Chapter Thirteen #2
I push to sit, still tender and sore as Stars, and lock eyes with Correk. “Why do you need me to live so badly, Correk? What’s in it for you?” I croak, voice still hoarse from the screams that have scraped my throat.
Correk thinks for a moment. Pausing, strategizing, planning—I’m not sure.
“I made a promise, Princess Elyssara Dawnmere of Dravara,” he says with a heaviness I can’t name, and the use of my full royal title that I’ve never heard spoken aloud sends a ripple of gooseflesh across my skin.
“To who?” I urge.
“Someone I care about very much,” he says, and the look in his eyes is familiar somehow.
Like I’ve seen it before. Or perhaps it’s just the look of longing for someone you’ll never see again that I know so intimately.
“Maldrak can’t take Dravara, Princess,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “He just can’t.”
“I need more, Correk. I’ve just dragged myself back from the Final Gate for what? Cryptic fucking answers and more torture from his royal dog?” I spit, frustrated at his ambiguity.
“I can’t tell you anything while you’re here. Not with Maldrak able to get his hands on you, and Vessira still torturing you like this—she can get it out of you, even if you’re strong, Elyssara. And I know you are. But all must remain hidden until it’s time,” he explains with no explanation at all.
“What fucking time, Correk? You speak in riddles and half-truths that make no sense! Did I heal myself only to be broken again? Because it felt pretty fucking nice at the Final Gate and I’d prefer to go back there,” I snap, sarcasm thick on my tongue.
I can’t do it again.
I can’t see their faces.
I can’t lose my grip on reality that I cling to—precariously.
He grunts in frustration, dragging his hand back through his curly black hair, hands landing either side of his round belly.
“Then, you need to find a way through it, Princess. I’ve already told you how,” he says, the dying flame from the sconces catching his burnt umber skin and turning it golden.
My mind races, sifting through dreams, nightmares, realities and apparitions to source the words I need. And then—
Lillath chains only nullify Starborn magic, and if my intel is correct, you have more than that running through your veins.
“My magic from the gods,” I breathe in realization.
He nods.
“But I don’t even know if it’s there, Correk.
Or how to use it! Summon it! Anything!” My chest tightens, panic rising hot and fast again.
“What’s the fucking point of having this Starsforsaken magic if I can’t even use it!
” I squeeze my eyes tight, willing the world to fall away, and find myself in the warm embrace of Ronyn and Seren.
My breath whooshes in and out rapidly, and my lungs suddenly feel half the size.
Fuck.
“Love, I need you to breathe. And I need you to do what you always do, and tell me one thing you can smell, see and feel,” he soothes in a tone befitting a father.
I train my attention on my breath, willing it to slow.
“I can see this stupid fucking cot,” I wheeze, and Correk huffs a soft laugh.
“Good. Good,” he encourages.
“I can smell the poor excuse for food you’ve left me,” I snap between ragged breaths.
“Fair point,” Correk says.
“I feel… your gentle arms on my shoulders,” I say, realizing he’s been stroking my skin affectionately.
“Very good,” he approves, and my breathing begins to return to a steady rhythm.
Then, it hits me—
“Hold on.” I freeze, holding a hand up to silence him. “How the fuck do you know what I always do when I panic?” I stare at him through narrowed eyes, suspicion drenching me.
“Ah,” he scratches his head. “Well… you see…” he stammers.
He knows Revryn. He knows about me and Revryn.
“How do you know him? What have you done to him?” I accuse, standing bolt upright despite every muscle in my body protesting.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Nothin’, lass. Nothin’. Calm down—I know him, all right? We’re… old friends,” he admits, though I still don’t know entirely what that means. “And love, you’ll be happy I know him because what we just did is the key to the whole god magic issue.”
What?
“How? Explain!” I demand.
“Do it again, Princess. Still your mind, slow your breath. Please,” he pleads, “try to trust me, if only for this moment. I need you to breathe even slower. To make your mind even quieter.”
Curiosity wins out.
Revryn’s voice comes to me like a thread through the chaos. Name one thing you can smell, see, and feel, little one. My eyes fix on the fractured black stone beneath my boots. I feel the gentle breeze of a draft through the broken arch above us. I smell the tang of ash in the air.
And then—nothing.
Everything in me stills—my mind, my breath, my heartbeat. And through the silence, I listen for something else.
And I hear it.
A low, steady hum, deep in my veins. Like the sound of distant drums carried through my bones.
Correk says something, but I block it out, anchoring deeper inside myself.
The hum builds, guiding me, pulling me toward something vast and old.
A voice calls to me, an echo, warped from distance.
“Call my name,” the echo distorts in a cacophony of whispers.
And I don’t know why, or how, but a compulsion floods my instincts—it’s the gods. I must call on the gods.
My lips part, and I beg the gods. I call them by name, begging one of them to answer.
“Morrathys?” Silence.
“Nyrielle.” Nothing.
“Halun.” The hum stutters, but doesn’t answer.
I go through all ten gods, but I’m greeted by nothing but endless silence.
But the knowing drums through my bones and doesn’t let up. Someone is there. I can feel it.
My breath catches. I close my eyes, letting the hum wrap around me, through me, be me. And then I know.
“Duskae,” I breathe.
The hum grows, answering in kind. Drum beats increasing in a loud, staccato rhythm.
“Grant me your power,” I command.
And she answers.
The hum erupts into a roar, my blood igniting like a river of molten fire. It surges through my limbs, through every thread of me, and I am no longer just Elyssara—I am something infinite. Something divine.
Something that was waiting for this.
I am a daughter of Duskae.
I am the spark she left in the world.
And she has answered my call.