CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELYSIA
It took me an entire month to find the restricted archives. Since I don’t feel like dying, I had to make sure I knew the guard’s rotations and the best route to get there undetected.
Now it’s well past midnight as I make my way toward the restricted wing, my steps light as a feather drifting on the wind.
My cloak is as deep as onyx and lined with muted silver threads.
It rests over my shoulders, hood drawn low.
The fabric rippling like water, blending me seamlessly into the night.
My heart pounds against my ribs, not from fear of being caught, but from the thrill that tonight I might finally uncover the truth I’ve been chasing since my father’s death.
Moonlight spills through the tall arched windows, painting the corridor in silver and shadow. I stay close to the walls, letting the darkness veil me as I move, each shadow seemingly clinging to me, concealing me, hiding me in their darkness.
The massive oak doors to the restricted archives come into view, their surface carved with swirling patterns like those on the Binding Hall, though older and deeper.
In the centre, a rune glows faintly, shifting between amber and red, a living ward that hums with authority.
Only those with sanctioned access can cross its threshold.
I approach, pulse thrumming in my throat, scanning the corridor for any movement…
nothing. Still, the hairs rise on the back of my neck, that instinctual prickle of being watched.
I press the unease down, focusing instead on my breathing and unconsciously syncing it with Kaden’s rhythm through the bond.
The rune pulses once beneath my fingertips, the air thickening with the hum of contained magic. It’s a locking rune, complex and designed to reject brute force. But everything—even magic, has a pattern.
I close my eyes and stretch out my telekinesis, feeling for the mechanism beneath the wood.
The runes weave like a knot, intricate and stubborn, every thread bound to the next.
I focus harder, tracing the lines of energy until I find the weak point…
and there it is, the tiny catch that holds it all in place. With a mental twist, I tug.
The lock resists, vibrating like a living thing before giving way with a muted click. The rune flares brightly, then fades to a soft ember glow. With a firm push, the heavy oak door eases open with an ancient creak.
Keeping the doors slightly ajar to allow for an easier exit, I move into the archives.
The space is vast and hauntingly beautiful, a large rectangular room with weathered oak bookshelves forming long corridors down the centre of the ground floor, dim lanterns casting soft pools of light between them.
From where I stand at the heart of the room, I can see all the way up to the third story.
A chandelier of clear crystal hangs from the tall ceiling, catching faint glimmers of light. Railings trace the edges of each floor, with staircases rising to meet them on either side. Firefly lights thread through the bannisters, casting a dreamlike glow that dances through the air.
I move quietly, my heart beating hard enough to feel like a second pulse beneath my skin.
The ground floor holds records on historic soul-binding, the foundation of Celestria, documentation of the first wars…
but no personal archives. I make my way to the far end of the hall and begin to climb the stairs to the second floor, each step slow and light.
Goosebumps prickle along the back of my neck like a phantom touch.
I pause midway, scanning the shadows. No one…. only rows of old secrets and the flicker of lantern light making ghosts out of dust.
At the top, my eyes catch on a row of rune-locked compartments to my left, each one glowing faintly amber.
As I pass, I brush my fingers across each one, the magic within biting at my skin, sending a shiver up my arm. Above them hangs a wooden sign, words carved deep into the grain.
“High Council, Personal Archives.” My pulse quickens as I whisper the words out loud.
I’ve found them.
Now I just need to find his.
I skim the rows, eyes darting over each rune-powered lock, reading name after name until finally, his appears.
I close my eyes once more, reaching out with delicate threads of telekinesis, teasing at the magic woven through the seal.
A soft hiss escapes as the rune fades, and the compartment clicks open.
My hands dive in eagerly, pulling free a small stack of books and scrolls. I take a seat on the worn leather sofa resting against the railing, the cushions sighing beneath my weight, the cold leather a welcome contrast.
I go through the small bundle, scanning quickly. Personal details: name, address, birthday; soulbond records with my mother; summons to the border. Nothing useful. Nothing I need.
With a quiet and defeated exhale, I move to return them, but as I place them down, something shifts within the compartment, a faint ripple, like heat on stone. My hand hovers before skimming where the ripple had formed, magic humming against my skin.
Confusion furrows my brow as I reach out again, pressing my palm toward the ripple. The air sparks around my hand as it passes through an invisible barrier… an illusion.
What the fuck?
My fingers brush against something solid, and I pull it free. A worn, musty tome bound in cracked brown leather. My breath catches as I read the title.
“Silence of Heirs, Volume I — The Cure Trials.”
My hands tremble as I flip through the brittle, yellowed pages. Words blur together as I skim over every detail. The entries document the first cure, the bloodlines it was sent to and when. But the dates… the dates make no sense.
The plague hadn’t even begun at this point in time. According to this, the cure was sent out two weeks before the first outbreak.
I stare, rereading, over and over until I finally piece it together. The bloodlines listed here, every one of them died within a year after receiving it… this isn’t the cure.
It’s the plague.
My mind races as the puzzle pieces slot together, my fingers flicking through the brittle pages again, eyes scanning every name that received the plague. And there, underneath the Emberfall bloodline, lies my mother’s name.
Selene Morningstar, one count of the cure.
Anger and grief spear through me like shards of ice straight through the heart. My stomach churns, bile burning up my throat as the realisation settles. My father was right.
The Council engineered the plague and distributed it. But why?
As a weapon? For control? To cleanse their world of anyone they deemed impure?
Darkness claws at the edges of my vision, fury burning through my veins until it’s all I can feel. The shadows around me seem to slither closer, twisting through the archives, coiling tight around my chest until it’s hard to breathe.
And then I’m spinning.
My back slams against a wooden shelf with a dull crack, air rushing from my lungs in a sharp gasp as dizziness ripples through me.
A voice, deep and far too familiar, slides through my mind like smoke.
“Elysia darling… what are you doing sneaking around in here?”
I freeze, the blood roaring in my ears. I’d been so caught up in The Council’s secrets pooling at my fingertips that I hadn’t noticed him closing in.
I clutch the book tighter to my chest, panic starting to settle into my bones like a fever as he emerges from the shadows.
Black cargo pants hanging low on his waist, a fitted black shirt that accentuates each ripple of his muscles.
His mismatched eyes pin me, danger and darkness glinting behind them in a silent promise of violence.
He looks like sin carved into flesh, and right now, that sin is aimed directly at me.
Brushing softly against his mind, I echo my voice through the mental bridge. “You followed me.”
It’s not a question, of course he did. The whole time, my instincts were screaming that something was there, lurking in the dark, and I ignored it.
“I’ve found it’s very easy to keep an eye on people when you blend in seamlessly with the night.” Another step closer, then another. “Now, I’ll ask again… what are you doing in here?”
I force a slow breath, straightening despite the ache in my back and take a step forward, making my way to leave. “I don’t believe it’s any of your business, Reinheart.”
He’s on me quicker than I can blink, his hand wrapping around my throat in an instant, pinning my back to the shelves. His other hand slips down, disarming me in one smooth motion, taking the dagger sheathed at my thigh and tossing it to the ground before my fingers can grasp it.
“Before you get any ideas.” A smirk tilts his lips; his voice is a low whisper as he leans in, cedar wood and cinnamon overwhelming me. “How did you manage to get in here?”
I roll my eyes, defiant despite the fear lodged in my throat. “Does it matter? I got in, I got what I came for. Now let me go.”
He tuts softly, tightening his grip, not enough to choke but enough to remind me who’s stronger. “This is treason, so please… enlighten me. Why risk both our lives for some dusty old book?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You do now that our souls are tied.” His voice sharpens, the bond between us humming with anger. “What were you thinking? You could’ve been executed on sight, we could’ve been.”
“Don’t be so mellow dramatic, I wouldn’t have gotten caught. Plus, you could have just put your shield up, there was no need to follow me.” I pause, debating if I should stroke the fire further. “Were you concerned for me, Reinheart?”
His jaw tightens as a frustrated groan crawls up his throat. “How am I supposed to activate my shield without knowing my life is endangered? And don’t flatter yourself, I didn’t follow you out of concern; I followed you because if you die, I die.”
A bitter laugh slips from me before I can stop it. “So, you’re my babysitter now? How noble of you.”
“Don’t mistake necessity for devotion. I’d cut this bond in a heartbeat if I could.”
“Yes, we’ve already established that,” I throw back, voice stern, “but you wanted power, didn’t you? Well, this is the cost.”
His hand slams against the shelf beside my head, wood splintering beneath his palm.
“Don’t you dare act like I wanted this. We’re bound until death because The Council demanded it.
You think I enjoy feeling every reckless impulse that flares through you?
Every time your heart races, every time your anger spikes, every time Ronan—” he cuts himself off, looking down before meeting my eyes once more.
“Tell me what you were looking for,” he demands, voice a low growl.
“I told you—”
His hand tightens around my throat, shadows snaking up the walls, “Don’t lie to me. Tell me what was worth risking our fucking lives for.”
My pulse pounds like a war drum in my ears.
“For fuck sakes, fine! I was looking for the truth.” I snap. “About the plague, about what really happened. My father left something for me.”
Something in him stills, and his mismatched eyes lock on mine. Then I feel it through the bond, through the air between us… curiosity. Faint, a trickle of the feeling, but it’s there.
His hand loosens around my throat, but he doesn’t step back.
His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “What did you find?”
I swallow hard, throat raw. “Proof that the cure wasn’t a cure at all.” My voice cracks. “They made the plague, Kaden.”
His eyes darken, the emotion in them shifting from fury to horror. I feel the shudder of understanding through the tether that ties us, the weight of it settling into him.
Slowly, he lets me go. His fingers linger at my jaw for a heartbeat longer than they should, before he finally pulls away.