Chapter Twelve
“What do you want from me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “What could I possibly do for you?”
Though I suspected Kael had been looking for me, hearing him confirm it sends a sharp pang through my chest. His help in The Tannery wasn’t selfless.
He needs me alive—for now. And if he’s anything like the men I’ve dealt with in the slums, he plans to use me for his own gain.
I’ve been party to these kinds of deals since I was just five summers old. They never come without strings.
Kael’s expression sharpens, heavy with meaning. “I have a feeling you could do plenty for me, Lightborne,” he replies smoothly. “But what I want is to strike a mutually beneficial deal. Our goals align in this case, and I believe we can help each other.”
Therion shifts uncomfortably, the distaste in his expression unmistakable.
He seems to tolerate Kael’s leadership, but there’s an air of reluctance.
Their dynamic intrigues me—a subtle but undeniable hierarchy.
It’s not familial; their contrasting appearances make that clear enough.
Kael’s ocean-blue eyes and broad, warrior’s frame are as different from Therion’s lean build, dirty-blonde hair, and sharp hazel gaze as night is from day.
Yet Therion defers to him, even now. I file the observation away for later.
“A deal, you say?” I tilt my head, feigning casual interest. “And what exactly can you do for me? More importantly, what do you want in return?”
Kael steps closer, his tone even but commanding. “We will help you fulfill the prophecy. We’ll accompany you to uncover the relics, protect you on the journey. In return, I need to use one of the relics.”
I don’t trust him. The deal sounds too clean, too convenient. As Gellesk once told me, if it looks like gold, it’s probably gilded. I’ve lived by that truth ever since. Trust, in Virellin, is just another currency—rare, expensive, and easily faked.
“And which relic would that be?” I press, my voice cool. “And why?”
Kael’s amusement flickers in his eyes. “Are you always this distrusting, Lightborne?”
“Yes,” I reply curtly.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “The compass.”
“For?”
Therion’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the air. He drags a hand down his face, clearly displeased. “Kael,” he warns. “No. We’ll find another way.” His voice is tight with caution, his posture rigid with tension.
Kael ignores him, his focus locked on me. His gaze lingers—assessing, calculating. Finally, he speaks, his tone stripped of its earlier confidence, replaced by something rawer.
“King Maldrak of The Shadow Wastes is holding my sister captive.” The words are steady, but there’s grief in his eyes that can’t be feigned.
“We’ve tried to rescue her twice. Both times, we failed, and many good men died.
We have failed to breach the inner walls of Kryntar Castle at all.
” He pauses for a heartbeat, exhaling deeply.
“The compass is said to point to the user’s truest desire. For me, that’s my sister.”
His admission catches me off guard. For a moment, I see him not as a Shadowweave or a potential enemy, but as a brother desperate to save his family.
My chest tightens. I know that kind of longing—the ache of wanting to protect what little you have left.
But I can’t let sympathy cloud my judgment.
The slums are full of soft stories and bleeding hearts.
And every one of them ends in betrayal. I’ve learned the hard way—compassion doesn’t keep you alive.
“Very altruistic,” I say, forcing my voice to remain sharp. “But we don’t need your help.”
Kael’s lips twitch as if suppressing a smile. “And how, exactly, will you navigate the forest? Or The Shadow Wastes? How will you slip past borders, outmaneuver guards, and survive the beasts waiting to devour you?”
His tone is infuriatingly calm, but Stars help me, he’s right.
“We’ll manage,” I protest, though the words feel hollow even to me. I can practically feel Ronyn’s incredulous gaze burning into the side of my head. He knows I’m fighting a losing battle, and worse, so does Kael.
So do I.
Kael steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Elyssara, we both know you won’t make it without us,” he croons, almost teasing.
Surprise ripples through my body—he knows my name. My true name.
He notices my astonishment and that infuriating smirk kicks up his lips, “You really can’t be that surprised we know who you are, Lightborne—the world has been looking for Elyssara, the Lightborne who escaped conscription, for twenty years.”
I scowl in his direction, “No one knew my name—no one... until last night.”
“We put two and two together, Elyssara. As soon as your magic flared, I knew who you were—just wanted to see if you’d admit it. Now, lay down your sword, so to speak, and accept some genuine help. A fair deal—for both of us.”
“El,” Ronyn pleads, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “He’s right.”
I glance at Ronyn, then at Seren, whose wide eyes are filled with worry but also quiet resolve. My heart clenches. For them—for the prophecy—I can’t afford to let pride or mistrust get in the way. I take a steadying breath, my gaze locking with Kael’s.
“What guarantees do I have that you won’t betray me?”
Kael’s expression softens with relief as if he’s won—as if he can feel that I’m about to agree. “The same guarantees I have that you won’t betray me. None.”