Chapter Forty-Three
I reach Bludgrave Manor just before dawn.
The Elysian Map indicates that the Key should be here—or at the very least, whatever clue will lead me to the Key.
As Swiftwing carries me over the lush, sloping landscapes of the Eerie, I try to focus on the Relic—where I might find it, what sacrifice I might be forced to make in order to obtain it—but my thoughts drift to the house itself, the home I never expected to miss.
Days ago, Bronmir and Elatha led a small troop of our soldiers, liberating the people of Ink Haven. But no one stepped foot on the grounds of the estate for fear Will had laid traps, and when Swiftwing lands near the fountain at the center of the drive, the hair on the back of my neck prickles.
Not because Will is here, but because I still feel his presence—in the gardens that seem to thrive even in his absence, in the ivy that wraps around the lampposts, in the blooms of blue salvia, their soft petals almost silver in the moonlight.
And I know, before I even open the doors to the foyer, what I will find.
The guards, Gylda and Hugh, were the only two members of the staff who stayed behind when the rest of us made the journey to Castle Grim. I’ve often wondered what became of them after Calantha seized control of the Eerie.
Now I have my answer.
Someone pinned their bodies to the wall with kitchen knives, beneath the banner my family painted upon my return all those months ago, the red paint that reads WELCOME HOME now splattered with dried blood.
My scream echoes through the abandoned house. Liv and Sylvie peek out of my coat pocket, their dim glow illuminating the dusty room. Tears blur my vision as I look around the foyer—at the portraits of the Castor family. Of Will.
I know it was Will who did this. He wanted me to know—wanted me to see.
I can almost hear his voice, brushing against my ear. This is what will happen to your family if you don’t surrender.
Before I know it, I’m racing toward the stables, my blood drumming in my head.
I drop to my knees when I find the stalls are empty.
Will’s horse, Caligo—gone. Henry’s steed, Nutmeg, and Lady Isabelle’s unicorn, Thea—gone. All gone.
But Jack is still here. I see him everywhere I look, leaning against the walls, a rake in his hand. Whistling. Smiling. Laughing. He’s everywhere.
I’m on my feet again, but this time, I make for the conservatory. I know I should look for the Key, but I need to see the garden—need to know if I imagined Will’s tender caress, the nights we spent watching the stars.
I stumble near the banks of the pond, a few feet from Hildegarde’s Folly, and when I pick myself up, something tugs at my chest—some invisible force drawing me toward the domed structure. And then I see it.
A raven, perched atop the statue in the center of the folly.
Of course! I found the Sword in the underwater folly at Castle Grim. If the Key is here…
My heart leaps as I lurch forward, flying over the steps.
I know the raven isn’t Owen. But for a moment, it feels as if he’s with me—as if he’d sent me a sign to guide me here.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, wiping the tears from my face.
The raven cocks its head at me. Blinks.
I attempt to draw on my bonewielder affinity—magic that the power of the Lightbringer should give me access to—and speak with the raven in the way I saw Will and Lady Isabelle communicate with the wolves that live in the woods.
“Is the Key here somewhere?” I whisper. “Do you know how to find it?”
The raven ruffles its wings.
I groan, frustration clawing at my throat. If I could just tap into my affinity—if I could control the power somehow—this would be easier. But it’s almost as if the harder I try to grab hold of it, the less I feel the Manan around me.
Tears prick my eyes. Owen should have kept the power of the Lightbringer.
It should have never come to me. He knew of his affinity as a windwalker for only a short time, and he managed to master one of the most difficult aspects of his magic.
And here I am, barely able to manipulate a stream of water, much less speak with a bird.
Owen was the true heir of Hildegarde. The power ran through his veins before it ever ran through mine. If he were still here, he would know what to do.
I think back to my final moments with him, as he lay bleeding in my arms. Why did he have to die? Why did it have to be his blood that revealed the Sword to me?
My stomach dips.
I draw my dagger from the sheath at my hip. “Is it my blood?” I ask the raven as I drop to my knees. “Is that it?”
The raven squawks.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I press the blade to my palm, prepared to slice, when I remember—I’ve bled here before. The night Will saved me from Owen, on Reckoning Day, he brought me here. My blood spilled onto this stone floor, and nothing happened.
He already knew, even then, I think. About the Relics. About my blood. About all of it. Is that why he brought me here that night?
The dagger slips from my grasp, clattering to the stone floor. What else could it be? If not my blood, then what?
I wish, now, that Titus were able to join me—wish our plan didn’t require him to stay behind. It was Titus who taught me how to access the passageways in Castle Grim—the magic Hildegarde used to seal them.
The passageways.
I drop to my knees, pressing my hand to the stone.
“Adonoc verash melor,” I hum, my heart pounding.
Click. The stones give way, just as they had in my room at Castle Grim, revealing a passageway at the foot of the statue.
I don’t hesitate to descend the steps into darkness, but the moment my head clears the opening, the stones seal back into place without my command, trapping me beneath the ground. Still, I don’t turn back.
The Key is here. It has to be.
Liv and Sylvie fly a few feet ahead, their pink and orange glows lighting the way.
I expect the passage to cool as I make my descent, but the air turns warm, as inviting as a well-tended hearth.
It feels as if I’ll never reach the bottom until finally, the stairwell opens into a massive underground cave.
Lined with torches lit with strange green flames, the vast stone room is unlike the secret cavern at Castle Grim.
Above, the ceiling appears to glow with that same blue light I’ve come to associate with the sea, glittering like thousands of tiny sapphire stars.
To my left, a flourishing garden of purple mystiks.
I can just make out a heap of what appears to be glittering gold coins piled high among the flowers—enough coin to build a palace to rival Castle Grim, by the looks of it.
To my right, bookshelves overflow with ancient tomes, their titles embroidered with symbols I don’t recognize.
Trunks clutter the floor, overflowing with treasures of times long past: trinkets and gowns, jewels and daggers, porcelain dolls and wooden horses.
For a moment, as I draw near to a collection of painted canvases, it reminds me of the vault in Hellion.
But I know instinctively, as I inspect the illustration of a tiny thatched cottage nestled in a clearing beside a small oak sapling, who these treasures belonged to.
A low rumble to my left gives me pause. I turn slowly, my chest tight, heart pounding.
What I thought was a pile of gold coins now takes its true shape.
There, curled up like a giant dog atop the bed of mystiks, its glittering golden scales shimmering in the blue glow that emulates the stars above, is a Myth whose kind I’ve been told was completely eradicated hundreds of years ago.
The slumbering dragon stirs, and Liv and Sylvie dive into my pockets.
This is it, I think. I’ve come all this way to be eaten by a dragon. Or burned alive. I’m not sure which is worse. Either way, there’s no chance of escape. The dragon’s sapphire eyes find mine, sparkling with that familiar blue light.
The dragon gets to its feet, and my legs turn to water.
The legends spoke of a beast that guards the gates to Elysia, but there was no mention of a dragon protecting the final Relic itself.
I wet my lips as if to speak, but I can’t seem to make a sound as the dragon stalks toward me, its head low, intense gaze narrowing on me. My hand trembles, closing around the hilt of my dagger.
But I hear it, then, as clear and familiar as the voice of the water.
I’ve been expecting you, daughter of the sea, the voice says, as if speaking directly to my heart.
The dragon bends its front legs as if to kneel.
I must be dreaming. Say something, I think. And then, What do I say?
Perhaps you might start by telling me your name, the dragon’s ancient voice rumbles, soft and deep. Though I already know who you are, Aster Oberon.
My mouth parts on a gasp that, by the twinkle in the dragon’s eye, he must find amusing. How do you know who I am?
You know little of dragons, he says, as if that were answer enough. My name is Emrys.
I glance behind me, at the bookshelves and trunks. Were you a friend of Hildegarde?
I am a friend of Hildegarde, he answers simply.
Uncomfortable heat creeps up my neck. But she’s dead.
The dragon chuffs a laugh, the sound full and rich. And yet, you’ve seen her.
I think about the woman I saw below the waves—the woman made of gold dust. So that was her? That was Hildegarde?
He dips his head.
My pulse quickens. If Emrys knows Hildegarde—if he knew I was coming… Is the Key here? I dare to ask.
Emrys frowns—or at least, the way his lips pull taut reminds me of a frown. He sighs as if carrying the knowledge of six hundred years weighed heavily on his shoulders. The Key is not in this realm.
A chill snakes down my spine.
What do you mean? I ask, but I think I already know the answer. Both the Helm and the Sword required sacrifice to obtain. I planned to send the Key back with Liv and Sylvie before I left for the Burning Lands. Now I see that turning myself over to Morana is the only way to find the final Relic.
Because in order to obtain the Key, I will have to die.
I almost laugh. Could it be that this was the True King’s plan for me all along?
If I were never bitten by a Shifter when I was a child, turning myself over to Morana would mean that when I die, I would have no hope of returning to this world.
But because of the venom in my veins, I will come back. And now I’ll come back with the Key.
I’m going to the Burning Lands, I tell Emrys.
That Pegasus of yours cannot make the journey over the wall, he says, and my chest deflates.
How else am I supposed to make it across the sea in time?
I can’t be sure how long Titus has before the curse claims his life, and if he were to die before I return…
we both knew this plan was a risk. Will might be angry that I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain by refusing to bring the Relics.
But I am counting on him to cure Titus, and every second I waste trying to make my way to the Burning Lands could be a second too long.
Swiftwing cannot make the journey. Emrys flattens himself, crushing the mystiks below. But I can. He inclines his head, beckoning me.
My heart swells with hope. I hesitate, but again, that invisible force seems to tug at my chest, pulling me toward the Myth.
I reach out, placing my hand on his scales, and it’s as if the earth pulses.
The cavern quakes, bits of rubble raining down from overhead.
I climb onto the dragon’s back and grab hold of two of the dozens of spiked horns that trail down his neck.
Tears well in my eyes. If only I could tell Elsie about this—she wouldn’t believe it.
Now what? I ask.
Hold on tight.
I close my eyes, half-expecting to be crushed by the collapsing cave, but my stomach lurches, and when I look up, stone scrapes stone as if some giant, invisible hand were peeling back the earth to reveal the starlit sky above.
Emrys soars upward, surging toward the opening. A gust of cool morning air tosses my hair over my shoulders as we emerge from underground and the dragon slows, gliding over the estate below.
“Liv!” I shout. “Sylvie!”
They stick their heads out of my pocket.
“I didn’t tell my family goodbye,” I say as Sylvie presses her forehead to mine. “Please, in case things don’t go according to plan… tell them I love them, all right?”
She nods, solemn, before darting off, disappearing into the morning mist.
But Liv refuses to leave, tucking herself back into my pocket, and I can’t help but smile.
As I leave Bludgrave Manor, I look down at the open fields below. There, racing toward the orange haze of dawn as it breaks over the tops of the mountains, Caligo, Nutmeg, and Thea run free, chasing Swiftwing as she leads them farther away from the estate.
I close my eyes, holding out one arm to cut the wind with my hand, just as I saw Owen do—just like the wings of the Pegasus as it lifts into the air. And for the first time in my life, if only for a moment, I feel truly free.