Chapter 1 Rhianelle
Celestria is not what I expected. The ancient stronghold was once the pride of the Elven Southern Garrison.
That was a long time ago. Decades of neglect followed by orc occupation have stripped it of anything resembling dignity.
The black stones weep moisture and moss.
Tattered cloth snaps from the battlements where banners once flew.
The main gate hangs askew on rusted hinges, revealing glimpses of the courtyard beyond. These stones have absorbed years of cruelty and violence. The very air around the fortress seems to thicken with malevolence.
Svenn is not beside me and I feel the hollow of his absence with every breath.
But I do not feel fear. I stand with my three most trusted knights before the fortress gates.
We pick our way across the courtyard, avoiding the obvious traps and invisible tripwires stretched between posts.
The orcs have turned this stronghold into a maze of death for any who would dare intrude.
Bones litter the ground we walk. Some still bear scraps of clothing that might once have belonged to travelers who wandered too close to this cursed place.
"I never thought I'd say this, but I wish the vampire were here with us," Aelfric mutters. A leather eyepatch covers the socket where his left eye once resided, a souvenir from his fight with the Bodvar Bjadki.
Garrett shifts beside me, his golden hair pulled back in a warrior's knot. "He must be going mad out there. All that power and he can't even touch the gate. The rebels played this perfectly when they got the half-dead merchant to sign the deed."
The law is absolute.
A vampire cannot enter a human dwelling uninvited.
Someone clever among the rebels has claimed human ownership of the fortress.
Svenn's frustration had been palpable. He despises being separated from me during a dangerous mission.
But not even his vampiric strength or will can overcome the mystical laws that govern his kind.
"The eastern wall shows signs of recent repair," Darstan observes, his towering frame encased in dark plate armor. The helm conceals his features completely, leaving only the glow of his eyes visible through the visor slits.
"Crude workmanship. The orcs have patched several breaches but they’ve left obvious weak points," Garrett says. "We should split."
"Bad idea." Aelfric turns to me, his good eye hard with concern. "It leaves you vulnerable."
The tracking spell pulses against my palm. Blaire lives, but the pull grows weaker by the hour.
"Blaire has been their prisoner for months," I say, dread settling in my heart. "Every moment we delay is another moment she suffers."
Aelfric's jaw tightens, but he knows I'm right.
"Then we move fast." He exchanges a look with Darstan. "We'll circle east and find whoever holds the deed. The human's probably tucked away somewhere safe, away from the fighting."
"Go, but be careful." I catch Aelfric's arm briefly. "These aren't common rebels."
I know we're walking into something larger than a simple rescue. This has the Aeonians written all over it.
Darstan gives one curt nod. Aelfric studies me longer, as if weighing the risk of leaving me at all.
"We'll handle it," he finally says. Both warriors melt into the shadows, leaving Garrett and me alone in the courtyard.
We move deeper into the fortress. The chamber beyond is a graveyard of shadows and decay. Crude torture devices lean against the walls, their metal surfaces stained dark with old blood. The stench makes my stomach turn.
"Recent kills," Garrett mutters, prodding a body with his boot. "Hours old at most."
"They're fighting among themselves." I step carefully around scattered bones. "The rebellion is fracturing."
"Good for us, bad for your friend if she's caught in the middle." Garrett steps over a body without looking down. "Cornered animals bite hardest."
I can feel the Aeonian's corruption trying to claw at my soul. "The Asterdust haze in this place is thick."
"Stay close. The dungeons will be in the lower levels," Garrett whispers, his breath misting in the cold air emanating from the keep’s interior. "If they're keeping her alive, that's where she'll be."
"Then that's where we go," I tell him. Every instinct screams at me that we're walking into a trap. The fortress is too quiet and easily penetrated.
We enter the keep proper, where the walls are carved with Orkan runes and sigils dedicated to their god of vengeance. The doors slam shut behind us the moment we cross the threshold. Darkness swallows everything.
"They know we're here," Garrett whispers.
Somewhere in the black, I hear the soft drag of claws on stone.
The attack comes from everywhere at once. Hidden passages vomit forth orc warriors, their crude weapons gleaming with poison. These aren't the civilized Orkan clans from Mavren's court. Asterdust has transformed the rebels into savage raiders, their eyes wild and feral in the dim light.
"Ambush!" Garrett growls, meeting the first orc with a parry. He twists right, driving his elbow into the warrior's throat.
I pull my short sword free, the one my husband pressed into my hands before we left.
Svenn insisted a long blade would be suicide in close quarters.
Another orc rushes toward me from my blind side.
I spin into the attack, using his own weight against him as I slash across his thigh.
He howls and crashes down, clutching at the wound.
The third rebel charges Garrett with a mace. My knight takes the blow on his bracer and drives his short blade beneath the orc's arm and into his ribs.
But they keep coming. An endless stream of slavering monsters emerging from the darkness like a tide of nightmares. Garrett ducks under a swing that would have taken his head.
"There are too many of them!" I cry as three more converge on us.
"The passage to your left! Take it!" Garrett's voice rises in defiance as the orcs surround him, their serrated blades seeking the gaps in his armor.
"I won't leave you—"
"Go!" He thrusts his spear, hurling one attacker backward into its companions. "Find the maiden and get out of here!"
Guilt claws up my throat but I choose to trust my sworn knight.
His war-cries and the sounds of battle fade behind me as I sprint deeper into the passage.
I force myself not to look back, not to count the odds, not to think about how Garrett's breathing sounds just a little too labored as he fights.
The corridor is a maze of nightmares, each turn revealing fresh horrors. I refuse to look into the cells where torture implements hang from hooks above piles of bones. My boots splash through puddles as I run blindly through twisting passages.
Fear drives me forward. Not for myself, but for Blaire.
Asterdust poisons the mind and turns civilized beings into monsters. The thought of what these drug-crazed orcs might do to their prisoners claws at me with every step.
I have to find her. I have to—
The passage ends at a door unlike the others I've passed. This one is reinforced with iron bands and etched with runes that pulse faintly in the darkness. My fingers brush the metal and the carved symbol snarls at me like a living thing. I draw my bone knife and whisper her name beneath my breath.
Saelariel, goddess of silent grace. Let the blade find its way.
The rune splits beneath my strike. Beyond the door lies a narrow tunnel that descends deeper into the dungeon. I move through the darkness, following the faint flicker of light ahead. The tunnel opens into a circular chamber lit by guttering torches. My heart stops when I see her.
Blaire.
She's tied to a wooden post, wrists bound above her head. Her golden hair hangs in matted tangles around her face. Even after weeks of captivity, she retains the ethereal beauty of the Maiden of Arawynn. Her traveling dress is torn and stained but she's breathing.
She's alive.
When she sees me, her crystalline blue eyes widen with a mixture of relief and terror.
"Rhianelle," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming or pleading or both. "You shouldn't have come. They're waiting for you. It's a trap—"
But I'm already moving, my blade flashing as it severs her bonds. She collapses against me. Her legs are too weak to support her weight. I wrap my arms around her trembling form.
"You came." Her voice is paper-thin, threaded with disbelief.
"Of course I came. It's all right. I'm here now," I murmur into her hair. "We need to go—"
But Blaire's already pulling away from me, stumbling toward the darkest corner of the cell. She crawls across the filthy floor toward something I hadn't noticed in my rush to reach her.
An orc slumps in the shadows. Multiple wounds cover his massive torso, some still seeping. He's dying.
"No, no, no," Blaire whispers, pressing her hands against the worst of his injuries. "Don't you dare leave me."
Her trembling hand touches his face, brushing aside a streak of dried blood. The way she looks at him... I've never seen Blaire look at anyone like that.
"Blaire..." I step closer, careful not to startle her.
Even through the blood and bruises that mar his features, I can see the noble bearing. The three silver earrings on his left ear and the dark script on his neck mark him as royalty.
He is Vayne Aldrath Malgoth. The third prince of Myrkheim. King Mavren's brother.
The one Blaire was secretly married to according to the book of bindings.
A soft glow flickers between her palms. Her healing grace comes in weak, faltering waves, fighting against the suppression runes carved into these walls. "The rebels can't touch me. Sacred law of the Mother protects a new bride. So they hurt him instead and made me watch."
I stare at the dying orc prince. His breathing is shallow and labored. Blood trickles from wounds that speak of prolonged torture. Blaire may not have enough strength left to save him.
But I do.