Chapter Thirty-Four
ELYSSARA
Mavyrn’s hands move in intoxicating patterns, her fingers pulsing in hypnotic, rhythmic waves as she weaves and shapes a Gateway of Threads. The crackle of magic hums in the air like the static charge of lightning.
“Pass me the trinket,” Mavyrn commands gruffly, and Seren slides the silver ring off her finger, and passes it to the Arcanist. “It’s definitely from the Underbelly?”
Seren looks to me to confirm. “Definitely,” I say, “it’s one of the only decent things Gellesk ever sold to me.” Fucking Gellesk and his rundown side show. I hate to admit it—and I certainly won’t do so out loud—but I almost miss the big oaf.
Mavyrn snatches the ring impatiently, drawing energy from it to imbue the Gateway with its location.
The golden hue of the Gateway ripples across the night sky, and for a moment, I breathe in its beauty.
The way magic clashes with the purity of the forest. The way the earth and the ethereal meet in such a simple, mundane way.
It’s striking in the same way love is; profound and yet so utterly ordinary.
The others approach, the reek of ale and brask accompanying them.
“Dae, Merrik—I need you to stay,” Kael orders matter-of-factly.
They’re taken aback, and Daelen moves to protest, but Kael raises his hand in silence.
“We have no idea when Caeloria or Dravara will strike, or what retaliation Maldrak has planned. I need you here to lead our small army, keep our people safe.”
The men recognize the tone in Kael’s voice—authoritative, final. They acquiesce immediately, nodding and accepting their orders like the soldiers they’re trained to be.
Kael moves in front of Merrik, eyes clear and intent. “Until I stand here again, you are Regent. My command falls to you—see that Zerynthia does not.” He holds his forearm out, and Merrik clasps it in a warrior’s embrace, and the air thickens with gravitas and meaning.
Kael moves to Daelen, expression loaded. “You are Merrik’s second. Should Merrik fall, command passes to you. Zerynthia needs you,” he nods, and offers a forearm to Daelen, who grabs it with pride.
They know what this means; Kael isn’t keeping them out—he’s trusting them with his people. This is an honor.
Kael turns to the rest of us now, his stance lethal, focused. “Our mission: retrieve the Lunar Codex, activate the rebellion, get to Nymeris. In that order. No deviations. No room for error.”
We nod in unison—a unit.
“You have the compass?” Kael asks me, and I tap my satchel in answer, where the compass is wrapped in cloth and buried deep. My mother’s satchel. Each time I wear it, it feels like a rebellion against the memories that fade. A refusal to let her memory lapse into nothingness.
I know we’ll need the compass in The Underbelly. I’ve seen the ancient text once, but the details are murky. I’ve heard murmurs of it through the tunnels, too. I know it’s there—its presence shrouded in too much secrecy for it to be but a rumor.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s what I hope to be true.
“We need Obsidian Shards,” Therion declares, his voice tight, strategic.
“I know where to get them,” I confirm without hesitation.
Being a Black Market thief is finally paying off.
“The group of you will set off Thalmyr’s war horns in a heartbeat if you don’t source them almost instantly,” Mavyrn barks.
“We know how to get the Shards and stop magical detection, you old bat. We’ve done it before,” Therion snaps, intolerable of Mavyrn’s gruffness, but I can’t help but smile—they’re more alike than they realize.
She scoffs, waving her hand dismissively and turning her back on him in response.
Kael suppresses a smirk. You know where to get them? He asks down the tether.
Not the exact place. But I know who to ask. I reply with a hint of amusement. Nothing brings me more joy than busting Gellesk’s balls.
Ronyn steps forward, pointing at his own chest. “Are you gonna stay in there, or are we charring the entire Kingdom of Virellin today?” He looks up at the rest of us, “It would actually be a really quick and simple way of solving our problems, no?”
I shake my head, laughing at his incessant absurdity.
“This Gateway won’t hold all night. Time to move,” Mavyrn grunts.
And, in typical Ronyn fashion, he walks backwards towards the Gateway, arms stretched wide with that roguish grin he dons so well, and casts a wink at Jax before free falling through the woven threads of pure magic.
Reckless and flustered, Jax smooths down her already-smooth onyx hair, steadies her composure, and leaps through the split in the night air, following my best friend.
Therion reaches for Seren’s hand, pulling her through the portal with a gentle kiss to her forehead. They walk through together. Unified.
Rubi takes a swig of her flask, a drag of whatever she’s smoking tonight, and stumbles through the Gateway to Virellin.
Kael grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back to look at him. “Daughter of the Unknown,” he whispers, and his lips brush mine, pressing gently, before he breaks the kiss, turns and launches through the Threads.
Correk drops into a low bow. Not mocking or insincere. No, this is genuine. Regal. “Time to save the world, Princess,” he says, and steps into the unknown.
I nod to Daelen and Merrik, steeling myself as I prepare to travel by godsdamned Gateway again, the nausea already rising in preparation.
I approach the crackling Threads, feeling the hum of their power, the weight of the moment.
“This is only the beginning,” Mavyrn whispers, but I barely register the words before she shoves me squarely in the back, and I fall into the yawning maw of the Gateway.
The Threads sing, the compass burns against my side, the Starforged Blade hums in resonance, and I fall through the crack in the night sky.
Toward rebellion.
Toward destiny.
Toward the vengeance I’m finally ready to exact.