Chapter 52
“The winter solstice is less than a week away. It’s the perfect moment.
He’ll drug the guests—he always does. Fills the air with enough poison to leave half the room stumbling and senseless by night’s end.
” Calista crossed her arms, giving Elara a pointed look.
“And him? He’ll be just as lost in it as the rest. Drunk.
Drugged. Vulnerable. That’s when we move. It’s the best chance we’ll get.”
Elara nodded slowly, her mind already spinning with possibilities.
It would be the perfect moment. Osin expected her presence—there’d be no need for an elaborate escape from her cell.
“And the dagger?” she asked, her thoughts churning, mapping the steps, the timing.
“How do we know he won’t keep it on him? ”
Calista leaned forward, her green eyes glinting like emeralds in the firelight. “I’ll take him to his chambers near the end of the night. Get him drunk. Comfortable. I'll make sure he leaves the dagger behind.”
Elara’s stomach twisted at the thought. “I don’t want you to do that—”
“One more time,” Calista interrupted, her voice sharp but quiet, like she had already made peace with it. “One more time, and it’s done.”
There was no hesitation, no softness—just a steel resolve that dared Elara to argue. She wouldn’t. But still, deep down, she told herself it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe she could find another way.
Calista’s eyes swept the room before settling back on her. “When they ask, tell them I slipped away in the night, after you’d fallen asleep.”
Elara blinked, her brow knitting, but before she could respond, Calista turned away. She didn’t look back, didn’t offer so much as a goodbye. A faint hum of power rippled through the air as she opened up a rift and stepped through.
It wasn’t the violent tear Elara herself managed after hours of effort. It was graceful, effortless. A sting of envy shot through her. But beneath it, something else stirred. An idea.
A dangerous, simmering spark.
She sank to the floor, legs folding beneath her, and closed her eyes. Breath by breath, she slowed herself—steady in, steady out—until the world receded. This couldn’t be hurried. The Draoth Cara answered only to patience, to stillness, to a quiet surrender rather than force.
Her breathing deepened. Her pulse eased. Beneath it all, she felt it—the faintest hum, a whisper in the back of her mind. She sharpened her focus, drawing it closer without pressing. The thrum stirred in her veins, soft at first, then stronger, unfurling through her like a slow, winding current.
It took time—too much time. Half an hour, maybe more, before the hum coalesced into a beat, a steady rhythm she could follow. Her fingers twitched as the connection tightened.
“Focus on the seams,” she could almost hear the Hunter say. “Like a fracture in glass—apply pressure at just the right point, and the rift will form cleanly.”
Elara steadied her breath, picturing the rift as a gentle parting of layers. She reached out, searching for the faint tension—a fragile thread waiting to be caught.
Carefully, she pulled.
A jolt rippled through her as the seam between realms buckled. The air shuddered, bending and twisting before tearing open with a sigh. The rift spread wide, its edges trembling.
“Holy gods,” Elara breathed, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
She’d done it. Despite the distance, despite everything, she’d torn the rift open.
Her chest heaved, a chaotic mix of pride, exhilaration, and something she couldn’t quite name—something raw and terrifying. I could go anywhere.
Anywhere.
She stood, pulling the Draoth Cara closer, wrapping it around herself like armor, and stepped into the Void.
The world fell away, leaving nothing but weightlessness and silence. The absence of sound was disorienting, a stillness so absolute it made her head spin. Almost instantly, the pull began—a subtle but persistent tug in the marrow of her bones, drawing her toward her destination.
The Draoth Cara thrummed beneath her skin, a guide through the uncharted dark. She focused on that hum, tuning herself to its rhythm, letting it become her compass.
And then—there. A faint glimmer, so faint she almost missed it. A sliver of light, slicing through the darkness like a thread of spun silk.
Her chest constricted; blood dripped from her nose, but she pressed on, each step guided by instinct and calculation. The rift lay close, yet the currents shifted, tugging at her, threatening to throw her off course.
She adjusted, felt the Draoth Cara steady her, and stepped through.
The silence broke. The Void’s oppressive stillness gave way to warmth—
real warmth.
Her boots hit solid ground with a dull thud, the scent of aged wood and crackling fire curling around her. She blinked, adjusting to the faint glow of the Hunter’s hearth.
Her breaths came fast, fingers twitching at her sides.
She’d done it.
The rush crashed over her, pulse thundering, veins buzzing with something far beyond excitement. Validation. The theory, the practice—all of it had led here. She had commanded the Void, bent it to her will, and emerged exactly where she meant to be.
It was exhilarating. Almost overwhelming.
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t her ether guiding her, that she’d leaned on the Draoth Cara to navigate.
The achievement felt no less hers. When the final sigil was broken—when the parasite was gone—maybe she wouldn’t need the link at all.
The idea burned in the back of her mind, a tiny, defiant flame.
Elara moved silently through the entryway, the familiar pull of the thread guiding her effortlessly down the corridor, a sensation so natural now it brought a flicker of smug satisfaction.
When she pushed open the library door, she wasn’t surprised to find him there, hunched over the desk with one hand tangled in his hair, rubbing his temple. A small part of her wanted to laugh—finally, she had the upper hand.
With a mischievous grin, she gave the thread a playful tug, her mental grip on his heart tightening just enough to send a flicker of sensation through him. He startled upright, nearly leaping from his chair, his wide, flashing eyes darting around the room until they landed on her.
His gaze softened, his mouth falling open as he stared, completely thrown. Her grin only widened, and slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe it, his lips curved into a smile of his own.
“You did it.”
Elara rolled her eyes, doing her best to sound unimpressed. “Was that ever in doubt?”
He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he stood. “If anyone could figure out how to rift in a day, it’d be you.”
Heat crept up her neck, settling in her cheeks at his compliment, but it wasn’t just that—it was what she needed to say next.
“I met with Calista tonight.”
His smile vanished, wiped clean as if she’d struck him. He froze mid-step, searching her face. “You did?”
Elara hummed, the sound softer than she intended. “She bought me for the night. That’s how I managed to get here.”
He nodded slowly, but she saw it—the walls he always built around himself creeping higher with every measured breath.
“And what did she want with you?”
“I asked Tristan to relay a message for me—to tell her I wanted to speak with her.” Elara watched his brow twitch, a subtle reaction that told her this was news to him. “I had a memory, something I needed confirmation on.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his expression still carefully guarded. “And? Did you get what you were after?”
“I did.”
Silence stretched between them, charged. Tension rolled off him, taut as a drawn wire, and she sensed how close he was to bolting. Elara steadied herself before continuing.
“She told me about us.”
There it was—the lurch in his chest, just as she’d expected. She’d braced herself for it, but somehow, it still struck harder than she could have prepared for.
“Told me how you used to read to me. How we shared books.” Her heart throbbed, a cutting ache. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He bit the inside of his lip—she could feel the sting. His eyes stayed locked on hers, his expression hard. A fortress, impenetrable. But Elara didn’t need to see his emotions to feel them. He couldn’t hide that from her anymore.
“I didn’t see the point.”
The words hit like a blow she wasn’t ready for. That hurt.
“And why the hell not?”
“What good would it have done?”
His tone was even—too even. Each word carried what he refused to say. The detachment, the casual dismissal of something that mattered to her, struck a spark in her chest. Heat flared, fierce and sudden, her pulse roaring in her ears.
“How can you be so damn callous? I remember nothing from my past. Nothing. And this whole time—this entire time—we’ve been trying to piece it back together.
Trying to break the Binding Sigil so I can help you reach Thane.
And you—” Her words caught, choking on the knot in her throat.
“You knew. You had something—a piece I could’ve used, that I needed—and you kept it from me. How could you—”
“Our memories wouldn’t have helped us. Not with what we’re trying to do. If anything, it would’ve complicated things.”
Elara’s fists clenched at her sides. “How the hell do you figure that?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “What we...” He exhaled, almost in defeat, his voice lower now. “I told you, it wouldn’t have done any good.”
“And that was for you to decide, was it?" Fury crackled through her like lightning. “Like everyone else in my life, thinking they know best, deciding for me, keeping things from me—that was your call, too? You couldn’t give me the basic decency of a choice? Couldn’t trust me with that?”
He shifted, like he was going to step toward her, but then stopped, locking his expression again.