CHAPTER NINE
Icould not sleep.
Each time I closed my eyes, the phantom heat of Talon’s tattooed palms seared into mine. I would jerk awake with my fingers curled into the sheets, convinced for one disorienting heartbeat that he was still standing beside my bed.
So I had abandoned the pretense of rest.
Before me lay a stack of vellum so old the edges cracked like brittle skin when touched.
If there was a loophole, it would be here.
I needed a forgotten clause, a mistranslation, or a precedent buried so deep that the High Court had simply stopped looking for it. Anything that would explain him away.
My eyes ached, the text blurring into indecipherable black scratches, but I kept turning the pages. I was looking for the word Sayel, but I was also looking for its funeral.
I wanted the text to tell me it was dead. I wanted the ink to confirm that what I felt was a hallucination, a trick of the Veythar mind, and not a bridge to a man I was supposed to fear.
The candle flickered, casting a long, dancing shadow against the wall that looked far too much like a man in a hood. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, before I realized it was just the light playing tricks on my exhausted mind.
I forced myself back to the page, my thumb tracing the faded gold stream sketched at the bottom of the page.
“The Lake of Veilith,” I breathed, the words blowing off a layer of dust.
I leaned closer, the candle flame dancing in my eyes. The text spoke of a subterranean lake hidden within the limestone veins beneath Isvale—a body of water untouched by daylight, untouched by decree.
It did not reflect faces as ordinary mirrors did. It reflected essence. It showed not what you wished to see, and not what law required, but the face of the one whose thread was spun from the same spool of light.
My stomach tightened.
It was the ultimate arbiter of fate.
A door hinge groaned in the silence, startling me. I closed the book with a soft thud and straightened as I felt the cold air shift with someone’s approach.
Keeper Sora stood at the edge of the candlelight, wrapped in a heavy shawl of charcoal wool. In the half-dark, the deep lines of her face cast long shadows that made her look as ancient as the stone walls.
“The sun has yet to even consider the horizon, Kaelia,” she rasped. “Why are you awake?”
“I could not sleep.”
Her eyes flickered to the closed book, but she did not move to take it away. Instead, she stepped closer, the scent of lavender and old paper following her.
“It is early, child,” she said. “The body requires strength for the trials ahead. You must rest.”
“I understand.” I pursed my lips, offering a halfhearted nod. “I suppose… I am worried about the future. Of the possibility of never finding an Elarthai.”
Sora’s expression softened.
“We have time, dear,” she murmured, stepping into the circle of light. “Do not unravel your soul before necessity demands it.”
I nodded begrudgingly.
Her warm hand landed on my cheek, guiding my eyes up to hers. “You best get some rest, now. The trials begin at the sun’s rising. Let us hope for answers, yes?”
“Yes, Keeper,” I whispered.
* * *
The forest beyond the Isvale cliffs was a tangle of silver-barked trees and shadows that did not move with the wind. I walked quickly, the hem of my white ceremonial robes catching on brambles as I pushed deeper into the thicket.
I had run from the Isvale cavern before the Priestess hosting the Moonlit Trials could even call the next name.
No crystal designed by the hands of the High Court would ever tell me the truth of my soul.
There was only one thing I trusted to give me the truth, and the path there was not marked on any map.
The Lake of Veilith was said to be hidden through the dense woods behind the Archives, at the bottom of a steep, treacherous decline.
If the stolen sketches in my satchel were accurate, a large canopy would mark the left of the cliff, hiding a set of rocky stairs buried beneath layers of rot and debris.
It would be a struggle to reach, but I had foraged the highest peaks of the mountain; I was certain I could conquer a few forgotten stones.
The normal rustle of dry leaves suddenly became louder, syncopated by a wet slither.
I froze, my foot caught midair, and turned my head slowly.
A thick, pale vine was winding its way around a cedar trunk, moving with an intelligence that no plant should possess.
I made no further movements—my very breathing ceased—as the head of the plant turned toward me.
From the corner of my eye, I could see a milky sheen coating a wet, bulbous eye with no iris. It moved quickly, darting between the terrain, and surveying the area.
What on earth was this thing?
My lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen, and a small, involuntary cough escaped me.
The vine snapped toward the sound instantly, its fleshy length rippling as the milky eye dilated.
My eyes widened.
I was not sure if I should run or attempt to become one with the trees.
Its head tilted, the eye pulsing one last time before it turned away, slithering back into the brush.
Sucking in a deep breath, my shoulders sagged and my foot dropped to the ground, leaves crunching unnecessarily loud beneath my boots.
Before I could even exhale, another vine dropped from the tree above. It dangled like a pale, fleshy noose, its sheeny eye right in line with mine. A scream tore from me before I could stop it, my feet scrambling backward before my brain could catch up.
I tripped on a stray branch, my body flying backward toward the jagged roots. But before I could hit the ground, a powerful arm wrapped around my chest, lifting me off my feet and hauling me into the dark.
I was dragged into the lightless hollow of an ancient oak, my back colliding with a broad, solid chest.
Before I could shout, a leather-clad hand wrapped around my mouth, stifling my protest.
I fought against him, my heels digging into the dirt as I kicked back, but I met only empty air as he sidestepped my attack.
He pulled me tighter against him, pinning my flailing arms to my sides.
“It is me, little flame,” Talon whispered. “You need to be quiet.”
I froze, the scent of ozone and smoke enveloping me.
I sagged against him, my neck craning to peek through the gaps of the oak roots. I watched the pale vine sway in the clearing, its eye darting back and forth, as if searching for the source of the scream.
“They are watching,” he murmured, his breath fanning across my temple.
“Who?” I breathed against his palm, my lips brushing the cool leather of his glove.
“The High Court.”
Talon dropped his hand as the vine finally retreated into the upper branches, its form melting into the silver bark.
“What?” I hissed, turning in his arms. The space was so narrow that my chest pressed extremely close to his. “How could they know I was coming?”
Talon remained silent, his expression unreadable.
“No,” I said, shaking my head as the realization hit me. “She would not jeopardize my safety like that.”
Talon sighed, his hands tightening in the fabric of my robe. “Then how else would they have known, little flame?”
“I do not know,” I admitted, my hands coming up to rest against his chest. It was firm, the muscle beneath it reminding me exactly how much strength he possessed. “But it was not Keeper Sora. She cares for me.”
Talon nodded hesitantly, though his jaw remained tight. “Okay. But you must be wary of what information you share with her from now on.”
My eyes searched his, watching the worry and a flicker of something like anger fighting for dominance in the ocean depths of his gaze.
“Okay,” I whispered.
My eyes moved down to his cloak-covered arms, my stomach tightening in a sudden, traitorous appreciation of his physique.
He was broad, lethal, and truly too handsome for a monster.
I cleared my throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat between us, and wriggled from his embrace.
Talon’s arms dropped and he took a single step back.
“How did you know I was coming here?” I asked, trying to regain my composure.
He raised a dark brow, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
“Right,” I sighed. “You were watching me in the Archives?”
He smiled with a small nod, looking entirely too proud of himself.
“There is no reason to be proud of stalking women,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I do not stalk women,” he countered. “I stalk you.”
My eyes wanted to roll, but a small, fuzzy part of me hummed at the thought that I had his absolute, undivided attention—no matter how wrong or dangerous it was.
“Right,” I stammered, straightening my back and smoothing my robes. “Well, I best head off to the lake.”
Before I could spin on my heel, Talon’s hand whipped out and gripped my neck. I gasped, my eyes widening as they met his.
“No,” he warned. “They are still watching. If you go now, you will lead them straight to the water.”
My eyes narrowed, my hands coming up to rest on his wrists. It was not to push him away, because his grip was not tight enough to hurt, but to know I had the option if I needed to.
“Then how will I get my answer?”
Talon’s eyes darted behind me, scanning the terrain. “At night.”
I scoffed. “Do the plants sleep?”
“Yes.”
I squinted, scanning his face for any sign of a joke, but he remained agonizingly serious.
“Okay,” I agreed. “I will head back to the Archives and wait.”
Talon’s face and his grip simultaneously tightened for one final heartbeat before he released me. He stepped away, and I felt the sudden, cold draft of his absence as I leaned back against the bark.
“Stay safe, Solea.”
I peered at him through my lashes, a small smile tugging at my lips. “How can I not? You are always watching me.”
Talon smirked, his form already beginning to bleed into the surrounding shadows. “Always.”