Chapter 32
Ellisar had argued with her for nearly an hour before finally accepting the plan.
They stood with Lore and Esa over the war table in Stralas, the parley invitation between them, and Niflheim marked in black ink at the map’s edge.
Imani had told him everything they knew, including the fact that Meira believed Saevel was alive, that the bond between them might be real, and that Saevel could be more than a prisoner.
If Niflheim had two viable contenders for its monarchy just as Essenheim did, then finding him could give them the means to challenge Kiran’s claim publicly.
“You stay here,” Imani told Ellisar when he began to object again. “Someone has to rule Essenheim while I take apart what Kiran built.”
He gave her a flat look. “That sounds suspiciously like you volunteering for the more dangerous half.”
“It is the more dangerous half.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Imani leaned both hands against the table.
“If we both go and die, Essenheim loses its queen and king at the same time. Kiran wants me looking toward Niflheim while he keeps me guessing about what comes next. I am not leaving our kingdom without someone who can command its armies, answer the councils, and hold the borders if he moves against us.”
Ellisar pinched the bridge of his nose, then gave a reluctant nod. He understood the logic. Imani would cross into Niflheim and challenge Kiran directly. Ellisar would remain in Stralas as regent with authority to rule in her absence and respond immediately if Essenheim came under threat.
Gorrum had settled the question of the remaining delegation before Imani could object to that either. The High Sentinel was staying behind to continue overseeing the Sprite forces and the responsibilities he had begun transferring to Lore as the Heir Apparent of their territory.
“He insists I start doing the work before I possibly inherit the title,” Lore explained, his irritation making it obvious how many times Gorrum had already said the same thing. “And I am not letting Esa walk into Kiran’s palace without me.”
Esa folded her arms. “How touching.”
“It was not intended to be.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips anyway.
Imani pointed to each of them in turn. “Then everyone knows their purpose. Meira will confirm the bond, which hopefully means Saevel has a legitimate claim to the Throne of Destruction. Esa stays with me as First Witch and backs every magical decision I make. Lore watches the wards, the palace, and whatever Esa is too stubborn to notice while she is watching me.”
“I notice everything,” Esa muttered.
Imani’s finger moved back to Niflheim on the map. “If we find Saevel, we bring him into the parley and force Kiran to defend the Throne in front of every faction he invited to witness his power.”
Ellisar rolled his wand between his fingers. “And if Kiran moves against you before then?”
“I deal with him.”
“Imani.”
Her eyes bored into his. “You deal with Essenheim. I deal with Kiran. That is the agreement.”
He clearly hated it. After another long moment, Ellisar reached across the table and closed his hand around hers.
“Come back with my kingdom’s queen,” he said.
She squeezed his hand once. “Keep my kingdom standing while I’m gone.”
“Done.”
* * *
No fluttering handkerchiefs or cheering crowds saw them off this time.
The heavy gates of Stralas opened just wide enough to let them slip through, then groaned shut behind them, as though the city itself wanted to deny where they were headed.
They rode in a tight formation with Imani at the vanguard, Esa and Lore flanking, and Meira guarding the rear.
Tension hummed low and constant through the group, unspoken yet universally understood.
“Kiran wouldn’t call a parley without a reason,” Lore said, breaking a long stretch of silence. “And whatever it is, it won’t be simple.”
“No,” Esa agreed, worrying the edge of her thumbnail. “It never is with him.”
At the back, Meira shifted in her saddle.
Her gaze darted between the veterans before falling back on the road ahead.
“I’ve met him,” she said, choosing her words with painstaking care.
“Only a few times. Not enough to truly understand him.” A beat.
“But the things they say… they say he doesn’t follow the Fabric like the rest of us. They say it bends around him instead.”
The thought burrowed into Imani. She stayed silent, eyes on the horizon, as her senses sharpened and the city faded away.
Unpredictable was a woefully inadequate word for Kiran.
No one knew his true intentions, and that was the real threat.
His ability to act without regard for others’ understanding made the world conform to his desires.
Esa and Lore rode with the focused efficiency of soldiers aware of what they faced, even if they couldn’t foresee the outcome. When Imani looked behind her, Meira stayed outside their group. She moved slightly out of sync, and everyone watched her every move, though no one voiced it.
At twenty-five, Meira was only two years younger than Imani, but sometimes the distance between them felt much larger.
Imani had spent twenty-seven years learning what her little sister looked like when frightened, angry, stubborn, or hiding something, and she recognized pieces of all four now every time she tossed a glance at her sister. The tension was palpable.
As they traveled further, the land became less governed by crowns and old laws and more defined by Kiran’s looming presence at the border.
A familiar pulse beat under her skin near her sternum, an ache she couldn’t ignore. Her face stayed emotionless, but her hand instinctively went to her chest to steady the heartbeat. She quickly lowered it again. Esa noticed the faint sign but wisely stayed silent.
The gesture left her aware of another absence.
Ellisar should have been riding beside her.
For weeks, his presence had been a constant at her side. His silver hair in her periphery, a dry comment under his breath, the steady pressure of his magic beside hers while they crossed roads and stood in crowded rooms. She had grown accustomed to turning her head and finding him there.
Now only an empty stretch of road lay beside her.
Imani tightened her grip on the reins.
He was exactly where he needed to be, holding Essenheim while she crossed into Niflheim.
The logic had been sound at the war table, but it felt considerably less satisfying with an empty stretch of road beside her.
She found herself wondering what he would have said about Lore’s warnings, and whether that severe mouth would have twitched when she inevitably told him everyone else was being dramatic.
I miss him.
Conflict tore through her at such a thought, making her ride harder.
The journey stretched across several days, carrying them south and east through Essenheim before the Riverlands finally opened around them.
They rode from first light until dusk whenever the roads allowed it, stopping only long enough to rest the horses and sleep.
By the time Kishion came into view, the constant travel had stiffened Imani’s back and left everyone more subdued than when they had departed Stralas.
The Riverlands unfolded around them in a patchwork of deep waters and dark soil.
However, as they drew nearer to the Niflheim border, that familiar light started to fade into overcast skies and darkness.
A subtle yet unmistakable tension settled into the terrain, as if a monstrous force on the other side was already pressing back.
Essenheim’s border patrols quickly bowed to the Crown of Life and let them pass.
But at the end of the bridge into Niflheim, a line of stern-looking guards stood, their hands resting threateningly on their weapons’ pommels.
As the group’s horses clattered over the wooden planks, a dozen heads turned sharply toward them, eyes narrowing.
One guard’s gaze fixed on Imani before drifting past her to the stormy horizon, as if checking whether the tempest beyond already knew she had arrived.
Imani took Kiran’s invitation and held it up without greeting, just to reveal the dark wax seal. The guards immediately shifted, stepping back quietly to clear the way, yet their silence carried no respect. They watched the riders enter Niflheim with cautious dread.
As soon as they crossed the threshold, the storm erupted with full force.
A fierce wind forcefully pushed against them, hindering their every step forward.
Relentless freezing rain followed, instantly penetrating thick wool and casting the scenery in harsh shades of gray.
The atmospheric pressure dropped sharply, creating an unnatural heaviness.
While it could have been considered an ordinary squall, Imani knew better.
The wind consistently battered their cloaks with an orchestrated intensity.
Beneath the cold, an unseen, icy presence seemed to observe Imani—an oppressive awareness that they were being watched.
Night collapsed on them as well. Forced to halt shortly after passing over the border, they wrestled their tents into the muddy earth as the bitter wind fought them for every inch of canvas.
Cold settled deep into their bones. They kept their conversations to a bare minimum because no one would waste breath on anything that didn’t ensure their survival.
Then, huddled inside the main tent, shaking off the rain, they choked down their hard rations.
Afterward, Esa circled the tent with her wand raised, laying a privacy ward into the canvas and ground until a faint pressure sealed around them.
Lore checked each point where the spell joined, then added a second layer designed to warn them if anyone crossed within hearing distance.
Only when Esa nodded did Imani clear the makeshift table and unroll a map of the Niflheim citadel.