Chapter Fifty-Nine
KAEL
The moon rises to its peak.
Leather creaks as I fasten my bracers, the scent of oil and smoke still clinging to the room as the moonlight cuts through it.
Elyssara sleeps for now, one arm slung across the empty space where I’ve been; the silver cuff gleams faintly against her skin, still pulsing with the heartbeat of her unbound power.
I buckle the last strap across my chest, the off-balance weight of only one of my twin blades settling against my back. But I don’t miss it. Not if it means Elyssara is free to decide her own fate.
The air tastes of war again—iron, sweat, inevitability.
Behind me, a knock.
Elyssara stirs, pulling the blankets over her head with a groan.
Ronyn steps in without waiting for an answer, bright eyes dancing with mischief.
“Sounded like there wasn’t much sleeping going on in here, Your Majesties,” he teases. “Not the ideal preparation for a war where the odds are stacked enormously against us, but I suppose everyone prepares differently.” His smug face waits for one of us to take the bait.
“Fuck off, Ronyn,” Elyssara grouses from under the blankets.
“Of course, My Queen,” he mocks, pitching his voice into a low rumble.
I can’t help but smirk at his audacity, but Elyssara groans again, pulling the blankets tighter around her ears.
Teddy and Seren push through the door next, leathers fastened, armor in place, armed to the teeth in gleaming steel. Seren’s abandoned her skirts for leather trousers, her hair bound in a tight knot at the nape of her neck, a leather strap pulled taut around her forehead. She looks… like a warrior.
Elyssara. I prompt down the tether. Look.
She pulls down the covers, folding them across her chest and tucking them under her arms. Her vibrant eyes find Seren, dressed for war and unrecognizable from the girl who once hid behind her skirts. Daggers at her thighs, her small crossbow hooked across her back. Elyssara’s lips part in awe.
“Look at the woman you’ve become,” she breathes. “All the way from Revryn’s loft to… here.”
Seren’s mouth twists into a devilish grin. “I’ve never been more ready.”
Teddy stands proud beside her, looking down at her with reverence, like he’s witnessing the future she was born for—like she’s magic incarnate.
But his eyes blow wide as he takes in Elyssara’s bare arm, the golden etchings and the silver cuff that wraps around them. “Your mother’s cuff,” he murmurs.
The room stills.
Ronyn curses quietly under his breath.
The door groans open again, and Rubi and Mavyrn stalk through like they’re ready for violence.
For once, Rubi’s hair is out of her face, braided tightly, the white-blond tips fastened in a leather strap.
Sickle blades and potions hang from the belt at her waist, and I see the strong warrior beneath the wild woman.
Mavyrn looks the same—ready for battle, face carved into a scowl, menacing and focused.
But as always, she’s ready to further agendas.
Whose? I have no idea. I just hope it aligns with ours.
Jax pads in behind them—silent, sharp-eyed, lethal in a way that needs no armor, her presence cold enough to steal heat from the air. Her midnight hair is braided back from her face, with chakrams at her belt, and a score to settle.
“Where did you get it?” Teddy presses, voice like cold steel.
But I ignore his question and give him the answer he really wants. “It’s the fifth relic.”
The air shifts into something loaded. Charged.
Mavyrn’s eyes spring to Seren, and Seren’s mouth quirks up into a proud smirk. “Yes, I opened a Gateway!” she says in a pitch that sounds more like a squeak.
Jax’s brows lift, something sharp and knowing in her expression. “I’m not really into the whole scholarly thing you’ve got going on, Seren, but manipulating raw magic? That’s badass.”
Did fucking Jax just compliment Seren?
Mavyrn nods wryly—the look of a woman whose plans are coming together.
“Of course you did,” Teddy murmurs low, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
But it's Rubi who cleaves through the moment, eyes trailing Elyssara’s Lightborne marking that blooms across her chest, her shoulders, her arms. “You’ve unbound your power!” her voice hits urgent and eager.
“Finally,” Elyssara breathes in relief, slumping into the soft pillows of the bed. “And I think… somehow we’ve strengthened the tether, too.”
All eyes snap to me.
“My skin markings… grew,” I answer the question they didn’t ask. I hold up the backs of my hands, where onyx markings stretch towards my bloodied and bruised knuckles.
Seren steps forward, honey-brown eyes penetrating and clear. “This has to have something to do with how we’ll take down The Decay,” she looks away, thinking, calculating. “If the tether strengthens when El’s power grows, it can only mean that your magic is complementary… stronger together.”
“Only Kael doesn’t have magic,” Rubi points out.
“We need to find a way to change that,” Seren ponders. “The prophecy says: The Lightborne and Sky must tread as one. Their union unlocks what must be undone. The Decay is what must be undone, right?”
Everyone stares, waiting for her to continue. Because somehow, this feels like the answer.
“Keep going,” I urge her.
She recites another verse. “When relics awaken and powers combine, the chains will fall, and the Stars shall align. Your powers need to combine. Shadow and light. King and Queen. The weapon and the heart. You’re counterparts.” She seems so certain. So clear.
“You’re brilliant,” Teddy whispers to her, his palm pressing into her lower back, and her cheeks flare red under his attention.
“What do you think ‘the Stars shall align’ actually means?” Elyssara asks through a cascade of auburn waves that still frame her face.
“Why are prophecies so fucking cryptic? Why not just say: combine your powers, and everything will be fine? Or: Maldrak is a fucking maniac, kill him?” Ronyn chimes in, and Rubi snorts in response.
But Seren doesn’t notice. “I’ve always interpreted it to mean that the fates will align.
That the realms will be righted if we can awaken the relics and combine your powers.
I think your Starbound tether and your powers are central to ensuring we actually balance the world, rather than shatter the frame, as the prophecy suggests. ”
And gods, Teddy’s right—she’s fucking brilliant.
Her words hit something deep. I feel Elyssara’s heartbeat inside my own, the tether alive between us. She isn’t just light. She’s the mirror of my shadow. The reason my war has a home to return to.
“Right, so to confirm: we need Maldrak to reverse the rune, then Kael has to kill him—kin slaying and whatnot, Morrathys has to give his magic freely, and Maldrak’s Arcanist has to bind it all together, assuming the Arcanist is the ‘someone of the old blood?’” Ronyn asks, incredulous, but he doesn’t stop.
“But then on top of that, we have to get Kael’s magic back?
” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s having a hard time keeping all his facts straight.
“That’s about it, yeah,” Teddy answers drily.
“Well, I guess it's lucky that not having a clue what we’re doing is our thing,” Ronyn quips, his lop-sided smile hanging heavy on his lips.
I know I’m about to make matters worse, but I do it, anyway. We all need to go into this with our eyes wide open. “Not quite,” I say, and the room stills.
“I could really go some brask right now,” Rubi mutters under her breath.
“I can’t kill Maldrak,” I announce, and the air turns sour.
“I sealed a bargain with Morrathys to secure his help in freeing Elyssara and undo the binding spell. In exchange, I gave him my magic… and the right to kill Maldrak. The bargain forbids me from killing him, or I forfeit my life—and Elyssara’s.
” I pause, knowing that what I’m about to say will hit hard. “And Nalya’s.”
Teddy’s brow hardens into something terrifying.
I expect Elyssara to protest—to want the kill for herself. But I see the understanding in her eyes. She just nods, and I feel her compassion and hunger for retribution ripple down the tether.
Rubi’s mouth drops open in shock, maybe even hurt.
“During the binding, Maldrak’s Arcanist added a clause tying Nalya’s life to mine. An assurance—so long as she remained alive in his dungeons, I’d obey. It was his leash, his guarantee I’d never turn on him,” I explain.
Rubi’s face shifts into a look of understanding.
Teddy doesn’t say anything, because I know he understands why I didn’t say anything. Why no one could know my ultimate weakness. And now, I have two.
Ronyn steps forward, eyes wide and disturbed, pushing aside the heavy moment. “Brother… where in the fucking Stars is the other one of your god metal blades?” His face slackens at the sight of my missing blade. Sick.
But my eyes fall on Elyssara and the cuff she wears at her upper arm.
She sucks in a sharp breath, tracing idly across the Sky etchings on her cuff.
“You traded it,” she realizes, eyes glassy and pained. “The man wanted your blade,” she murmurs, remembering the trade at Duskridge Hollow.
“A small price to pay for your freedom,” I declare, and I mean it. There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for her to be free. To live.
I plan on getting the only other zarethite blade back from Maldrak, anyway.
I move to her, sitting on the bed, resting my hand on her hip.
Her eyes linger on my split and bruised knuckles, her voice dropping into something low and reverent.
“You don’t have to keep repenting, Kael.
You owe me no debt—so stop paying them with scars.
You’ve sacrificed your magic, your god metal blade.
You’ve killed for me,” her fingers whisper over my knuckles in worship.
“Killing is the least of things I’d do to see you safe and free,” I promise, pressing my forehead to hers.
“I forgive you,” she whispers solemnly, as if the words have finally broken free from their chains. Like she knows I need to hear it. Because I’ve agonized over the difference between love and forgiveness. Does one guarantee the other? Can one exist without the other?
“Thank you,” I rasp, throat tight.
“Ugh. I liked you two better when you hated each other,” Rubi groans, but her smile belies her. “So much more entertaining.”
She unhooks her sickle blade. “Can we go yet?”
But I shake my head.
“You’re not coming to Thornewood, Rubes.”
Her eyes narrow. “Like hell I’m not.”
“You’re the only one who understands the threvenar formula. If we fail, you’ll be the last line of defense. We need someone alive who can finish what we started. We need to remember Dravara.”
She looks ready to argue again, but the truth of it lands. “Fine,” she mutters, stabbing her blade in my direction. “But if you die, I’m getting El to heal you just so I can kill you again.”
“Noted,” I say, and her grin is pure venom.
But the levity doesn’t last—
The door opens again, and the temperature in the room shifts.
Lesara stands in the doorway, pale and composed, her chestnut hair braided like a crown. Her gaze moves over Elyssara, over the cuff, and then lands on me.
The tether between Elyssara and me tightens—wariness, grief, something unspoken threading through it.
“We need to talk.”