Chapter 14
The world swirled back into focus bit by bit, colors bleeding together like a watercolor left out in the rain.
Elara squinted against the dull ache that pulsed at her temples.
Trees—tall and gnarled—brushed past her vision, a blur of green and brown.
She was in a forest, that much was clear, but beyond that? Her memory was a fog.
Elara tried to adjust, to get her bearings, but her limbs were leaden, uncooperative. It felt as though bands of iron clamped around her. She was moving—no, being moved—swayed gently from side to side in a rhythm that almost felt soothing.
Had they taken her? The Vredians?
Her chest heaved as she thrashed against the firm grip that bound her, the rough texture scraping her wrists raw.
“Easy does it, Hallowed.”
The voice that interrupted her panic was calm and authoritative. Elara stilled. It was the stranger. She took a shaky breath and blinked rapidly, willing the world to stop spinning. As her vision cleared, she realized she was on a moving horse, her hands tied.
A cold sweat broke across her forehead. “You drugged me.”
His arm constricted around her waist, muscles coiling tight. “I didn't want to.”
“Go fuck yourself with a rusty sword.” The words scraped out; her mouth felt stuffed with cotton, dry, and painfully arid, but the twitch of his body, the sudden rigidness, made it worth the effort—at least until he laughed.
“A divine creature with a filthy mouth? How charming.”
Elara bristled, looking around for a knife to stab him with. Then, like a dam bursting, memories flooded in—sharp, piercing. Dario. His name carved a hollow in her chest, an ache that spread and squeezed until she thought her ribs might splinter under the pressure.
They had hurt him, abandoned him—
“Where is my friend?” Her voice was raw, the words barely audible as she struggled for breath.
“Your friend is safe,” he said, voice smooth, infuriatingly calm. “We left him in a secure spot. His men will find him soon enough, patch him up. He'll have nothing worse than a nasty headache and a few scratches.”
Her heartbeat pounded in her temples. A few damn scratches?
Elara stifled the urge to retch, half-tempted to let it spill—this lunatic deserved far worse than ruined pants.
But punishment was likely already on its way.
He had dared to kidnap her, and no one crossed the Lord Sovereign without facing severe repercussions.
Edgar, she knew, would already be unleashing fury across the realm to find her.
And if word reached Osin... She shivered at the thought.
The Legion would be relentless. These fools had no idea of the chaos they had invited to their doorstep.
The horse bucked, a sudden jolt snapping her head back onto the stranger’s shoulder, her neck suddenly too weak to hold itself upright.
Heavy-eyed, she lifted her gaze to meet his, his face hovering in her blurred vision.
His eyes were deep and dark, fringed by lashes so thick they cast shadows upon his high cheekbones, and a scatter of freckles marched across his nose.
“Who are you?”
He shifted, his gaze sliding away. “Dominic.”
“Planning to kill me, Dominic?”
Her reply slipped free before she could stop it, laced with a bitter chill of memory—cold metal pressed against her throat. Elara twisted her neck to face him squarely, searching his expression, defiant. His dark eyes met hers again, a sharp glint flickering within them.
“If I were, we wouldn’t be talking.”
She scoffed. “Well, isn't that a relief?”
Her vision was still blurry, coming and going, but she could make out his party moving alongside them. They'd taken off those raven masks, and now she could see their faces—rugged and seasoned, like they'd been through more than their fair share of hardships.
“How long have we been traveling?”
They were moving so slowly. They must have covered significant ground to feel this comfortable at such a leisurely pace...
“A day and a half.”
Elara's stomach flipped. She glanced up at the trees once more, squinting, hoping to glimpse a raven. “Why are we traveling on horseback and not rifting?”
Dominic paused for a moment before responding. “How about a deal, Hallowed? You keep firing questions at me, and I get to throw a few back your way.”
“Oh, so now you're a fan of fair play?”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow.”
Prick. “Fine.”
He exhaled a laugh, his chest brushing up against her back. “We're not rifting because Osin has the Void under tight surveillance. He caught wind of your... liberation a lot faster than we expected.”
“What do you mean he's surveilling the Void?”
The idea seemed absurd. The Void was just that—interstitial nothingness, a realm between realms that belonged to Rhiannon, the Goddess of Death. How could Osin, or anyone for that matter, keep watch over such a place?
Dominic arched a brow. “Osin's had control over the Void for the last ten years, ever since the war started.” He spoke as if it was common knowledge she should have already possessed.
Goosebumps pricked her skin. “How?”
She felt him shrug behind her. “No one really knows for sure. The day Aine presented you to Osin, he declared himself god-chosen, seizing control of ether, and with it, the Void.” His voice carried a bitter edge. “That's our best guess, anyway. Whoever controls ether controls the Void.”
“But you can still use it?”
“Hold up, it's my turn now,” Dominic said with a slight grin, loosening his grip just enough to see if she could keep herself steady on the horse. After a moment, he reached into his bag and pulled out a canteen and some food. “What's it gonna be first—something to eat or a drink?”
Elara froze. “Is that really your question?”
“Oh, come on, I'm not that cruel,” he teased. “You must be starving, and I make it a rule to keep my companions well-fed.”
“You mean your prisoner,” Elara retorted, shaking her bound wrists for emphasis.
“Semantics,” he quipped.
Elara's scowl deepened. “Drink,” she finally grumbled, and he obliged, lifting the canteen to her lips.
“To answer your question, yes, we can still rift if we gear up with the right wards, but Osin's got us under constant watch now, so we're better off taking the scenic route.
He's bound to keep an eye on the Void from here on.
But our best casters are all over it. We'll figure out a way around it soon enough.”
After Elara gave a nod to show she had finished drinking, he stored the canteen, and broke off a chunk of bread, holding it out to her. If she hadn't been so famished, she might have bitten his finger just for the cheek of feeding her like a bird. But hunger won over pride this time.
She bit into it, not bothering with niceties. “Where are you taking me?”
“North.”
North? Elara's heart skipped a beat, then started pounding furiously. “Where north?” Ulrith lay to the north, but so did Vredia.
He paused, his face a mask of stone. "Just north."
Elara craned her neck to glare at him and he laughed—a low, rumbling sound. “I’ll get more specific when I decide you're trustworthy.”
“And I'm just supposed to trust you?”
Dominic's smile was all edges. “The irony of trust—it's always a gamble, isn't it?””
As he spoke, the clatter of hooves cut into their conversation.
Elara recognized the newcomer immediately—the fire-haired girl from before.
“We gotta pull over,” Bryn declared, maneuvering alongside them.
“These horses are dead on their feet, and if Gideon doesn’t shut up soon, he’s going to find himself with a knife in his leg. ”
Dominic arched an eyebrow, the smirk still lingering. “When did you get so bloodthirsty?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Around the time I realized it might be the only way to keep up with you lot.
And anyway, it's not me you should be worried about.” She nodded toward a barrel-chested man whose horse was nearly buckling under his weight.
Elara felt a pang of pity for the poor animal.
But Bryn was right; something about the man was off.
His stares were like knife thrusts, all directed at Gideon.
Dominic exhaled deeply, a sound heavy with the weight of command. “We're stopping here! Water the horses, stretch your legs.” The group's immediate flurry of activity followed, each member springing into motion.
Elara seized the moment, her eyes darting from face to face as she tallied the group—twelve in total.
They were a diverse lot, a motley crew of men and women, and even a boy who couldn't have been over seventeen.
Her gaze lingered on him, noting the way his eyes darted nervously, like a cornered animal.
“Yoni,” Dominic shouted, aimed at a man with dark braids woven back from his face. “Scout ahead. Throw out a few ceirín ten leagues out, then double back.”
“On it,” Yoni replied, giving a lazy salute before he and Bryn coaxed their horses into a trot.
“What’s a ceirín?” Elara asked after the pair was out of sight.
Dominic's gaze scanned the tree line as he spoke. “It’s a kind of tracking device I came up with. It detects signals or spells recently cast in the area. Helps us know if anyone’s creeping too close to camp.” His voice held a hint of pride.
“Did you use alchemy to create this device?”
Dominic's eyes met hers, his grin broadening. “No, Hallowed, I used Tírrísh.”
A shiver of surprise ran through Elara. “But Tírrísh is a dead language. It’s said that only the Fae could harness its power.”
“Only if you believe what Osin’s scribes claim.” Elara was about to argue, but Dominic cut her off. “Hold on—before you say anything, answer one of my questions first.”
He slid off his horse.
Elara narrowed her eyes, still wary as he reached up to help her down.
“Go on then.” Her feet landed on the soft ground and a wave of unsteadiness hit her; the remnants of the sedative lingered in her system.
She held onto the horse for support, pausing a moment to let the world stop spinning and her vision clear.
When it finally did, Dominic's gaze was on her.
“Why did you leave the Sanct? What drove you to seek Godfrey?”
Elara felt a surge of incredulity at his question. “Fen died.” The words were a struggle, her throat constricting around them. “Whatever he wanted with my blood—it wasn't for his own benefit. I know Fen. I just...I need to understand why.”
Dominic's face stayed unreadable, yet his eyes moved sharply over hers, searching, digging for something. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it convincing because a small, knowing smile eventually crept into his expression.
“There's a clear line drawn in this world,” Dominic said, leaning in close as he gently untied the ropes around Elara's wrists.
“The truth-seekers and the blind believers—the latter might as well be dead for all the good their ignorance does them.
If you're sure you want to chase the truth, I’m here to throw you the rope.
But remember, once you step through this door with me, there's no going back to pretending.”
Elara studied him, really took him in. This man had hurt Dario, had drawn her out of the Sanct and kidnapped her.
And yet, since then, he'd been open and .
.. nice. The thought made her stomach twist. Nice?
She nearly rolled her eyes at herself. But then, there were answers she needed, truths dangling just out of reach that this man could provide.
If playing along got her those, then maybe it was worth the compromise.
Her resolve hardened; she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin with a defiant tilt.
“I never cared much for pretending, anyway.”
A wicked grin spread across his face. “That's what I like to hear.”