Chapter 21 #2
His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, as he rose from the throne and descended the dais with infuriating ease.
He stopped before Edgar, towering over him like a wolf sizing up a rabbit.
“You have one minute—exactly one—to justify your grievous mishandling of my most prized possession before I decide whether you’re worth the air you’re breathing. ”
Edgar straightened, pale fingers trembling as they gripped his robes. “My Lord, the fault is mine entirely.”
Elara’s brow furrowed as Edgar continued, his tone polished with subservience.
“I sought only to grant the Hallowed the honor of attending the equinox festivities this year. The city was secured—I ensured the most stringent lockdowns were in place. Yet somehow, the traitors managed to infiltrate. I assure you, my lord, I took every precaution, every measure to—”
Osin’s shadow struck, quick as a whip. Edgar’s neck twisted with a sickening crack.
Elara’s knees buckled as the air slammed from her lungs. The world smeared at the edges, a hollow ringing filling her ears and swallowing the sound of Edgar’s body hitting the floor.
“Lies,” Osin murmured, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “Lies, my pet, are such tiresome things.”
He clicked his tongue softly, shaking his head.
“A pity, really. I had hoped the High Priest would surprise me. But no matter.” He stepped over Edgar’s body to her, his voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial tone.
“You understand, don’t you? The world has little use for liars. And even less patience.”
The faint twitch at the corner of Osin’s eye was her only warning. Druids swarmed her, hands tearing at her hairpins and tugging at the ties of her dress. Rage shook her as she stared at Edgar—until fingers reached her bodice. She reacted on instinct, arms flying up to clutch it tight to her chest.
Osin returned to his throne without another glance.
“It’s okay, Hallowed.” Avis’s voice was as cold and empty as her eyes. “You won’t be summoning a spirit today, so you can keep your chemise on for the ritual.”
In that fragile moment, Elara found her friend again—and somehow, it steadied her. She dipped her chin, swallowed the swell of emotion, and let them continue.
They stripped away her gown, leaving only the thin silk chemise clinging to her like a second skin, tracing the soft curve of her waist, the rise of her breasts, rosy beneath the pale fabric.
She shivered, drew a slow breath, and forced her nerves into something like control. Then the doors to the right of the dais groaned open. Footsteps followed—measured, deliberate. She didn’t need to look. She could feel it.
Still, she lifted her gaze, drawn to the inevitable.
The Hunter strode in, flanked by two of Osin’s Druids, the marks of recent battle clinging to him.
His armor—usually immaculate—was scuffed and dented, grime streaking the skin beneath his mask.
He favored one side as he walked, the limp unmistakable.
He hadn’t expected this summons any more than she had.
He stopped across the dais and faced her. Then, to Elara’s astonishment, the Druids stepped in and began stripping away his armor.
Straps were unbuckled, metal lifted free and dropped to the stone in echoing thuds. Chest plate, pauldrons, gauntlets—piece by piece—until he stood in a plain white tunic, rumpled from the weight it had borne, and sturdy breeches.
When the Druids reached for the Hunter’s mask, he stopped them with a look sharp enough to cut steel. They bowed low—nearly to the floor—and withdrew.
The room went still. His dark gaze found Elara’s and held, unwavering, sending her pulse skittering. He didn’t look away as he lifted a scarred, battle-worn hand and removed the mask in one smooth motion.
Elara’s breath caught. Time seemed to stall.
He was striking. Dark curls spilled over rich brown skin, framing a face carved with harsh, masculine beauty.
Sweat darkened his neck and brow, some strands clinging, others falling wild and untamed to his shoulders.
His cheekbones looked carved from marble, with a brow that seemed perpetually furrowed, softened by his full, brooding lips.
This—this was the Hunter?
Elara’s thoughts reeled as she tried to reconcile him with the boy she remembered—haughty, distant, always watching from the sidelines, like he didn’t quite fit in.
Hiding behind a mask even then. She’d assumed the years would have done their work.
That the blood he’d spilled, the horrors he’d unleashed, would have twisted him into some kin d of monster.
A beast.
But unmasked, he was only a man. Flesh and blood and bone.
And somehow, that was so much worse.
Heat surged through her, rooting her in place as he closed the distance. Avis gave her a gentle shove, and Elara stumbled forward, unsteady, unsure of what was expected—of what they were meant to do.
The Hunter stopped inches from her, the space between them barely enough to breathe.
His scent washed over her—smoke and something darker, rich with cedar and clove.
His gaze swept her with unsettling focus, lingering on the wreck of her hair, the line of her neck, her parted lips, before dropping to her arm, where blood still seeped, stubborn and bright.
His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes—gone before she could name it—and then he turned away.
Osin slammed his palm onto the table, the crack reverberating through the chamber.
"Ah! Tonight’s entertainment," he announced to the High Council. "I cannot recall the last time these halls witnessed a binding ritual. Truly, it’s a tradition we should indulge in more often."
He rose in one smooth motion, eyes gleaming with playful malice. “Elmweaver.”
The word snapped like a lash. Avis rushed forward, bowing so low her forehead nearly brushed the floor.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Proceed with the ritual. I understand you are intimately acquainted with its finer points, given your unique role as a seal bearer.”
The world tilted beneath Elara’s feet.
Avis was the second seal.
Her fingers dug into her thighs, nails biting deep, but the pain couldn’t ground her—or stop the burn behind her eyes. A tear slipped free, then another, tracing down her cheeks before she realized she was crying.
“Yes, my lord.”
It’s not true. It can’t be true. The words pounded through Elara as Osin demanded to see the seal. Avis lifted her hand and pulled the robe from her shoulder. The air seemed to vanish as the fabric fell away, revealing the mark Elara prayed wouldn’t be there.
Her knees nearly gave out as the last threads of denial snapped. She tore her gaze aside, fixing on anything—anything—to keep from reacting, from crying, from giving Osin what he wanted. Her hands trembled as she clenched her chemise tight.
Osin inspected his nails as he spoke. “So you’ve performed the ritual before?”
“I have,” Avis replied. “About a year ago, when I was first sent to Verdara.”
Elara blinked, tears blurring her vision as she stared at Avis.
They had never performed any ritual together…
“Keep her awake this time,” Osin cut in. “I want to see the moment it happens. When the light fades from her eyes.”
Elara’s stomach lurched, nausea surging so fast she barely held it back. Keep her awake this time.
Avis hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. "It will be… much harder to control her if she’s awake, my lord."
"Are you saying it can’t be done?"
"No, it can, it’s just that—"
"Good. Proceed."
Elara went rigid as Avis rose, Yoni and Dominic’s warnings crashing back all at once. An ancient spell. A battle of wills. Dominance and submission—each side pressing, testing, trying to break the other.
But what if she didn’t break? What if she refused to submit?
"On your knees, if you would," Avis said.
Before Elara could process the command, the Hunter dropped to his knees without hesitation. Shock rippled through her at the sight of him kneeling before her. But when his gaze flicked up to hers, there was no defiance in his eyes. No submission, either. Only emptiness.
Avis’s hand brushed her shoulder, light as a feather and just as searing.
Elara flinched and shrugged it off before the weight could settle.
She didn’t look at Avis—didn’t want to face the betrayal coiled there.
Instead, she knelt opposite the Hunter, eyes fixed on the floor.
She couldn’t meet his gaze either, so she focused on his hands.
A ring gleamed in the dim light, four elemental stones marking a power she didn’t possess—a power she would have to face.
Could she fight back—against him, against the seal?
He wielded the strength of all four elements. She had nothing but a broken bind she couldn’t even feel. No hidden surge. No power waiting to answer—only silence.
The Druids began to circle them, each holding a vial of dark, grainy powder. Their chanting rose into a low hum, voices blending into an unsettling harmony that vibrated through Elara’s bones, jolting her limbs.
It wasn’t Tírrish. There was no gentle cadence, no whispered rise and fall. This language scraped—rough and guttural, the words grinding against her skin, almost painful to hear.
As they moved, the Druids tipped their vials, ash spilling in fine, glittering streams to form a perfect circle around Elara and the Hunter. It didn’t settle at once—hovered briefly, then sank into the stone, leaving a faint, glowing boundary behind.
The circle constricted. The air thickened, pressing in as Elara’s skin prickled with static, the hairs on her arms lifting.
Then the stone beneath them began to glow—first under the Hunter, then beneath her. Elara’s breath caught as the light shifted and swirled, etching patterns across the floor. Constellations emerged. Two sets. One beneath him. One beneath her.
Elara shivered.
“This is a map of the stars under which I was born.”