18. Saige
Saige
“We’ll head south until we meet Solmere River, then we follow it west into the House of Reveries,” Archer tells me as we reach the edge of the city.
“Are we allowed to cross Azkari territories without announcing ourselves? Who rules there? Will they care?” I ask.
“Prince Eryx rules. He won’t like it, no. But will he do something about it? Also no. He never had the balls to do anything before. Keep up, the journey to the temple will take a week.”
Grim bounds into the forest ahead of us, his big paws pounding the earth, his long tongue lolling.
“It’s going to be a long week if you refuse to talk,” I observe wryly.
Atop his stallion, Archer doesn’t so much as glance at me. “A week is nothing, bookbinder.”
“Not compared to two hundred years in prison, no,” I agree. “I imagine it must be like the blink of an eye to you.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” he mutters, still staring ahead.
“I might,” I reply carefully, “if you tell me.”
“I’m not telling you shit.”
“Azkari don’t like talking?”
“Not if it means sharing every single fucking thought in our heads,” he snaps, knuckles paling as he grips the reins.
I don’t know why seeing him riled up brings me so much joy, but it does. “Well, I like talking.”
“We’re not doing this.”
“I could always sing,” I offer sweetly.
His jaw twitches. “I could always knock you off your horse.”
“Violence is never the answer, General.”
“Wanna bet?”
I hide my smile. “How’s this… You answer three questions, and I’ll give you… twenty minutes of silence?”
“A week.”
“That’s hardly fair, is it?”
“Who said anything about fair?” he bites back.
“Three questions and… an hour of silence?”
“An hour of peace per question. Take it or leave it, bookbinder,” he growls.
“I accept. But proper answers, General. None of this ‘yes’ or ‘no’ horseshit. Not that you’ve said ‘yes’ once in the whole time I’ve known you.”
His eyes narrow, but he says nothing.
“You’re welcome to ask me questions too,” I add.
“Nothing I want to know.”
“Rude, but fine. Alright, first question. Why aren’t we using the portals? Like the one we travelled through after Gravereach? It would save you spending an apparently painful week alone with me.”
Archer exhales a long-suffering sigh. “There aren’t as many portals as there once was.
They used to be far more common. There were dozens of Azkari rings, waterfalls, ancient stone circles and the like, sprinkled all throughout the realms. They act as gateways to different locations in our territories and your lands.
But Malevron used them to transport his armies to unsuspecting territories during the war, those ones have been corrupted. ”
“How can you tell which ones are safe?”
He raises a dark brow. “Is that your second question?”
“No,” I scoff. “That’s clarifying and drawing out your unsatisfactory answer.”
Archer clicks his tongue in frustration. “We’ll pass one soon enough. And you can tell me if you still want to walk through it.”
“That’s hardly an answer.”
“Trust me.”
“I was told not to.”
“You’d do well to remember it,” he says.
“Oh believe me, I’m taking everything you say with a grain of salt, General. Are portals the same as weavewalking?”
“No.”
“Don’t make me drag it out of you, please. I can still burst into song at any moment,” I warn.
“Triad save me,” he mutters, looking to the sky as though he’s truly praying for mercy.
“They’re not the same. Azkari can weavewalk back to their home territories, which is to journey along the threads of the Weave.
Portal magic requires other portals to be linked.
You can only travel from one portal to another. ”
We reach a wide, straight stretch where the water flows more slowly.
“Leo told me about this place,” I say slowly as we come to a halt. “It’s the vein of Lorevael—it runs from the northern mortal kingdoms, through the Azkari lands and branches off all over the realm.”
Atop his horse, Archer nods. “Solmere River. Also known as the lifeblood of Lorevael. It’s the main water source for many regions, both Azkari and mortal.
” He urges his horse into the shoreline and surveys the current where it’s clear enough to see the riverbed.
“It looks shallow enough for the horses, even. Should be safe to cross here.”
He doesn’t so much as glance in my direction as he guides his stallion across the breadth of the river.
Grim paddles after him, eager to keep a close eye on the Azkari general, and I follow.
As the water surges around my horse’s legs, I can feel something in the air shift: a whisper in the breeze, a strange fluttering sensation dancing across my face.
When my horse steps onto dry land, my senses are instantly assaulted with everything that was missing from the scorched side of the river.
It’s as though a veil has been lifted. Here, there is an abundance of life—the melodious, flute-like song of willow warblers sound as a small flock flits between the lush greenery above.
On horseback, I follow the General away from the river and into the forest, where the verdant canopies form cathedral-like vaults and living tunnels.
I glance across at Archer. His eyes are closed as he tilts his face to the leaves above, his broad chest rises and falls as he breathes deeply.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but after so long in Gravereach, he seems to share my wonder and appreciation for the forest. Instinctively, I tear my gaze away from him and slow my horse, pausing to drink in the moment, to give him the time he needs.
“Keep up,” he grunts a few seconds later, breaking the spell, and I have to hide another smile.
As we continue through the forest, I wriggle in my saddle, my thighs already burning, my tailbone aching. “Tell me about the Azkari houses.”
“That’s not a question.”
When I simply wait for his response, he sighs. “These three hours of silence better be the best I’ve ever had.”
I open my mouth to make a witty remark full of innuendo—
He throws me a sharp look. “Don’t.”
Grim gives a low, short bark, one that usually precedes a lot of growling. He darts in between the legs of Archer’s horse, making the poor creature anxious.
But I counter the warrior’s irritation with a wide grin. “Then you’d best start talking, General.”
Still in awe, I drink in the sights as the forest closes in around us, the powerful torrent of the river forgotten behind the woven walls of green.
“There weren’t always four houses. Long ago, there was only one—the House of the Azkari.
” Archer’s throat bobs. “The High King and Queen, to stop their heirs from battling each other for territory, split the house into four, to be divided equally between the brothers. Where we are now is the House of Reveries, one of those four. Prince Eryx Dawnstrider rules these parts.” Archer clears his throat, as though he’s not used to speaking so much at once.
“All Azkari have elemental magic within them. We’re born with it.
Trained to master it. It’s what connects us to the Weave. ”
I watch him closely, his expression betraying nothing, but through the tangled threads of our bargain, I can feel…
turmoil. If Archer feels it, he makes no mention of it.
Instead, he forces himself to continue. “Those from the House of Reveries can manipulate land, nature. Those from the House of Whispers can control air. And those from the House of Desires can command fire.”
“That’s where you’re from? The House of Desires?”
Without looking at me, he lifts his hand from the saddle horn and a series of black embers burst from his fingertips. “Nothing gets past you, bookbinder.”
“And these houses, they’re ruled by princes?”
“Unfortunately.”
I frown. “Why do you say that?”
“Everyone says that. The royals didn’t fight in the war that they themselves started. They know nothing about what it was like on those battlefields, how much their people endured for them.”
“I see…” The bitter note in his voice is hard to ignore. “What of the fourth house? You only mentioned three.”
The embers vanish, leaving behind thin ribbons of smoke. “You know the fourth house.”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I wrack my mind, filtering through the last few days alongside the Azkari warrior, back further still through my lessons with Yevna as a child. “The House of Mirrors.”
Archer dips his head in acknowledgement. “Though it’s rarely called that anymore.”
“It’s what became Morzanmyre?”
“Yes.”
All the hairs on my arms stand on end as we pass into a darker glade of the forest. The air is so close here, and it tastes tainted with magic, like copper coins and the faint hint of smoke.
“Woah,” I breathe as my horse steps out into a beautiful clearing.
Rich sea green moss carpets the ground before us, so thick and perfect it looks as though it’s been maintained, manicured even, almost glowing with residual magic.
The air is still, as if time moves differently here and the surrounding darkness feels expectant, alive with possibility.
The portal stands just beyond a glass-like pool, its water so perfectly still it creates a perfect double image of the glowing doorway above.
There is a massive ancient trunk with a naturally formed oval doorway through its heart and living wood curves inward like an embrace around the portal opening.
Then there are the thick, gnarled roots that offer natural steps and platforms leading to the entrance, where finally a crown of dense foliage makes for a natural roof over the mystical gateway.
“Is that a…?” the words fall from my lips.
The portal beckons to us. I hear the light notes of music drifting from the other side of its threshold.
My boots hit the soft earth, and I wander towards it, lured by its beautiful song.
Brilliant white-blue radiance streams through the tree hollow like captured lightning, and that ethereal glow spills out onto the moss carpet in a perfect oval pool…
There is a luminescence that seems to pulse gently, as if the portal itself is breathing.
“Perhaps you should look again, Grayson.” Archer’s voice seems to cut through the spell of the gateway, and it’s as though a veil has been lifted.
Where before I saw only beauty, now I see the rest: signs of rot and decay, the burns at the threshold.
The bark is textured with deep furrows and scorch marks that seem to spiral around the opening.
The smell of smoke is sharper here and when I peer through the glowing doorway, there is nothing but barren lands beyond, flattened and blackened with magical fire.
There’s a bitterness drenching the air, and delicate pieces of ash drift through the portal.
“Oh.” I step back; a hand pressed to my racing heart.
“Exactly,” Archer says flatly. “Get away from that thing.”
Hours later, we’re even deeper into the forest. Dappled sunlight filters through leaves in golden, honey-colored shafts that seem to glimmer of their own accord.
I’ve never been somewhere with so many vivid colors—bell-shaped foxglove blooms in purple and white spires that brush against my legs as I ride through.
Strange moss creates carpets of marigold over logs and boulders, while delicate pink roses bloom in scattered formations along the worn woodland path.
The air seems close around me, tasting like morning dew on my lips, and I swear, in the distance, I hear the whisper of windchimes.
I’ve never been anywhere like this, somewhere so inherently magical.
I reach a curtain of willow fronds that are still rippling from where Archer passed through moments ago.
I push them gently apart only to gasp at what awaits me on the other side.
Great ruins of beautiful Azkari architecture greet me: fluted columns standing tall, partly consumed by climbing ivy, remnants of a stone amphitheater where wildflowers bloom in perfect geometric patterns, and an ancient spiral staircase that stops midway to the canopy, leading nowhere.
“This is…” I trail off, swinging a leg over the saddle horn and sliding down to the ground, which feels soft and yielding beneath my boots.
A solitary bench that looks to be carved from a single block of moonstone sits in the heart of a verdant tunnel. I trace my fingers across the script scarved into its surface, finding it surprisingly warm to my touch.
“We’ll camp here for tonight,” Archer says, already dismounted, leading his horse to a small clearing to graze.
“I have one more question,” I remind him.
He whirls around; his face etched with irritation. “Don’t tell me you expect my three hours of silence to be while we sleep?”
I smirk. “Maybe I’ll be generous and give you six.”
If looks could kill… “You little witch.”
“I would have thought an Azkari General would know better than to make a deal with a mortal.”
He looks like he wants to throttle me, which makes me unreasonably pleased with myself.
I remain casual as I start to unpack my bedroll and handful of supplies. “What is the Confluence?”
“A book.” Archer spears his fingers through his dark locks before he crouches, busying himself with creating a circle of stones for a campfire.
“A book that holds all the knowledge to Azkari magic. How we were woven by the gods from the Weave itself, how the knots within the Weave stabilize our power, our immortality. The secrets to the limitations of our magic—”
“What does that mean?”
“All magic has a cost, bookbinder. The more we use, the more we pull the thread that connects us to the Weave. Every Azkari has a different reserve of power, if we push beyond that, that thread starts to fray.”
“What happens if you go too far?”
“The frayed thread snaps and you sever your connection to the Weave. You lose your magic, your immortality… You are no longer Azkari. Malevron discovered the existence of the Confluence during the Reckoning. He hunted it relentlessly. If he got his hands on it, if he had learnt how to unravel the knots of the Weave itself… he would have had the ability to unmake the Azkari as we know them. There would have been no stopping him, no limits to his power. So the High King and Queen destroyed it. Or they tried to, at least. They blasted the book with all the magic in their arsenal and paid for it dearly. Both fell into an eternal sleep, where they remain to this day.”
“And the Confluence?” I press.
“Its remnants were taken and hidden by allies of the High King and Queen while the final battles of the Reckoning raged on. After the war, it was forgotten. Only, no one imagined that Malevron would be regaining his strength in the shadows, still hunting it after all this time. We need to beat him to it. Only with its power can we defeat him once and for all.”
“But you defeated him before without it.”
“I didn’t,” Archer says darkly. “All I did was slow him down. But not this time…” he vows. “This time, I’m going to end him.”