Chapter Thirty-Seven
KAEL
The rebels call this a war council, but the “table” is a splintered plank balanced on barrels, maps held flat by knives and broken blades. Still, every scarred face around it watches us with the kind of hunger only war breeds. The kind of hunger born in the shadows of oppression.
I’ve sat in gilded halls with leaders who claimed to rule nations. These people are different. Harder. More hurt. And far more dangerous. Far more desperate.
The rebels rise when I approach, fists pressed to hearts, some dropping to knees in a soldier’s salute. Not reverence, not worship, but loyalty. Hard-earned over years, hard-kept via missives.
Gellesk may wear the title of The Shield, but the room looks to me. I am the king that can help them reclaim Dravara, and tonight, I lead.
I plant both hands on the warped plank and let silence stretch until even the torch smoke seems to hesitate. “We have a war to win,” I say, and the words settle like iron in the chamber.
Gellesk nods, flashing the inverted triangle to me in respect and deference. Then, he leans forward, arms folded on the map, his bulk swallowing the torchlight. “Food we can scavenge. Weapons we steal. But the water…” His voice trails off, and the word itself seems to sour the air.
Murmurs ripple.
Gellesk shakes his head, pressing his mouth into a thin line.
“We’ve made do. Herbal distillations to cut the threvenar, rain catchments under the old tunnels.
Enough to keep the rebellion from forgetting the Dravara we fight for, but not much more.
” He pauses, unfinished. His voice drops low, resentful, bitter.
“But it’s temporary. It doesn’t hold. And it’s limited.
Finding apothecaries skilled enough to make the tonics is one thing.
But purifying enough water for all of Virellin? Impossible,” he scoffs, disgusted.
Rubi clears her throat.
“That’s because your apothecaries don’t understand the exact function of threvenar,” Rubi announces, ink-stained fingers clutching scraps of parchment as she flips through the notes, eyes brighter than the torches.
“Your makeshift brews only nullify the effects of the tainted water, ensuring it doesn’t worsen.
But threvenar roots in the blood—it binds itself to the individual.
It reshapes memory itself. You need to undo the damage that’s been done, not simply stop it from worsening.
If you want this kingdom free, you need a permanent antidote—one that purifies the water and unbinds the threvenar from their system entirely.
” Her chin lifts, steady despite the stares that bore into her from around the table.
Her face is smeared with dirt, and she reeks of brask and dried herbs, but despite her chaos, she’s also brilliant. “And I can find it.”
The glint in her burnished-bronze eyes promises answers. She’s confident.
“Rubi, are you sure?” Therion murmurs under his breath beside her.
“Teddy, I know I don’t take life seriously, but this? This I can do. If I know anything, it’s herbs and bodies,” she promises, tone unwavering.
I don’t give him time to respond. “See it done,” I command, and Rubi nods in gratitude, blowing her rogue hair out of her face to lock eyes with me.
“I need a library and supplies,” she demands.
“You’ll have the best of both shortly,” I promise, because Nymeris are masters of knowledge and alchemy.
“And what then?” Correk snaps. “Will the memories come back? Or will it wipe the slate clean entirely? Will everyone go mad with no memories to speak of?” His tone is heavy with incredulity, but I don’t blame him. Because honestly? No one knows.
“Maldrak used it on the Marked soldiers who resisted his reign, as if there was no way to come back from it,” Correk says, recalling his decade in Maldrak’s ranks.
Guilt claws my ribs—I separated brothers for a decade for my own gain. But I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times over to have Correk in Kryntar Castle when Elyssara was imprisoned.
“Rubi learned under apothecaries who handled threvenar back in The Wastes—healers who tried to mend soldiers returning from war with broken minds. If anyone can restore the past and unbind the threvenar, it’s her,” I answer definitively, shutting down further questions on it—hiding my doubt.
“And, like I said in my missive to King Kael—the memories live on,” Gellesk says, his voice promising secrets I want to know.
“What does that mean?” Elyssara bites, desperate for the answer.
“It means that memories of your bloodline and everything that came before Thalmyr are held within memory orbs, Your Highness,” Gellesk answers.
Holy fucking Stars.
The table is drowned in murmurs and gasps.
Even Therion’s shock is clear on his face.
Elyssara’s eyes narrow to slits of fiery rage in a heartbeat. “Are you saying that King fucking Thalmyr used memory orbs to steal the memories of my kingdom—my own fucking family—only to outlaw them for the rest of Dravara?”
Her fists clench on the table, her ragged breathing audible across the room. The glow of her magic—of the Stars or Duskae, or both—begins to glow faintly, making her skin translucent in the dimly lit room.
“Fuck. We need Obsidian Shards immediately,” Jarin snaps.
“Magic like that won’t go undetected for long.
Tess! Go to every merchant, collect on any favor I’m owed.
We need the shards—NOW!” His order echoes through the stone chamber, like a warning that begs to be heard.
Tess bolts out of the chamber, confident and unafraid despite her youth.
Elyssara wrangles her magic, fighting to suppress it, to shove it back down deep into her chest. I notice the way she stills—mind, body, soul. The way she commands her magic with expert control, and the sight of her powerful instruction makes me weak at the fucking knees.
Beautiful, I speak down the tether, and despite her composure, I don’t miss the way her cheeks turn pink.
“Where are the orbs?” she demands, voice even and tight.
“We have reason to believe they’re in Nymeris, Princess,” Gellesk answers.
“But we can’t confirm for sure. We’ve been diligent in keeping our suspicions guarded.
Loyalty in Virellin can be swayed by a hot meal or a couple of coins.
Few can be trusted on an empty stomach—that goes for those in the rebellion, too. ”
He’s right. And it’s hard to judge them for it.
There’s one way to guarantee compliance: strip the people of their needs and then offer them back at a price.
“We’ll find out for sure,” Therion confirms with a nod, not giving away more information about our plans than is needed. Ever the strategist.
But I still have one more question—the real reason we’re here.
“We need the Lunar Codex,” I declare, and the room stills.
Gellesk barks a sharp laugh. “Impossible,” he scoffs.
“Unacceptable,” I reply smoothly.
Gellesk exhales sharply in frustration. “I know you’re King of Zerynthia, but I'm the king of these tunnels. There’s no way you’ll get it,” he says, shaking his head.
“I want information, not opinions,” I snarl.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, dragging his hand down his face in defeat. “Do you know who has it? No one is stupid enough to face them… and their beasts,” he says, desperately trying to convince me.
“No one is violent enough to stand a chance of surviving us. Now, tell me,” I demand.
“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he throws his hands up in surrender. “You two are fuckin’ made for each other, ya know? Stubborn fools,” he admonishes, wagging an accusatory finger between Elyssara and me.
I smirk—I know.
“Details,” I demand again.
He exhales an aggrieved sigh. “The Codex is in the hands of the Blackfangs—beast-traders, shadowhound masters, and the most brutal cutthroats in The Underbelly. They’re a syndicate of ruthless, brutal, bloodthirsty assholes.
Three dozen of them. They have a den—one tunnel in and out.
Guarded all day and night,” he says, dropping his voice low like he’s scared his words are an incantation.
A darkness settles in me—familiar, welcome.
“I’m waiting for the part where I’m meant to be scared,” I taunt him.
He shakes his head again. “The Codex is locked and useless—that’s why Thalmyr doesn’t hunt it. Legends say only certain blood can open it; we tested that, and it’s false.” He pulls back, standing straight. “Sounds like you’re just really desperate to die today.”
“Yep. That sounds like us—love a death mission. Even better if it has confusing, cryptic clues to get there. We love that shit,” Ronyn quips, clapping his hands together as if he’s done here. “Can I grab a bite to eat before the brawl that will undoubtedly ensue? Bit peckish.”
Good to see he’s the same old Ronyn.
“Fucking Stars,” Jax grouses. “Do you ever think about anything other than your belly?”
Ronyn’s eyes glint, as if Jax has just made his next joke too easy. “Jaxxy, I am almost always thinking of my co—”
“Oh my Stars! Please stop!” Seren cries out, but she can’t hold in her laughter. Neither can the rest of us.
But it’s Seren who breaks off first.
“How was The Codex opened before all of this? It’s clearly been used before. How?” she asks, brows furrowed.
“No one can remember,” Gellesk answers simply.
As if Mavyrn’s energy speaks before she does, I feel her presence lean in, voice rasping and eerie, commanding the attention of the room. “Witches,” she breathes, and the word sounds like a spell itself.
But before I can ask more, the steel door bursts open. The young girl—Tess—barrels in holding a jar of Obsidian Shards, but she’s out of breath. She ran here.
“Tessie, what is it?” Gellesk demands, but his voice is gentle, tender.
“Guards are assembling at The Barrier—two were murdered. They’re coordinating a search and have set up a blockade. They’re coming,” she pants, voice panicked.
But a sense of calm floods my veins. A darkness that descends upon me at the promise of blood and violence. I catch her gaze—the feral gleam in Elyssara’s eyes is a reflection of my own hunger, her lips curved in something sharp, something deadly. She’s no meek queen. She’s a predator.
“Time to paint The Underbelly with Blackfang blood,” I declare, my voice a cruel promise, and she’s already palmed her blade.