Chapter Forty-Four
ELYSSARA
Syphra and a handful of her most trusted warriors lead us towards Skaedor’s Crest with evident knowledge of every inch of the ascent.
They’re sure-footed and powerful, never tiring despite the steep and arduous terrain.
I allow myself the respite of leaning back into Kael’s sturdy chest—despite knowing that every time I acquiesce to my desire for his embrace, I make my own path harder—and stare blankly into the vast distance.
My mind is racing with thoughts of the Vaythari, their kin, my role, the prophecy, not to mention the Astral Compass that is mere hours ahead of us.
I cannot even begin to imagine that there is a secret left within me that I have not yet faced.
I shudder to think of what the heavens will whisper to me.
The Vaythari appear unfazed by the thick snow that coats the narrow, undulating track. Their heavy, snow-hardened boots slosh through the inches-deep icy mush that would see anyone else fall face-first.
Syphra’s gaze drifts to me frequently, but she bows quickly in deference every time I meet her gaze. It’s unnerving and dense, but we manage to settle into a steady rhythm, and I take the moment to admire the beauty of this gleaming white land.
Skaedor’s Ascent is a treacherous, unforgiving climb that carves through the heart of the mountains separating Dravara from The Shadow Wastes.
A jagged spine of ancient stone, it rises in tiers of sheer cliffs and ice-laden ridges, each step a battle against nature’s cruelty.
The path is scarcely more than a crumbling ledge, winding upward along cliffs that plunge into mist-filled chasms below.
Winds howl through the ravines, carrying the cries of distant predators and the eerie whistle of air funneled through unseen fissures in the rock.
The ascent itself is a gauntlet of elements and endurance.
At lower altitudes, skeletal trees claw at the sky, their twisted branches blackened by perpetual frost bite.
Higher still, the air turns razor-thin, biting with an unforgiving chill that sinks into bone and flesh.
Ice sheets coat the rock, forcing the sheer faces to become a certain merciless fall for anyone who would dare risk the climb.
Kael tells me that the mountain itself resents those who dare its slopes, shifting stone and summoning storms to repel the unworthy.
The fact we are still here is somewhat comforting, I suppose.
The howls move closer, echoing off the sheer faces and reverberating through my body.
Okay, not the wind then.
Syphra and her warriors appear calm despite the howls sounding as if they are only a handful of heartbeats away, coming from every direction, and descending on us quickly.
I look at her repeatedly, as if expecting her to realize the imminent arrival of a mighty snow beast and taking up a fighting stance.
Syphra does no such thing and simply raises her hand.
Her eyes close, and her warriors stop, following her silent command.
“Velmara,” she breathes the words with reverence, eyes softening into something akin to tenderness.
Our eyes dart between each other looking for an explanation. “Velmara?” I ask Seren, hoping she can elucidate whatever is taking place.
“The Shadow Lynx,” Seren’s voice is enchanted, and her eyes widen in awe as the silken night-black fur of a pair of shadow lynxes ripples under the setting sun as they gracefully prowl toward the warriors, a staggering contrast to the pristine white of the mountains.
In unison, Syphra and her warriors drop to one knee in the snow, and place one hand over their hearts. With her other hand, Syphra reaches down to grab a stick, quickly scribbling a series of symbols in the snow.
“We thought they had abandoned us. We have not seen the shadow lynx since the separation of our kin,” Seren swallows audibly, pausing for a moment whilst Syphra continues.
“We hear their howls often, phantoms of a past long forgotten. They are our astral wardens. Sent from the Stars to protect us.” Her gaze pins me in place, stealing the breath from my lungs, “This is an omen for our reunion.”
Goosebumps ripple across my skin, as if my body recognizes Syphra’s words as the truth.
The Shadow Lynxes move closer to Kael and me, one of them crossing the narrow track in front of Nyx, who stomps and throws his head, uncertain about these feline creatures.
Kael soothes him yet again with a slow stroke to his neck.
The shadow lynxes stop moving then, flanking Nyx, as if protecting us. Protecting me.
Syphra approaches us, holding the stone tablet out for me to see. “I— I’m not sure what that means,” I offer.
“We will meet you on your descent for the ceremony. Velmara will lead you to the compass now,” Seren explains.
The ceremony?
I nod, unable to find words for... well, everything in my life at present.
Syphra and her warriors turn to descend back down the mountain without another word, and we urge our horses to continue.
“Are you alright?” Kael’s voice has a rich, deep timbre that vibrates against my back as it ripples up his body.
“Fine.” The word snaps out, clipped, hollow. I refuse to be anything else. I refuse to let myself be anything else. But the lie lingers, curling around my ribs like mist.
“You’ve just been declared Queen of a lost people, your best friend is casually deciphering ancient runes like a bedtime story, and we’re about to walk into a place most people don’t return from... and you’re ‘fine’?” He pauses. Then, with mock consideration, “Truly, I must learn your ways.”
I spin around in the saddle to admonish Kael for his complete lack of tact, but he quirks an eyebrow and his smirk tips up on one side, and I find my rage from one heartbeat ago suddenly lacking. Stars, this man.
“Well, I’m not fine, I suppose,” I concede with a huff of meagre irritation.
“I’m... processing.” A soft chuckle escapes him, but before he can say anything, I add, “I just don’t understand why the Stars chose me.
My entire life has been about this prophecy, but I am just a girl born under the Stars like anyone else.
” I sigh, shoulders slumping back against him, and I comb my fingers through the strands of hair that have wrestled free of my braid.
“No,” unfettered fury laces his voice, and he spins me around to lock eyes with me.
“You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Duskae.
When are you going to believe that you are already someone?
” His tone is stoic, direct and penetrating.
“Regardless of the prophecy, your magic, some ancient tribe. You are already someone, Elyssara.”
I hold his stare. One heartbeat. Two. And for a flickering moment, I almost let myself fall—into him, into the safety of his arms, into the illusion that I could be something more than what fate has carved into my bones.
But the moment snaps. Hardens.
“When men like you stop trying to use me,” I say, my voice like cold steel. “For my magic. For this prophecy. For your own fucking gain.” His name is a dagger between my teeth. “Then, Kael, maybe I’ll start believing my value exists beyond those things.”
He flinches. Barely. But I see it. Feel it. Kael, who stands unshaken in the face of war and death, looks as if I’ve cracked something inside him. His jaw tightens. His gaze drops—just for a fraction of a second.
Then, his voice comes, rough, quiet. “I deserved that.” A pause.
A breath. “And you’re right. I have no fucking right to ask that of you.
” For someone who commands every room and everyone he comes across, I’m shocked that he gives me this concession.
“And I won’t. I won’t ask anything of you again, if you grant me one thing,” his expression is staunch as always, but the fragility bubbling underneath doesn’t evade me.
Therion, Ronyn and Seren are obviously eavesdropping, their horses slowing to allow us to catch up. Therion can probably hear with his Aetherstride abilities, but the other two are just fucking nosey.
“So, let me get this straight; you wish to ask me for one more thing, and then you will never ask another thing of me? That sounds really fucking counterintuitive, Kael,” I roll my eyes indignantly.
He fights the smirk that tries to make an appearance again, “Yes, Your Highness. I wish to ask you for one more favor. Do I have permission to make my request?”
I huff a breath of frustration and nod once.
“Stay with me for the rest of the relics,” he pleads.
I whirl on him, ready to tear into his hidden agendas, but he speaks before I can.
“I want to show you something.”
There’s something in his voice. Not just hope. Something heavier. Something closer to desperation. The faintest crack in the armor.
“Promise me, Elyssara.” A beat. “Promise me you’ll let me show you.”
“What is it that you wish to show me?” Fury makes way for intrigue.
“My home. My people. I want you to understand... why.”
Why he lied. Why he hid important information. Why he needs me to take down The Decay so desperately. Why he is doing all of this in the first place. Why. Why. Why.
I consider the alternative of making this journey on our own. Of returning to it just being Ronyn, Seren and me, but something about that feels lonely. Wrong. Despite myself, I want Kael with me, and dare I say it, Therion, too.
“Fine.” The word is quiet. Heavy.
He nods, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. But something inside me stays wound tight.
I spin back around, letting my gaze stretch far up the mountain.
The Velmara continue leading us up the merciless terrain, their dark forms cutting through the snow like phantoms. None of us speak.
We don’t need to. We’ve settled into an unspoken rhythm, a shared understanding that the air is too thin, the climb too brutal, and whatever waits for us at the summit demands our silence.
But the stillness doesn’t last.