Chapter Twenty-Two
ELYSSARA
Mavyrn’s home is nestled at the foot of Mount Lyssar, where lush green ranges climb through the clouds like a living wall. I can barely reconcile the barren, cracked earth of the Virellin slums with the fertile, dense range before me.
We approach the tiny home, a home unlike anything I’ve seen before.
It’s quaint and wild all at once, with moss creeping up the stone walls and vines curling around the crooked shutters.
The roof is uneven, thatched with dark reeds, and a thin trail of smoke rises from the chimney, curling into the dusk sky.
Odd trinkets hang from the eaves—wind chimes made of bones, dried herbs tied with twine, and what looks like a glass jar filled with something glowing faintly. The scent of earth and spice drifts on the breeze, mingling with the distant sound of water trickling over stone.
Kael dismounts first, his movements swift and controlled, and then he’s lifting me from the saddle like I weigh nothing at all. I try to protest, to insist I can walk, but the moment my feet touch the ground, my legs buckle, and Kael catches me before I collapse.
“Don’t be stubborn, Lightborne,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.
The door to the cottage creaks open, and an older woman steps out, her presence as commanding as the mountain looming behind her.
Mavyrn’s long, gray hair flows like a wild river down her back, streaked with silver that glimmers in the fading light.
Her piercing, storm-gray eyes scan the group before settling on me.
She’s dressed in layers of dark fabric, adorned with belts and pouches that clink softly with every step.
Around her neck hangs a pendant—a crescent moon encircling a small, glowing orb.
Mavyrn’s gaze narrows as she takes me in, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What in the flaming Stars have you foolish men done to this girl?” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to cut through the haze in my mind.
“She was attacked by duskprowlers,” Kael begins, his tone calm but tight. “The venom—”
“I can see the venom, boy,” Mavyrn interrupts, striding forward with surprising speed. “And the infection. And the complete lack of common sense. Typical of you,” She points a bony finger at Kael, her eyes blazing, telling a story that I’m not privy to. “Get her inside. Now.”
Kael carries me over the threshold, and the air inside the cottage is warm, filled with the scents of dried herbs, wood smoke, and something faintly metallic.
The interior is as eclectic as the outside—shelves crammed with books, jars of powders and liquids, bundles of dried flowers hanging from the rafters.
A large wooden table dominates the center of the room, its surface cluttered with an assortment of tools and trinkets.
A cauldron simmers in the hearth, its contents bubbling faintly.
Mavyrn points to a worn cot near the fire. “Lay her there. And don’t touch anything unless you want to end up cursed.”
I’m reminded of Therion’s comment about her hexing us, but I shake it from my mind.
Kael sets me down gently, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back. Mavyrn approaches, her hands surprisingly gentle as she examines the wound on my leg. Her stormy eyes soften, just slightly, as she mutters under her breath.
“This will not be easy,” she says, more to herself than to anyone else. “The venom is deep, and the infection worse. She’ll need more than salves and stitches.”
“Can you save her?” Seren asks, her voice trembling.
Mavyrn doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stands, moving to one of the shelves and grabbing a handful of dried leaves, a small vial of silvery liquid, and a stone pestle.
“I can try. But she’ll need to fight, too.
The Starborn blood in her is strong, and might just be stubborn enough to pull through. ”
Kael steps forward, his tone low and urgent. “What do you need from us?”
Mavyrn glances at him, her expression unreadable. “Stay out of my way, boy. And pray to whatever gods you hold dear.”
The room hums with tension as Mavyrn begins her work.
She moves with purpose, gathering ingredients from her crowded shelves, muttering under her breath in a language I don’t recognize.
The flickering firelight casts long shadows across the walls, making the strange trinkets and jars appear alive, watching.
Without looking up at the others, eyes firmly on my wound as she meticulously cleans away the evidence of my infection, the brusque yet warm woman says, “So I’m assuming she is the culprit for the dazzling light performance five nights ago, hm? ”
“Yep, that’s our girl!” Ronyn puffs his chest out proudly.
She kneels beside me, her sharp eyes scanning my face before drifting to my leg. Her expression remains unreadable, but I sense the weight of her thoughts—calculations, plans, decisions made in moments.
“This will hurt,” she says simply. “And it will take more than my hands alone.”
Kael steps forward instinctively, his presence a steady force. “What do you need?”
Mavyrn doesn’t look at him, her focus fixed on a bundle of herbs she’s crushing with practiced precision. “Your magic. And his,” she says, nodding toward Therion, who stiffens visibly. “And hers.” Her gaze flicks to Seren, who looks startled.
“Me?” Seren’s voice trembles slightly. “I don’t have magic. I’m not Starborn.”
Mavyrn’s lips twitch, almost a smirk. “Not yet, perhaps. But there’s something in you—latent, hidden. You’ll do.”
“What about me? Need my help?” Ronyn chimes in.
“Not you, boy,” Mavyrn answers, and Ronyn folds his arms petulantly.
Seren looks to Ronyn, panic flickering in her wide eyes, but he nods, his humor replaced with quiet reassurance. “You’ve got this, Seren.”
Mavyrn’s attention shifts to Kael and Therion. “Your magic will provide the foundation, the raw energy. I’ll act as the conduit, transforming it into something that can heal. The girl’s body will have to do the rest.”
Therion crosses his arms, his jaw tight. “You want us to pour our magic into you? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
“Of course I do,” Mavyrn snaps, the storm in her eyes flashing. “But the poison in her veins won’t wait for safer methods. If you’re too afraid, step aside.”
Kael places a hand on Therion’s shoulder, his touch firm but steady. “What exactly do you need us to do?”
Therion exhales sharply, his displeasure clear, but he doesn’t argue further. Instead, he moves to stand beside Kael, their postures mirroring each other—two warriors bracing for battle.
Mavyrn places a hand on my forehead, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Stay with me, Lightborne,” she says softly. “This will take all the strength you have.”
I nod weakly, the edges of the world blurring as the pain pulls me under.
She spreads her arms, her voice rising in a chant that feels both ancient and otherworldly. The air in the room thickens, charged with an energy that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. The fire dims, its light replaced by a silvery glow emanating from Mavyrn’s hands.
“Place your hands on me,” Mavyrn commands, her voice resonant with authority. Kael and Therion hesitate for only a moment before doing as she says, their hands resting lightly on her arms. Seren approaches reluctantly, her small hand trembling as she places it on Mavyrn’s shoulder.
“Now—give me your magic,” she commands.
Kael and Therion summon their gifts with practiced ease and pass them smoothly through their hands. Seren concentrates with measured focus, trying to do something, anything.
“Relax, child. Breathe,” Mavyrn instructs. “Reach for the place in your body where your energy lives. It will feel like a gentle hum or buzz... a tingling. Reach for it and imagine drawing it to your finger tips.” She pauses for a moment, closing her eyes. “Yes. Like that.”
The glow from Mavyrn’s hands intensifies, spreading like liquid light. It seeps into my skin, traveling toward the wound on my leg. A soft hum fills the air, growing louder, resonating like a distant chorus of voices.
Kael’s grip on Mavyrn tightens slightly, his magic flowing through him like a current.
Somehow, I recognize it in my body as it travels through my veins.
It’s warm, steady, grounding. Therion’s magic feels different—sharp and electric, a crackling force that makes my body feel charged.
Whatever Seren is able to share with me is hesitant.
Uncertain. Curious. A faint pulse of energy, a spark waiting to ignite.
Mavyrn’s body trembles, her voice breaking for the first time as she channels their magic through her. Sweat beads on her brow, and the glow around her grows almost blinding. “Hold steady,” she commands, her voice strained. “We’re almost there.”
The light converges on my leg, sinking into the infected flesh. Pain erupts—sharp, searing, all-consuming—and I unleash a guttural scream in agony. If this is the end, I want to rage against it. For the first time, I’m not ready to go.
But then, it shifts. The cold venom in my veins burns away, replaced by a warmth so intense it feels like fire and sunlight combined. I gasp, my body arching off the cot as the energy surges through me.
The glow fades slowly, leaving the room in hushed stillness.
My chest heaves as I collapse back onto the cot, my skin slick with sweat but the pain in my leg.
.. gone. I look down to find the black veins and infection gone, leaving only a cut that could be easily remedied with stitches, herbs and bandages.
Mavyrn staggers, catching herself on the edge of the table. Her hands tremble as she wipes her brow, her expression weary but triumphant. “You’re okay.”
Kael’s relief is palpable, though he masks it quickly, his gaze flicking to Mavyrn. “How long until she recovers?”
“That depends on her,” Mavyrn replies, her voice rasping with exhaustion. “The wound needs to be closed, but the venom is purged. Though the body remembers, so she’ll need rest.”
Her eyes linger on Kael for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. “You’ve inherited more than your father’s arrogance,” she murmurs, trying to keep it low so only he can hear, but failing.
Kael’s expression hardens, but behind his eyes, I see a flicker of something else—grief, or guilt, or both. He says nothing, just looks at me.
The world softens at the edges, like ink bleeding through parchment. I would question what in the Stars Mavyrn means, but consciousness evades me. The magnitude of escaping Morrathys’ grip drowning me under a blanket of exhaustion.