Chapter Forty-Eight
KAEL
The Gateway spits us out onto polished stone, and I stagger, boots striking a broad avenue lined with wrought-iron lampposts and cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of use.
Lanterns flicker in golden glass cages, casting halos over doorways.
The air smells of ink and candle wax, river mist threading cool against the heat of the magic still clinging to my skin.
Elyssara steadies herself beside me, and I force my eyes off her to take in where we’ve landed.
Above, spires pierce the sky like quills, slender and deliberate.
Between them stretch arched bridges, veined with ivy, carrying robed scholars who move with scrolls tucked beneath their arms, their voices murmuring in the hush of debate.
No clang of steel, no barked orders. Just thought. Just learning.
A canal runs parallel to the street, its surface catching the lantern light like a spill of molten bronze.
A small barge glides past, piled not with cargo or weapons, but with books bound in leather and cloth, carefully covered in oilskin to guard against the mist. The boatman nods to scholars as he passes, unhurried, reverent—a stark contrast to the secret dealings and blood oaths of The Underbelly.
Here, power doesn’t shout. It whispers from shelves stacked high as towers, from minds sharpened over centuries.
Elyssara’s eyes are wide, reflecting the lanterns, the canals, the ivy-laced bridges. And though my hand hovers near the hilt of the dagger at my belt out of habit, part of me knows—here, steel means nothing but invasion. For us, words will be the sharper weapon.
“Move,” I grunt to the others as they fan around me. Gone are the drink-addled civilians—in their place are razor-sharp soldiers. They nod curtly, hands hovering at hilts.
Robed scholars pause mid-step, eyes wide as they take in our armor, our blades, the scars that mark us as anything but peaceful.
Then, like startled birds, they scatter.
Doors slam in time with the thud of our boots.
Shutters close. A woman drags a boy inside by the collar of his robe, his satchel spilling parchment across the stones.
Here, weapons are not tools of defense. They are threat incarnate.
And we wear them openly. Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that betrayal can come from anywhere.
I keep my shoulders square, gaze fixed on the horizon where the city narrows into a grand boulevard.
At its end, Queen Ilyra’s castle rises—not a fortress of war, but a cathedral of thought.
Pale stone towers climb with deliberate grace, each crowned with arched windows of glass that catch the fading light and scatter it like prisms.
Dawn is almost upon us—the dark sky submitting to the pale pinks and oranges that climb above the castle.
Elyssara walks at my side, her hand brushing the hilt of her blade, but even she looks softened by the sight of a dawn sky, a kingdom built on peace. The tether between us hums as though the city itself plays it like an instrument.
“It’s breathtaking,” Seren whispers from behind me, mouth parted in awe.
“Yeah if you prefer to write strongly worded missives instead of settling things with steel,” Jax scoffs, as if forgetting entirely who she’s speaking to.
Seren sucks in a sharp breath, calming her nerve. “Weapons are what happens when words fail, which makes knowledge and intelligence arguably more important in the context of war,” Seren snaps with a trace of righteousness that I can’t help but appreciate.
“Perhaps,” Jax allows, “but far less enjoyable.” She unsheathes a blade, fogging her breath on its gleaming silver, and wiping it on her leather trousers, making it glint.
“Yes, those with small minds could never appreciate or enjoy the power of intellect,” Seren counters sarcastically before strutting away to the nearest bookstore, peering through the window with a triumphant smile.
Before Jax can argue, Ronyn strides up beside me. “Can we factor in a trip to a Nymerian tavern by any chance?” he asks genuinely.
“No,” Teddy snaps before I have the chance. “We can’t risk losing an entire day to Rubi’s shit.”
Ronyn scoffs petulantly, but Rubi’s face beams with devilish victory.
“Lighten up, Teddy. Truly, I don’t know what you’re so sore about—you and Seri had a sweet little moment, you solidified a nickname, and you were one with the fiddle. What’s not to love?” Rubi says with mock sincerity.
“Enough,” I interject. “We’re here for reasons that change the fate of the known realms. Fucking act like it,” I snap the words with brusque authority.
But Elyssara’s gaze lingers on me—her eyes picking up the way I clench my fist in anticipation of all that’s ahead, the way my molars grind together in tension.
Before she can speak, I open myself to the tether. I’m okay, I soothe. It’s just… whatever we learn here will be the ruin or redemption of both our people.
She closes her eyes for a heartbeat, exhaling deeply. I have come too far, sacrificed too much, lost too many, for ruin to be an option. Whatever we learn—our fate is not sealed. We’ll write our own.
My body hums in resonance with her words. Because she’s right—fate will bow at my feet before I let it determine how this ends.
She looks at me, emerald-green eyes boring into me like a fucking brand. She holds my gaze, intense and reverent, and her throaty words whisper down the tether. From now…
And my breath rips from my lungs. Until the Stars claim me, I finish.
My heart beats fast and strong behind my ribs, because despite the way I crave her, worship her, love her, I didn’t know if she’d let me close like this again. Didn’t know if she’d ever say those words again.
This woman—she owns me.
And her words lift a weight from my shoulders I forgot I’ve been carrying.
She gives me a small nod, and turns back towards the castle, eyes trained on the next battleground, Elarion Castle, but this time, it’s a battle of wits.
As we press closer to the castle, the street splinters into narrower walkways.
Most are the same weathered cobblestones, but those leading to the libraries and academies shimmer pale under the lanterns, paved in riverstone, polished until it gleams like crystal.
Each one feels like a thread spun toward knowledge, marked apart from the common street.
Ivy drapes through their archways, flowering vines spilling blossoms across lintels carved with runes and constellations, as if the very paths have been blessed.
Even here, the city insists—learning is sacred, and to tread its halls is a privilege.
The street bends. Rising cliffs open before us as the cobbled streets fall away, and well-worn paths of rocky terrain emerge.
Every step is like climbing a steep tiered staircase toward Elarion Castle—a humble, yet magnificent kingdom hewn straight from the mountain itself.
Arched bridges sweep from crag to crag, cradling whole wings of the castle in their embrace, while pale columns climb into the sky.
Trees root themselves in the terraces, their branches spilling green and gold over carved balustrades, as though nature herself has claimed a share in its making.
And it reminds me of the kind of greatness Thornewood could hold. Perhaps I’ll consecrate a new capital when I take back my throne.
It looks impossibly suspended, perched in the throat of the cliffs, the morning sun catching its windows until the entire structure blazes like a beacon. Hawks circle the towers, their wings catching the light, their cries carried down to us on the river-wind. For a moment, I’m awed.
But awe is a dangerous indulgence. My soldier’s mind measures the fragility of bridges that could collapse under siege, the vulnerability of towers perched so high. Beautiful, yes—but beauty crumbles quickest when fire comes.
The pale limestone of Elarion Castle wouldn’t last a moment in a battle. God metal weapons would tear through the brittle stone like a blade through skin. No, Nymeris is not built for war, it’s built for learning.
The rocky paths stretch higher, dragging us upward in an arc that mirrors the sun’s ascent.
“I’m a fucking healer, Mavyrn. Not a godsdamned horse. Could you have opened the Gateway at the top of the climb?” Rubi complains, doubled over with her hands on her knees.
The old Arcanist ignores her, the scowl on her face the only sign she’s heard her.
“I’m starting to wonder if you do actually heal people, or just treat the people you’ve caused harm to,” Teddy teases lightly, brushing past her, his mood having shifted dramatically since the tavern.
“Rubi is just skilled on both sides of the equation—how to harm, how to heal. Masters must understand all elements of their craft, must they not?” Ronyn quips, devilish grin on show.
I swear to the gods that man could spin a story about anything.
The others laugh, but Elyssara doesn’t notice—too immersed in her own thoughts to notice.
What is it, my love? I probe down the tether.
She startles at the sound of my voice in her mind, and she softens her jaw, drops her shoulders. I just… can’t believe I had no idea the rest of the realms existed. I feel… angry. So fucking angry that no one told me—my parents, Gellesk, Revryn. They didn’t prepare me. Fed me to the wolves.
Her heartbreak is unmistakable, heavy and sharp in her chest—I can feel it in my own through the thread that connects us.
Darling, wolves are no match for you. Perhaps they knew you were the one all the wolves would bow to. I throw it down the tether like a raft.
But the moment is interrupted by the clatter of steel against rock.
“Who goes there?” A surly voice bellows, shielded from sight by overhanging trees, and the curve of the well-worn path.
The rasp of my zarethite swords cuts through the morning calm, birdsong stilling at the warning of violence.