Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Cordelle stirred, pushing himself up with a grunt as Meri pulled her hands back, the glow of her healing magic slowly fading.
He winced, but managed a crooked smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse, but steady. “This is becoming a habit.”
Meri gave a rare smile, brief and tired. “I am happy to help.”
Riven appeared on his left, slipping her arm around his back with ease. “Come on, Cordy. Let’s get you off the killing field before Ferrula makes someone else bleed.”
Naia appeared on his right, tucking herself under his other arm. “You’re lighter than I expected. And don’t you dare pass out again, I just cleaned my uniform.”
They led him across the grounds slowly, Cordelle limping between them, clearly dazed but alive. Ferrula’s eyes tracked them the entire way until they disappeared past the barracks threshold.
Meri gave me a parting nod and, without a word, turned and headed back toward the healers’ quadrant, her pace brisk but precise.
That was when I saw Quinn, standing in front of the Warder Tower, his robes fluttering faintly in the evening wind. His expression was unreadable, but his presence? Intentional.
I turned to Ferrula and Jax. “Give me a moment.”
They nodded, and I jogged across the grounds.
Quinn smiled when I reached him, though it was lined with fatigue.
“I found a reference to the fae elixir,” he said without preamble. “It was gifted to the first warders as part of the original treaty.”
Hope stirred for half a breath, then faded as he added, “But it’s long since been used up. It won’t cure the pool. It’s meant to assist magical beings in healing. It can’t subvert a spell. It can’t undo what’s been done.”
My stomach sank. “So it’s not the answer.”
“No,” he said. “But if we find the spellcaster behind the pool’s deterioration, we can remove the source.”
“We still have to find them first,” I muttered.
Quinn nodded. “Yes. But… there are certain elements that can enhance the fae elixir’s potency. Make it more reactive. If we can recreate a version of it, it might strengthen the king—temporarily. It’s called the Purging Flame.”
I met his eyes. “Yes. We’re aware. We will track them down soon.”
And it hit me again, how many threads we were trying to hold together.
How close they all were to snapping.
I jogged back across the Ascension Grounds where Jax and Ferrula stood waiting, side by side in silence. Ferrula’s arms were crossed, but her eyes tracked me closely.
“Is everything okay?” she asked as I approached.
Before I could answer, Remy appeared behind her, sliding into our small circle with that effortlessly casual gait of his, though his eyes were sharp.
“Yeah,” I said with a breath, “but Quinn confirmed it. We’re going to need to find those ingredients if we want to enhance the fae elixir. According to Quinn, the Purging Flame spell won’t cure the king, but it will give him more time.”
Remy exhaled through his nose. “Been working on it.”
I arched a brow. “You have?”
He nodded. “I still need ashes from a living flame tree—those are native only to the Wilding Wastes.”
“I know that, but I have no idea where that is,” I said.
“For water,” he continued, “we needed pure river crystal. Which I acquired from the Order.”
“And for air, it’s the skyroot,” I said, slightly surprised Cyran would work with Remy.
Remy lifted a small satchel from his side. “I’ve already got the skyroot, the river crystal, and—” he tapped the bag gently, “bloodroot.”
My eyebrows shot up. “How did you get bloodroot? That’s sacred to the fae.”
He shrugged. “I asked them. While we were there.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, guilt pricking at the edge of my breath. “I should have thought of that.”
Remy smiled, easy and genuine. “You had enough to worry about. We all did.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it more than I had time to express.
“No problem,” he said. “Are you ready for a short trip?”
I looked between him, Ferrula, and Jax—then nodded once. “Cover for us.”
They nodded before I turned slightly and reached for the bond.
Kaelith, I whispered across the thread of magic. I need you.
Her answer came not in words but in the sound of wings—thunder and promise—as she circled down from above.
We were going to the Wilding Wastes.
And we were coming back with ash.
Kaelith descended first, her wings slicing through the sky with elegant precision, the air beneath her vibrating with power. Katama followed, emerald hide gleaming in the late afternoon light, his massive body gliding through the clouds like a river of jade and storm.
They landed side by side, their talons digging into the soft grass as the wind kicked up around them.
Remy was already moving toward Katama when he glanced back at me with a smirk. “No saddles. We don’t need them.”
I raised a brow. “You sure about that?”
His grin widened. “You afraid of falling, Rebec?”
“Only afraid of you being in charge,” I muttered, but I climbed onto Kaelith’s back anyway, slipping into place just behind the ridge of her shoulders. Remy mounted Katama in one fluid motion, as if he were born to fly without restraints.
With a single beat of wings, we were airborne.
We soared high above the Ascension Grounds, past the perimeter of Warriath, over the hollows where unbonded dragons flew. The world stretched beneath us—forests, rivers, glowing towers of pale stone.
And then it shifted.
The green faded.
The trees below twisted, dark and dense, their roots tangled like grasping hands. The land cracked and blackened the deeper we went. A cold wind rolled over us, and even Kaelith’s breath felt sharper now.
We had reached the Wilding Wastes.
Just before we descended, I saw it—a shimmer in the air. Like heat over stone, rippling in a ring of distortion across a scorched clearing. A barrier.
Remy lifted one hand and murmured something in fae—low, fluid, laced with ancient magic.
The barrier pulsed once… and then dropped.
And there it was.
The Living Flame Tree.
It towered in the center of the clearing, roots embedded in obsidian rock, its bark charred black with veins of molten gold glowing between the ridges. Its leaves were flames, actual fire, flickering silently, pulsing with rhythm like a living heartbeat. The air smelled of ash and lightning.
“Wow,” I whispered, awe in every breath. “I had no idea this existed.”
“It’s a fae artifact,” Remy said as he dismounted, walking ahead of me toward the glowing tree. “Only the royals have access…”
He glanced over his shoulder and added with a wry grin, “And me.”
I slid off Kaelith’s back, heart still pounding, and moved closer.
“Collect the ash,” Remy said softly. “The barrier won’t be down for long.”
The flames danced above us as if they were alive.
I stepped toward the tree with careful reverence, the heat rolling off its flaming leaves licking at my skin without burning. The air shimmered around it, thick with magic and memory. I kneeled beside the base, where golden-tinged ash had settled like powdered starlight across the obsidian earth.
With slow fingers, I gathered the ash into a small silk pouch, the magic tingling across my palms with every scoop. It felt alive—like something watching me even as I worked.
When I stood, pouch secured at my belt, we turned to leave the clearing.
The moment we crossed the perimeter, the barrier snapped back into place behind us, like a heartbeat sealing shut. A shimmer rippled outward, forming a perfect globe around the tree once more, veiling it in layers of firelight and illusion.
I paused, staring at the spectacle.
“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered.
Remy stepped closer, his voice softer than I expected. “It’s not the only beautiful thing here.”
I turned, and met his gaze.
His eyes held something unspoken, quiet and burning beneath the surface. He stepped closer, only inches between us now, and time felt like it had slowed. His lips parted, lowering toward mine with breathless intent.
But Kaelith growled.
Low. Warning.
Behind him, Katama’s massive tail moved like a whip, curling around Remy’s waist, physically dragging him back two steps with unimpressed precision.
Remy stumbled slightly, glaring over his shoulder at his dragon. “Seriously?”
I arched a brow, lips curving into a smirk. “Dragon chaperones. Who would’ve thought?”
Kaelith huffed approvingly, eyes glowing with amusement.
Remy sighed, brushing ash from his coat and shooting Katama a long-suffering glare. “We should get back.”
I bit back a laugh and nodded, still holding the pouch close.
We had what we came for.
I mounted Kaelith as Remy settled atop of Katama.
The wind carried us back to the Ascension Grounds, the air cooler now, the light fading into the kind of gold that made everything look more forgiving than it really was. But as soon as Kaelith landed, I noticed the sharp edges waiting in the shadows.
Zander and Hein stood at the center of the field, both as still as statues, the tension between them coiled like a drawn bow.
Hein’s wings were half-flared, tail twitching in that slow, predatory rhythm that said he knew something.
And Zander—gods, Zander—his arms were crossed, his gaze locked onto Remy with the kind of precision usually reserved for enemies on a battlefield.
I slid down from Kaelith’s back just as Zander approached, his boots striking the stone with purposeful steps.
“Do you have all the ingredients?” he asked, his voice sharp and focused.
I nodded quickly. “I have the ash. Remy has the rest.”
Zander didn’t even look at me then. He turned to Remy, that death stare intensifying, jaw ticking. “Are you going to bring the ingredients to my father’s chamber, or do you plan to hit on my girlfriend some more?”
My heart leaped.
Girlfriend.
Zander had never called me that before. We’d danced around it, bled beside each other, held each other through battles and spent the night together—but we’d never said it.
And now he had.
Remy raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Both,” he said with a grunt. “But we should try to save King Emlem first.”
He shot me a sideways glance, grinning slowly and easily. “I’m confident Ashe isn’t going anywhere.”
Kaelith rumbled with amusement. Hein didn’t. He looked about one breath away from snapping someone in half.
But me?
I just stood there, a little stunned, a little breathless, because Remy was right. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Zander said nothing more as he turned, leading us with silent urgency through the castle’s winding corridors.
The weight of the moment thickened with every step, the marble halls feeling more like tombs than royal chambers.
Remy fell into step beside me, serious now, the satchel of precious ingredients clutched tight against his chest.
When we reached the king’s chambers, two guards stepped aside wordlessly at Zander’s approach. The door creaked open, and a wave of stillness rolled over us.
The air inside was too quiet.
King Emlem lay motionless in his ornate bed, the silk sheets nearly swallowing his frame. His breathing was faint—shallow and ragged—each inhale sounding like it was pulled from the edge of death.
My throat tightened.
Zander walked to the far side of the chamber, placing his hand against the window ledge, palm flat. Kaelith, he called silently across the bond. Drop it.
I felt the shift a heartbeat later. The magical barrier Kaelith had been holding around the king. The protection dissolved with a faint ripple, like warm mist fading in the morning sun.
Zander turned back and pulled an ancient scroll from inside his coat.
“Remy,” he said, voice taut with concentration. “Lay them out. Carefully. Skyroot, river crystal, bloodroot, and the flame ash.”
Remy nodded and moved to the table near the bedside.
He opened the satchel and removed each item with reverence.
The skyroot shimmered like pale wood soaked in starlight.
The pure river crystal gleamed untouched, and the bloodroot pulsed faintly with living magic.
Finally, he unwrapped the pouch and poured the flame ash onto the surface of the table—its gold-tinged dust catching firelight as though it remembered what it had been.
Zander unrolled the scroll and traced his fingers along the ancient fae script, reading silently before speaking again. “Combine the skyroot and bloodroot first. Then add the flame ash. The river crystal goes in last. It activates the compound.”
Remy obeyed, hands sure and steady as he ground the ingredients into a small bowl, his movements practiced from years with Katama and the Order’s more arcane rituals.
As the river crystal touched the mixture, the entire compound lit with a soft hum, glowing faint blue and red—water and fire, united.
Zander stepped forward, inhaled once, then lifted his hands over the mixture.
Magic rose from him like a wave, not the quiet flickers he used in battle, but something deeper, ancestral. His veins glowed beneath his skin, his eyes briefly shining with mirrored light.
He whispered the incantation in ancient fae, the spell curling through the air like music and storm. The compound lifted from the bowl in liquid threads, swirling around his hands like ribbons of molten silk.
Zander pressed his palms together, then opened them wide, and the magic sank into the king’s chest, vanishing without a sound.
A tense silence fell.
Then the king inhaled.
Stronger. Clearer. The rasp still lingered, but it no longer sounded like death’s shadow in his throat.
Zander stumbled back, catching himself against the table, his breath ragged. His skin looked pale, the glow already fading from his fingertips.
Remy moved toward him, but Zander waved him off with a weak shake of his head.
“He’s resting comfortably now,” Zander said hoarsely. “But we’ll need to use more of the vial soon. The spell isn’t permanent. It only buys us time. Please have Kaelith put him back in stasis.”
“And if we run out before we find the caster?” I asked quietly.
Zander’s eyes met mine, exhaustion carved into every line of his face.
“Then my father won’t survive.”