Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
The light radiating from Elara grew stronger, like a starburst slowly expanding from her small form. It pushed through the dark waters, searing away the black tendrils that had plagued the pool, corruption burned to nothing beneath her glow.
It wasn’t just cleansing.
It was purification.
The outer edges hissed as they met her light, the darkness recoiling and vanishing like smoke on the wind. And then—Elara’s chest hitched. Once. Twice.
Her serene smile vanished, lips parting as a sharp breath rattled from her lungs.
“Elara?” I started to rise, but Zander was already moving.
He jumped into the pool without hesitation, the water parting around him like it knew him, like it had once known our blood and remembered. He reached her just as her body went limp and caught her in his arms, cradling her close. His expression was wild, desperate.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispered against her temple, lifting her gently.
He waded back to the edge, water lapping at his chest, his cloak floating behind him like wings. Quinn met him there, already holding out a thick woolen blanket.
Zander stepped out of the water, his boots heavy, his shoulders tense, but Elara stirred in his arms, her fingers curling in his tunic, her head resting against his chest.
She was alive but exhausted.
Quinn wrapped the blanket around her as Zander sank to his knees with her in his lap, his arms caging her like a fortress.
Her voice was barely audible. “Did I help?”
Zander kissed her forehead, his own shaking with a breath he hadn’t taken until now. “You did, Elara. You did.”
Zander cradled Elara in his arms as we made our way back through the tunnels beneath the tower.
Her eyes fluttered open now and then, too tired to stay conscious but unwilling to miss the world around her.
The soft glow that had radiated from her skin had dimmed, but something in her had changed—settled into something ancient and powerful.
“Why aren’t we taking her to her room?” I asked, glancing at Zander.
Zander didn’t look away from his sister. “Siergen asked to speak with her.”
A tremor of unease curled through me. “Why? She’s exhausted—”
“She’s safe,” he interrupted softly. “But Siergen said it was important.”
We climbed the final set of stairs and emerged into the moonlight. The Ascension Grounds were quiet—eerily so—but I could feel Kaelith nearby, a steady hum at the back of my mind.
I looked at Elara. “What did you do back there?”
Her voice was a whisper, barely louder than the wind. “The pool called to me. Just one more time. It needed help, so I gave it.”
My throat tightened. One more time? I opened my mouth to press her, but we stepped into the open, and Siergen was already there, waiting at the edge of the training circle like a statue carved from the night itself.
His golden eyes found Elara immediately, and something rare passed over his features—wonder. And reverence.
Zander slowed his steps and lowered Elara to her feet, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders.
Siergen took a step forward, his voice low and threaded with awe. She is universal to dragons. It allowed her to assist the pool.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
His gaze never left Elara. It means she is of the Dragon-born, not simply touched by dragon magic but born of it. Her soul resonates with all of us, not just one. She is not bound by the laws that govern bonds. She is kin to every clutch and every flame.
Elara blinked slowly, confused. “I didn’t mean to be.”
Siergen gave her the faintest of smiles. You didn’t choose it. You simply are. That is why the pool accepted you. It remembered what it was made for. And so did you.
I stepped closer to Siergen, the wind catching my hair as the scent of magic, raw and ancient, still lingered on Elara’s skin.
“What will it mean for her?” I asked, my voice quieter than before. “Being Dragon-born?”
Siergen’s eyes slid to me, solemn and steady.
It means she is not merely a rider, or a royal, or even a child of prophecy.
She is living memory. A bridge between bloodlines.
A song the dragons remember even if they’ve never heard it before.
They will follow her… and so will those who seek to control her.
Zander’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Siergen turned his gaze back to Elara. She has awakened something that cannot be put back to sleep, but the pool, he glanced toward the tower, must be left alone now.
Its time has come to an end. When its light fades again, it will be its last. The magic within it will collapse, and its protection will vanish with it.
Zander nodded. “That was the last time. She won’t return.”
Elara gave a soft noise, barely coherent as she blinked up at him. “Did I mess up?”
“No,” Zander murmured, stepping toward her. “You did all you could. But now it’s time to rest.”
She swayed where she stood, too tired to pretend she could hold herself up any longer. Zander didn’t hesitate—he scooped her into his arms with a gentleness that tugged at my heart.
Elara let out a soft sigh and pressed her face to his chest. She was asleep before he even took the first step toward the castle.
We moved in quiet, the weight of what we’d just learned pressing in around us.
Dragon-born.
And when the pool’s light flickered again… we had run out of time.
Zander pressed a kiss to Elara’s cheek, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
And maybe she was. His expression softened into something raw and reverent, all the sharpness I’d seen on the battlefield or in council stripped away.
In this moment, he wasn’t a prince. He was just a brother.
The way he looked at her… my heart clenched.
Maybe Dorian was the rightful heir, I thought, but Zander… Zander would be a great king. His compassion, his strength, his loyalty, they weren’t for show. They lived in his blood, thrummed in his bond with Hein, echoed in the dragons who’d chosen him.
He already had the support of the horde.
And if he ascended the throne…
Could I let him go?
The thought knocked the air from my lungs.
My chest tightened with something I couldn’t name—grief and pride and fear all crashing together in an unbearable tide.
I had fought so hard to keep him, to stand beside him.
But what if standing beside him meant watching him walk into a world where I didn’t belong?
A world where he would need to take a queen with noble blood. A bride with a crown. Not a girl from the village with scarred hands and dragon fire in her veins.
The ache curled sharp inside me.
Could I survive letting him go—for the good of Warriath?
Kaelith’s voice slid into my mind, as quiet as a heartbeat. You could. But you would not be whole.
And she was right.
Because part of me had already chosen him. Long before the trials. Long before the court.
I loved him.
And I might have to let him go anyway.
Zander carried Elara the rest of the way in silence, his steps slow and careful, as if he feared jarring her even in sleep. When we reached her chambers, he lingered at the threshold, brushing her hair from her face before turning away to go change his soaked clothes.
I changed her gently, slipping her into her nightgown and tucking her into bed. Her brow furrowed, even in sleep, as if the magic still pulsed behind her eyelids. I smoothed the covers over her chest, brushing my fingers over her cheek one last time.
The door creaked open behind me.
“Thank you,” Zander said, his voice quiet, clothes dry and dark against the pale candlelight.
I nodded. “Can we go check Remy’s room? I want to see if I can find that message—if it even exists.”
Without a word, he turned and led me through the halls. We reached Remy’s quarters, and Zander unlocked the door. The room was neat, too neat for someone like Remy. No mess, no trail of crumbs, no discarded weapons. Just order… and intent.
We split up, rifling through drawers and beneath the mattress, under books and behind shelves. That was when I spotted it—wedged into the spine of a hollowed-out ledger. A folded piece of parchment. Familiar.
I opened it slowly.
My handwriting stared back at me.
Remy, I need your help. There is a contact in the Varnari sect that may be willing to talk. Find them in the village at dawn. Don’t tell anyone. I need to be sure we can trust them. Meet me at the gate. Yours, A.R.
The initials… the flow of the script… it was perfect.
“That’s… that’s my handwriting,” I whispered, a chill curling down my spine.
Zander stepped beside me, reading over my shoulder. “It’s convincing.”
“Someone is trying to weaken us.” My voice tightened. “Say what you will about Remy… but he’s a strong fighter. Losing him makes whoever did this very, very happy.”
Zander’s jaw clenched. “And that someone is still close. Still watching.”
The silence that followed felt like a guillotine hanging above us, waiting to fall.