Chapter 31
He spent hours studying the reproduction.
Veylan and Segolayne hovered nearby, murmuring suggestions and gesturing to the different currents as they tried to identify the wells within the Veins and locate them upon the map of Elantis.
Rìan didn’t acknowledge me, but he didn’t dismiss me either. I had nothing to contribute as the three of them worked through possibilities I could barely follow, yet the fact that he hadn't sent me away felt unexpectedly significant. A small, undeniable thrill stirred inside me.
I’d been the one to figure it out.
I’d found the gates.
I was certain dawn had come by now. Rìan was so completely immersed in his research that I doubted he even remembered our morning training. Or perhaps he'd simply decided it no longer mattered now that we were one step closer to breaking the bond.
Whatever the reason, I was glad for it. Weariness tugged at me after a night without sleep.
Across the table, Rìan scrubbed absently at the stubble roughening his jaw. Shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes from what had to be days without proper sleep, yet they still burned with a restless, fevered intensity.
Realizing abruptly that I’d been staring again, I pulled The Book of Old Tales into my lap and opened it to a random page, fixing my attention firmly upon the text instead.
“These aren’t right.” The frustration in his tone was unmistakable.
He leaned heavily against the table, the wood groaning ominously beneath his weight, and gestured toward the long sweeps of gold curling westward.
“These should be the Veins crossing through the Mirrorlands, but they’re too far over. ”
His hand sliced through the air, mirroring a broad sweep of green flowing horizontally. “And these should move through the Thornlands and weaken toward the mortal realm, but they’re wrong too.”
“Maybe she was wrong.” Segolayne’s glare burned into the side of my skull. “Maybe this isn’t a map at all. Just a colorful drawing.”
“They’re Veins. There’s no doubt.” He crossed his arms, fixed on the moving currents. “But perhaps the mapmaker was imprecise. A loose approximation.”
“The drawings are too detailed for that,” I said before I could stop myself.
All three of them looked at me.
I turned the book toward them, opening to the illustration of the Keeper of Return standing before the horde of corpses.
“The Infected look like this,” I said, tapping the page where dark webbing showed beneath their skin.
“At least, that's how I see them. Once they're bitten, black veins spread through them as the Infection takes hold.
It's the sort of detail no one would think to include unless they had intimate knowledge of it.”
“Then perhaps Segolayne’s reproduction is flawed,” Veylan suggested.
Segolayne shot him a look sharp enough to strip flesh from bone. “My replica is not flawed,” she snapped.
Rìan pushed off the table and began pacing. “Then we’re missing something.”
Segolayne hummed. “It'll be crude, but I can try...” Once more, her magic slipped from her hands.
With a small grunt of effort, she drew it downward, her fingers moving in quick, deliberate motions as though working an invisible loom.
Violet threads followed every sweep of her hands, crossing and knotting together until a shimmering likeness of the map took shape before us.
When she finally lifted it into the air, the reproduction was uncanny.
It lacked the astonishing detail of the original, but the shape of Elantis remained intact, each Court defined by the same borders and contours.
She spread her fingers wide, and the glowing replica expanded until it matched the size of the suspended map of the Veins. Carefully, she guided it over the other, aligning every edge before pressing the two together.
“It’s not as pretty,” Segolayne said, dropping her hands, “but it should suffice. The scale is exact.” She shot Veylan a pointed look, daring him to disagree. He merely shrugged.
Rìan stepped forward immediately, inspecting the superimposed images.
He gave a small shake of his head. “You see?” His finger traced the silver current winding through the western side of the map.
“The Vein that should run through the Dusklands—and all the capillaries branching from it—is compressed too tightly against the Mirrorlands.
It looks as though it's cutting through the Wildlands. It makes no sense.”
“And this one,” Veylan said, gesturing toward a bright red current flowing through the mainland, molten in color.
I knew it at once. “This one should run through the heart of the Flamelands,” he continued, his finger tracing its expected course through the air, “before sweeping north and weakening toward Frost. Instead… look. It barely crosses into Flame at all. It cuts through Stone.”
He glanced at Segolayne, brows raised.
“My scale is exact,” she growled and Veylan snickered.
The locations of the Veins meant nothing to me. Even though I’d been to Dheren and seen the Vein for myself, I had no idea where it lay in relation to the rest of the Court of Flame.
I retreated back into the book, flipping absently through its stories to occupy myself while they argued over the position of the Veins and whether the map from The Book of Old Tales could be trusted.
Gradually, my head began to droop, my eyelids growing heavy.
“Eidra.” Rìan’s voice cut through my haze.
I startled upright, blinking blearily at the three of them and rubbing at my eyes. One look at the hard set of Rìan's face told me everything. My heart sank.
“You can go now.” There was something in his tone that made it sound almost like an accusation, as though our failure to locate the wells somehow rested at my feet. He turned away, dismissing me before I could say another word.
I scowled as I pushed up, tucking The Book of Old Tales beneath my arm. Gritting my teeth, I left the chamber, only vaguely aware of the long shadows slipping silently after me—Veylan’s strange way of escorting me back to the apartments.
Levinica’s excitement lifted my spirits almost immediately.
Wide-eyed and fascinated, her chin resting atop one gloved fist while her bare hand absently stroked Titter Mouse as he snoozed in her lap, she listened as I explained how I'd come to suspect that the gates from her vision were, in fact, wells.
“But the maps don’t line up,” I nearly whined, dropping my forehead onto the table with a soft thud. “After all of this, they still can’t pinpoint the locations because the Veins don’t align anywhere. Maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe it really is a dead end.”
“No.” She shook her head immediately. Her gloved hand slid across the table to rest lightly atop my forearm, and Titter Mouse meowed in protest at no longer being the sole focus of her affection. “Oh hush, you greedy little devil.” He lowered his head back onto his paws with surprising obedience.
“I think you’re right,” she continued, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze. “Especially with the inscription beneath the illustration.”
Her gaze dropped to the page again where I’d opened the book to the image of the well.
“‘... bound in blood at the Three Gates of Othyr.’” She ran her fingers lightly over the words. “That can't be a coincidence.”
“It could be,” I sighed. “What if we finally pinpoint the locations only to find there’s nothing there? Or what if they’re not the right gates?”
“It’s the best lead we’ve got,” she said firmly. “We may as well follow it through unless something better presents itself.”
“Did you see any wells in your vision?”
“Impossible to say.” Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line.
“It came as a riddle. There were images, but they were fluid. Difficult to hold onto. Regardless, you’ve found something important.
Rìan thinks so too, or he wouldn’t be obsessing over it.
” She smiled fondly, as though her brother were some stubborn scholar wrestling with an impossible puzzle rather than the most terrifying tyrant Elantis had ever known.
I groaned and let my forehead fall gently back against the table.
“Don’t get discouraged, Elowen,” she chided, crossing her legs neatly beneath the skirt of her navy gown, tiny jewels scattered across the heavy fabric like stars against a night sky.
“I just want this to be over,” I groaned.
When I lifted my head again, her expression had softened. Her bare hand had drifted to the pendant she always wore, fingers curled around it as her thumb rubbed absently over whatever lay hidden within her palm.
“Perhaps it’s selfish of me,” she said with a small, sad smile, “but I think I shall miss you once this is done.”
My heart squeezed. She was my friend. A real friend.
Not someone like Calantha, whose kindness had revealed itself to be little more than a polished veneer.
That had been the cruelest discovery of all—realizing her loyalty to me had been performative, all outward warmth with nothing real beneath it.
Levinica was different. Loving in a way that felt effortless.
Sweet without calculation. I knew with startling certainty that she would never hurt me as Calantha had.
Not even if the Dark Prince ordered it. And strangely, despite everything I knew Rìan capable of, I found myself equally certain of something else: he would never ask it of her.
Cruel as he was, ruthless as I knew him to be, there remained one thing in this world capable of reaching whatever scrap of humanity lingered within him: Levinica.
She tethered him somehow, kept him from sinking fully into the darkness I knew lived inside him.
For her, I thought, he would do anything.
Had he not already? He was postponing whatever vengeance he meant to unleash upon Elantis to search for her son first. To find his nephew and bring him home to her.
“I’ll miss you too,” I said, and I meant it.