Chapter Fifty
ELYSSARA
The words slam into me like a blade between the ribs, sharp and merciless. The Dravari royals. My bloodline.
“Lies,” Kael growls, but even through the tether I feel his fear bleeding through—not hot and furious, but cold, like ice threading through my veins.
Seren recoils, sinking back into her chair, a soft gasp cracking the silence. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
“I speak true, King Kael,” Elandor says smoothly, his voice soft but certain, as if truth has no need of volume.
My family hunted the witches to near extinction. The bloodline of the woman I consider my family. My own sister. My stomach churns at the truth, and I can’t lift my gaze from the table, breaths coming too sharp, too fast.
Teddy’s voice crackles through the chamber like the boom of thunder. “Why?” he demands, his tone as unforgiving as the edge of his axe.
I flinch at his question. At hearing more about the way my family eviscerated a bloodline.
Breathe, my love. Kael’s voice is a gentle command, and I suck in a long exhale under his guidance.
Elandor fidgets under our watchful eyes. Restless and shifting in his seat as if he’d prefer to be anywhere but here. “Ah yes, of course. Perhaps you may all like to enjoy some refreshments before we continue, hm?” he offers, his voice bumbling and nervous.
“Now,” Teddy demands, pushing to stand, the shadow of his tall, broad frame stretching over Elandor.
The elderly man shrinks under Teddy’s scrutiny, fumbling his quill and sliding his spectacles back into place. “I suppose now is as good a time as any,” Elandor sighs with obvious resistance, and I draw from the tether to anchor myself here—preparing myself for the truth of history.
“The witches were allied with King Thalmyr’s lineage—the Lurians,” Elandor begins. “They were believers in a crown ruled by power and magic, not bloodline and morality. So, they crumbled the monarchy and everything that stood in its way.”
The witches were allied with fucking Thalmyr?
Seren’s honey-brown eyes drift to mine, and for a heartbeat, I stare back. Wordless and raw. Confused. So fucking confused.
“No more riddles, old man. Tell us the full fucking story,” Jax snaps, and for once, I’m grateful for her candor.
Elandor sits bolt upright, unsettled and on edge under her intensity.
“Of course. The Lurians held more magic than the Dawnmeres, though far less loyalty and altruism. First, they needed to fabricate loyalty—they distilled threvenar into the water, into the blood, until truth itself bent. Second, they needed to remove all threats to their power,” he pauses, weighing his words.
He draws in a deep breath, bolstering his confidence. “They eradicated the Dravari dragons.”
Ronyn’s lop-sided grin moves into my line of vision, excited by the mention of dragons. “Dragons? You know, I actually am a dragon,” he brags, puffing out his chest and nodding his smug fucking head. “Actually, I’m a Melder. Ya know about those, Elandor? Hm?”
The deep, low rumble of Tarrakai cracks through my mind. He is not a Melder. I am a Melder. The mortal is nothing more than a necessity.
Kael stifles a smile, despite the heaviness of the room, as he watches Ronyn sashay and strut across the chamber with an air of confidence he hasn’t earned.
“Even I know it’s not the time for that, Ronyn. Sit the fuck down,” Rubi admonishes in a brusque whisper.
But Seren ignores it all. Her delicate features frozen in confusion. But I see her eyes shifting beyond the craze of her golden curls. She’s thinking.
She lifts her head, eyes pinning Elandor in place. “They used the witches to bind the dragons in their mortal form,” she breathes, putting together pieces none of us can see. “That’s how Thalmyr took the throne.”
She’s so fucking clever.
Despite the heaviness of the moment, I can’t contain the pride that bursts from my chest.
“Almost,” Elandor allows. “People say dragons vanished—but history knows better. They were bound. Not by steel, nor by man, but by witches. Clever creatures, those women—clever enough to shackle the wild itself. They offered their skills willingly in exchange for a lucrative alliance with the new king.”
“What?” The words burst from Seren’s mouth, her shock palpable. “My bloodline helped Thalmyr usurp the throne for riches?”
Holy fucking Stars. This just got a whole lot more fucked.
“Ah yes, in a way. They bound the Melders in mortal form so the Lurians could overpower the Dawnmeres with brute force and magic. It happened before he took the throne, though Thalmyr certainly reaped what his bloodline sowed. And the Dravari crown… well. To rule dragons, you had to destroy those who sought to overpower that rule—that’s why they hunted witches.
Not to mention the Dawnmeres held a modest royal guard, you see.
The dragons were infallible, after all—there was no need for extra protections.
So you take out the dragons, and the whole monarchy crumbles, as it were,” Elandor answers, his face grave, sad almost.
Ronyn leans forward, chair legs screeching against the stone floor, his grin sharp as ever.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, ticking points off on his fingers.
“The Dawnmeres hunted the witches so they couldn’t trap the dragons in human form.
The witches bound the dragons for the Lurians so they could rise up in power.
And the Lurians poisoned the water to rewrite history and took the throne. Right?”
Elandor sifts through Ronyn’s words, ensuring their accuracy.
“Ah, yes. That’s the long and short of it.”
Ronyn nods, like he’s finally getting it. “So between El, Seren, and me, we can fix the whole fucking thing?”
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the crackle of the lanterns.
Elandor blinks, scandalized by Ronyn’s simplification. Teddy shakes his head, muttering a curse, but the tension softens—if only slightly.
Seren doesn’t laugh. She sits rigid, her gaze fixed on the Codex as if it might offer another answer she’s not ready to face. Her lips part, the words barely audible. “My blood helped him.”
And no one needs to ask who she means.
Mavyrn’s smirk fades, just a flicker, but enough for me to see it. Seren turns to her sharply. “What does that make me?”
The old woman exhales through her nose, slow and deliberate.
“It makes you dangerous,” she says, her voice low.
“And powerful beyond measure. You can sharpen it into a blade of your own making, or blunt your edges until you do nothing but resent it. So don’t waste your breath wishing for anything else. ”
Seren swallows, shoulders squaring as though she’s bracing against the weight of responsibility she never asked for. “Am I… evil? An abomination?” she asks, her voice fragile and fractured.
Mavyrn lets out an aggrieved huff, as if this is a waste of her time, but behind it, I can feel the way she softens.
“The witches did not pride themselves on moral absolutism, girl. They were complicated, ambiguous. Some good. Some bad. The rest of them were scattered somewhere between. And you? What will you do with all that power?” Mavyrn asks, and somehow, it feels pure. Compassionate, despite her sharp edges.
Elandor clears his throat, eager to escape the mounting storm. “Perhaps we… ah, adjourn for the morning? The Queen has arranged a banquet in your honor. A moment’s reprieve may do more for clarity than a hundred scrolls.”
His words hang like a lifeline in the charged air.
Kael’s hand brushes mine under the table, steadying, grounding. “A banquet,” he mutters, though his eyes never leave mine. “Let’s see what truths the night brings.”
Between my sister’s bloodline and my lover’s vow, I feel the world narrowing to a single, inevitable point. The night will break us open. I can feel it.
I rise from the table on legs that feel borrowed, the Codex’s silver veins still burning in my mind.
My blood. Her blood. Dragons in chains. Witches in shadows. And now a banquet, as if a meal could soften the taste of history.