Not really,” Alahathrial said dryly. “Take us to the pool.”
Quinn didn’t argue. He simply turned on his heel and moved, faster than before, through the narrow tunnels. We followed in silence, the burden of what we were about to do pressing heavier with every step.
When the cavern opened around us and the pool came into view, shimmering, sickened with dark veins, Alahathrial stopped short. His expression shifted, not with shock, but with reverence. Like he was standing before a lost temple.
“I haven’t seen it since the elders placed it here,” he said softly. “I helped them draw the boundaries. We made a vow not to interfere with human politics unless directly asked by a member of the royal house.”
I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “So that’s why you’re helping us? Because Zander is royalty?”
“I am,” he agreed, unbothered. “Treaty-bound to answer a call from the royal line. And Zander, by both blood and magic, fits that criteria.”
I frowned, arms crossed. “So this is just duty to you.”
Alahathrial turned his golden gaze on me, and for the first time, something warmer passed through it.
“No,” he said. “In all honesty… I would have helped anyway.”
And when he looked back at the pool, something like sadness flickered behind the gold. Like he already knew what it was becoming.
Alahathrial stood at the edge of the pool, the soft glow of its surface casting pale reflections across his angular features. His expression had shifted—less awe now, more… grief. Or memory. As if the magic humming beneath our feet had pulled him into a different century.
He knelt slowly, pressing his palm against the water’s surface.
The reaction was immediate.
The entire pool surged with light, brighter than when Zander or I had touched it.
The black veins recoiled sharply, the iridescent shimmer flaring so brilliantly that Quinn had to shield his eyes.
The cavern itself seemed to exhale, the stones along the ceiling vibrating faintly with the sudden surge of magic.
The pulse faded after a few moments, but the light it left behind was stronger, steadier. Alive.
Alahathrial didn’t move. His voice was soft, reverent. “This pool is the last echo of a bond forged in defiance of two worlds.”
Zander stepped beside him. “What do you mean?”
Alahathrial looked up at the water, eyes far away. “Long ago; even before your kingdom had finalized the treaty, a fae warder fell in love with a human woman. She was brave, unrelenting… and magicless. He gave her a piece of his essence, and from that bond, they produced the first halfling warder.”
He glanced at Quinn. “The line of warders began with him. The first fae to leave the isle permanently, and the first human to stand beside him. This pool was his final gift, a living tether between worlds. Meant to defend, to connect… to endure.”
He dipped his fingers into the water again, gently this time. “But no pool lasts forever. Not unless renewed by one who understands its creation.”
Zander looked down at the glowing water. “Can you restore it?”
Alahathrial shook his head, slow and solemnly. “I have given what I can. But only a true fae warder, one born of the Fae Isle can create a pool. I am not of his bloodline. I do not carry the magic required.”
I glanced at Quinn, whose face had gone pale.
“We don’t have a fae warder,” I whispered. “I’m not even sure one exists in the Fae Sanctuary.”
“Then you must find one,” Alahathrial said, rising to his feet.
Alahathrial stood tall now, his hand drifting away from the water’s surface, its glow softening again, but still brighter than before. The cavern was quiet, the magic almost… listening.
He turned to face us, his expression unreadable, eyes like polished gold. “Everything alive has an expiry date,” he said calmly, as if reciting a truth carved into stone. “Even magic that thinks itself eternal. The pool has reached its.”
Zander frowned. “But it’s still working. Barely.”
“It would have lasted longer,” Alahathrial replied, voice darkening slightly, “if its magic hadn’t been squandered.”
I felt the chill settle deeper into the air. “What do you mean?”
Alahathrial’s gaze flicked to Zander. “Every stone. Every non-magical person that wades in the pool. They take from it. They feed from its essence. The first king of Warriath wanted more halflings than were ever necessary to protect the realm. He was greedy. Instead of allowing nature to take its course, he forced it.”
Zander’s brow furrowed. “He created more than needed.”