Chapter Twenty-One
ELYSSARA
We pack up in tense silence, smoke still clinging to the air. My thighs ache from nonstop riding, the leather saddle rubbing them raw. The lunabark has nearly worn off, leaving only sharper pain behind.
Therion leads the way, as always. Grumpy bastard. Ronyn and Seren follow, their voices a soft hum of conversation ahead, and Kael and I bring up the rear.
It’s quiet at first, save for the rhythmic plodding of the horses’ hooves. But I can feel him. Smirking. Watching. Even without turning around, I know his insufferable grin is etched across his smug face.
I spin around in the saddle, my irritation bubbling over. “What is it?”
“Why so agitated, Lightborne?” he smirks. “Is it my symmetrical face? Or my big shoulders?”
The blood rushes to my cheeks so fast it’s dizzying. Fucking Stars. It wasn’t a dream.
I scramble for composure, praying the heat on my face isn’t as obvious as it feels. I opt for feigned ignorance as my tactic, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well,” he drawls, leaning forward slightly as if to share some great secret, “if it wasn’t my symmetrical face, or my big shoulders, or my soft lips,” he starts gesturing towards his groin, pressed into my ass in the saddle, and punctuates the gesture by raising his eyebrows, “Perhaps it was my really big—”
“Oh my Stars, enough!” I cut him off, my voice louder than I intend, as I throw my hands up to cover my face. My fingers dig into my temples as if I can erase the memory of whatever ridiculous nonsense I spewed at him last night.
Behind me, Kael laughs, deep and rich, the sound rolling through the forest like a rumble of thunder. It’s the sort of laugh that demands attention, that feels both infuriatingly smug and impossibly warm.
“Don’t worry, El,” he says, his voice softer now, though the teasing edge remains. “I found it... endearing.”
I groan, pulling my hands from my face to glare at him over my shoulder. “I was... delirious,” I scoff. “Obviously.”
He grins, his gaze locked on mine, and for a moment, something flickers there—something that makes my heart stutter. But then it’s gone, replaced by his usual playful arrogance.
Ahead, I hear Ronyn snicker. “Having fun back there?”
I narrow my eyes, ready to retort, but Seren’s quiet voice interrupts, her tone equal parts teasing and concerned. “Your cheeks are quite flushed, El. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” I snap, a little too quickly, and both of them exchange a knowing glance. Ronyn’s grin widens, and I swear I hear him whisper, “Symmetrical.”
Kael chuckles again, and I curse the Stars under my breath as we continue on.
The days and nights blur, melded together only by flickers of half-formed memories—Seren’s soft voice urging me to drink, the creak of leather saddles, the low murmur of Kael’s voice in the dark.
I drift between restless sleep and fleeting moments of sharp clarity, the world around me reduced to a haze of movement, sound, and heat.
I have lost all sense of time. It could be days, weeks, or even heartbeats since the duskprowler attack.
When we finally reach the forest’s edge, I am drenched in sweat, my skin burning as though set aflame, and shaking so violently it’s a wonder I haven’t fallen from the saddle.
My leg, oozing and swollen, has darkened to an ominous shade of black, veins creeping outward like vines of decay.
Each breath feels like dragging shards of glass through my lungs.
Kael keeps me upright, his arms steady even as mine falter. We’ve stopped countless times for me to wretch, my body rebelling against the poison in my veins. My foot is numb, the flesh gangrenous. The ache is distant now, replaced by a gnawing cold that creeps up my spine.
If it weren’t for Morrathys, God of Death, looming over me, I’d celebrate crossing the threshold of the Frael Forest. Instead, the thought of an additional half-day ride to the healer feels a cruel joke from Morrathys himself.
“You’re not dying,” Kael says, his voice calm, as though my impending demise is nothing but a figment of my imagination.
Did I say that out loud, or are my thoughts simply written across my face?
“I am. And we both know it,” I rasp, my voice barely audible between gulps of air.
“Elyssara,” Kael says, his tone sharp and severe. “You will be one of the most powerful magic wielders the realms have ever seen. It won’t be a scratch that ends your existence. You will not die today.” His voice drops, almost reverent. “Morrathys can’t have you.”
The words land somewhere between a prayer and a command. I want to believe him, but the cold in my veins whispers otherwise.
“Okay then,” I manage, my voice weak, barely a whisper.
For the next few hours, I offer silent prayers to Morrathys, begging him to spare me. Promising vengeance against Dravara’s King, a rebellion for the Starborn, freedom for the forsaken. Promising a better world, if only he lets me live. Promising not to waste what the Stars marked in my blood.
The world blurs and sharpens in fragments as we ride, the cold creeping deeper into my bones.
I hear the others’ voices—Kael’s commanding, Therion’s gruff, Seren’s soft and soothing—but they feel like echoes in a dream.
The rhythmic clop of hooves and the distant hum of the wind become my only companions.
Then, the air changes. It feels lighter, crisper, as though we’ve crossed some invisible boundary into a different world. The trees thin, and the canopy opens up to let the sun drench us in light.
I force my heavy eyelids open, just barely, to see a cottage nestled in the shadow of what I assume must be Mount Lyssar.
We’re here. And I whisper one last prayer—not for peace, but for vengeance. For the chance to burn down the king who tried to erase me.