Chapter Fifty-Three
ELYSSARA
The halls of Elarion Castle breathe like they remember me. Or perhaps, they call to me.
Each step echoes through high ceilings and history, the sound of my boots a war cry to the future. Because when I finally know the truth, I will wield it as a weapon to remake the realms and carve a new history into their ruins. A better history.
Dust swirls in shafts of morning light, dancing like ash and Starlight—relics of every secret the kingdom ever unburied.
Kael walks behind me in silence, his presence steady but distant—the kind of distance born of restraint, not disinterest. I can feel the weight of what he’s not saying, the parts of his secret he doesn’t understand yet.
The air grows colder as we ascend. Away from the fires, and up to the crisp mountain air that cuts through the library’s arched windows left slightly ajar. Lantern light flickers over endless shelves—ancient tomes, sealed scrolls, codices written in languages older than kingdoms.
“There you are!” Elandor’s hushed voice pierces through my thoughts. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show.”
My gaze drifts to the horizon, the sun only just beginning her rise. “The dawn is barely upon us. Aren’t we early, if not right on time?” I ask quizzically, as the older gentleman rushes towards us in a flap of robes and scrolls.
“Oh, you know people—words are but a means to get what they want. Books on the other hand…” he trails off, his eyes darting around in thought. “Well, let’s just say I trust books more than people. Pages never lie; they only reveal what you’re clever enough to read between the lines.”
He spins on his heel in a fluster, but I call out from behind him. “They sound an awful lot like people to me. In any case, one must become skilled at reading between the lines. Right?”
Elandor stops, holding a single finger up as if I’ve just said something profound. “Indeed. Reading is one skill with many applications, wouldn’t you say?” he asks, his face tilting in pointed curiosity.
I bite my lip between my teeth, desperate not to laugh at the peculiar fellow, but Kael snorts softly behind me and I can’t keep it in. I stifle it the best I can and settle on the only two words I can get out: “Yes, sir.”
But Elandor’s already spun around again, heading straight for his chamber, patting the top of his head to find the spectacles that dangle from the pocket of his robes.
I pass through the doorway, and Elandor heaves the heavy oak door closed behind us and bolts it. The rasping creak of the lock unnerves me, taking me back to the creaking cells of Kryntar Castle.
You’re safe. Kael’s words ripple down the tether in support, his eyes observant.
I suck in a grounding inhale, and allow my eyes to adjust to the dark chamber lit only by soft candlelight.
The air inside the chamber feels different somehow. Heavier. Loaded. Pregnant with secrets and revelations that Lady Sylvaine believes will change the fates. One in particular for me.
Teddy, Seren, Jax, Ronyn, Rubi and godsdamned Mavyrn stare back at me. Their faces still and apprehensive. They feel it, too.
And there, at the heart of the chamber, rests the book Thalmyr needs out of our hands: the Lunar Codex.
I don’t touch it yet. I just stand there, watching it flare in rhythmic pulses.
Whatever lives within this Codex has the potential to shift the tide of war.
We fucking need it to.
“Well, it’s about time you two showed up. I can’t eat the dawn meal until we’re done here, so let’s get a move on,” Ronyn quips, winking at me with a grin that’s all cheek and bait.
“Such altruism, Ronie. Your belly is obviously the most important thing here,” I retort.
“Oi! I ate fuckin’ scraps for years, so you’ll forgive a man for wanting to indulge in pastries before going to war in a decaying kingdom,” he bites back, and I have to admit, he has a point. “I gave up other indulgences last night, if you’ll remember,” he murmurs, though his glare is pointed.
“If I’m choosing between pastries and world-altering secrets,” Rubi drawls, “I’m choosing pastries.”
Ronyn nods victoriously, his smug grin spreading across the width of his face.
“The Codex!” Elandor announces, cutting off the conversation, his wiry gray hair poking up at odd angles giving him an unhinged image.
But the room stills in a heartbeat.
Not a whisper of parchment. Not a breath. Only the occasional crackle of a candle guttering.
Kael’s hand brushes mine from the seat beside me—grounding, unspoken support, and unsettling all at once.
Elandor’s voice takes on an ethereal quality.
Wistful and distant. “The Codex was created by the original witches. A sacred tome with spells, bindings, and rituals that were considered sacred—reserved only for the elder witches,” he begins, whispering the words like a secret he’s not even sure he wants to share.
“Let me guess,” Ronyn chimes in, “some bastard got hold of it?” He kicks his feet up on the table, crossing his ankles like he fucking owns the place.
Surprisingly, Elandor barely notices. “Yes,” he agrees. “Thalmyr’s lineage came into its possession. They could never open it, but they kept it, knowing that one day, they would find witches to ally with to lock the dragons in their Unmelded forms.”
Ronyn leans in at that, desperate for more about the dragons.
Seren doesn’t react at all, her face unreadable, but I know her—she’s taking it all in, filing everything away in the archives of her mind. Because if anyone can unravel this, it’s her.
But Teddy speaks, considered, precise. “That doesn’t explain how it was used by Maldrak.”
“Ahh, yes. You’re right, General,” Elandor agrees.
“We don’t know how Maldrak came into possession of the Codex.
Our Shades, our messenger networks, our allies—none of them have been able to figure it out.
Someone has taken it from Virellin to Kryntar and back again without detection—several times. ”
“Maldrak’s Arcanist,” Kael says matter-of-factly.
“Precisely,” Elandor confirms. “In Nymeris, we tend not to dwell on what we don’t know for long.
What we do know is that the Codex was used to bind Maldrak’s soldiers and Morrathys to him, and the only way to reverse it is through the exact spell that was cast.” Elandor pauses for a moment, huffing an exhale as if he’s spoken these lines a thousand times. “The spell is inside the Codex.”
Of course this is the only fucking way.
Elandor’s words hang in the air like smoke, thick and unyielding.
No one moves.
Until Seren does.
She rises from her chair without a sound, the hem of her dark skirts whispering across the stone floor.
The light catches her face in a way that makes her look older—older than the years she’s lived, older than I’ve ever seen her.
She stares at the Codex, its silver runes pulsing like a heartbeat, and without shifting her gaze, she holds out her palm to Teddy.
She doesn’t need to ask—he already knows what she wants.
He slides a small dagger from his belt and presses the hilt into her palm, unquestionably.
“It’s time to unlock my blood’s legacy, then,” Seren breathes, as she slices a shallow cut into her palm.
Blood, such a deep hue it almost appears black, beads at the cut. She clenches her fist, inviting the blood to fall down her palm in rivulets, spilling over her knuckles, and leaving a trail across the oak table.
The Codex flares silver in response, illuminating the chamber in a glow that casts shadows away.
Seren draws the tome toward her, hovering her bloody palm above it. A single drop of blood—witch’s blood—falls onto the sigil.
The tome’s silver glow intensifies, drenching the room in blinding light, but Seren doesn’t move. As if she’s calmed by the tome’s aliveness, she holds steady, palm unwavering.
Another drop of blood falls onto the tome’s center sigil.
And then—
Nothing.
The silver flare diminishes to nothing.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
Except Ronyn. “That it? Bit underwhelming, wasn’t it?” he drawls, feet still perched on the edge of the table.
But that’s when I hear it—
Click.
As if she knows exactly what she’s doing, Seren sits back in her chair, unhurried, almost peaceful. She drags the Codex toward her, presses the twin latches either side of the silver clasp, and opens the forbidden book.
She fucking opened it.
“That’s my girl,” Teddy breathes into her hair, his hands wrapped around the nape of her neck.
I fight the urge to tell him to focus, but Kael’s rough hand rests on my thigh, so I shove down the hypocrisy.
She gasps. Her elation lighting up the room brighter than the Codex’s flare.
“I did it,” she breathes. “I’m actually a witch.” She says the words as if she’s shocked—as if she still doubted her lineage.
Elandor blinks once, twice—then bursts into motion like a man possessed.
“Of course you’re a witch!” he crows, darting forward with an enthusiasm so wild it nearly topples a stack of scrolls. “Did I not tell you that? Stars above and shadows below, this—this is monumental!”
He’s already circling the table, eyes wide behind his spectacles, muttering under his breath as though afraid the air itself might forget what just happened. “This Codex hasn’t been opened in a decade—perhaps more! Good gods, child, you’ve just rewritten history!”
Seren’s smile trembles somewhere between awe and terror, her gaze flicking to Teddy, who’s watching her like she’s made of both fire and glass.
Elandor leans closer, the edges of his robe brushing against the tome. “It’s been a long time since this tome was last in the possession of the witches,” he continues, almost reverent now. “Remarkable. Simply remarkable.”
“Realm-changing, you might say,” Mavyrn interjects softly.
Her voice cuts through the haze of excitement like lightning splitting the sky. Every head turns.
She sits a little apart from the others, half in shadow, her expression unreadable. For once, her usual hardness has splintered—something raw flickers behind her eyes. Not fear, exactly. Something keener.