Chapter Fifty-One
ELYSSARA
“Good morning, Duskae,” Kael’s tender words reach me behind closed eyes and the heaviness of sleep.
I pry them open to see his ruggedly beautiful face—which is still infuriatingly symmetrical—staring at me from the tent’s entrance. “Good morning,” I say heavily, voice thick with sleep and memories of last night.
He huffs a laugh at my sleep-addled demeanor, “As much as I would love to crawl back under those furs with you, we have to go.”
I pull the blankets up and bury a groan along with my face, but still, he continues, “We need to get back to Jax and Merrik.” Reality comes crashing down at his reminder, “We need access to those books and maps to plan the next part of the journey, before the Royal Guard hit Galreth.” Fuck.
“Oh,” he adds flippantly, “and everyone is already waiting for you, including the entire tribe of Vaythari.”
I leap out of bed, instantly alert at the thought of everyone awaiting me—their Zhari—before realizing that I am completely and utterly bare.
I move to cover myself, when Kael interjects, “Darling, you could cover yourself for the next one hundred years, but I will never forget the shape of that beautiful body.” He bites his lip then, “And I regret having to say this, but, if you don’t get dressed quickly, I will make everyone listen while I lick your sweet—”
“Okay! Okay!” I cut in. “Gods, Kael,” I laugh at his terribly effective strategy at getting me up and dressed, and begin moving for my leathers.
I promise the Vaythari I will find their sister tribe, reunite what was broken. Then we ride—down the mountain, away from Skaedor’s Crest and all it awakened.
The chilling winds have calmed, as if they, too, have sighed with relief at our leaving.
Despite having countless things to discuss—like Seren translating the language of the Vaythari, the gods magic, my being Skaedor’s heir, and the fact that my magic thrums through my veins with frightening tenacity—we let our horses tread carefully down the rocky, snowy descent and settle into a comfortable silence.
I’m grateful for the silence, because it gives me a moment to reorder the thoughts that whip like a tornado through my mind.
Everything has changed.
I began the ascent to Skaedor’s Crest with vengeance in one hand and uncertainty in the other. Doubt whispered in my bones. I had never feared the fight—I feared not being enough for it. Not strong enough. Not trusting enough. Not the type of powerful that bends kingdoms.
Being ruthless in the slums is different—it is survival. It is instinct. A sharpened edge that keeps you alive.
But out here? In the wide-open air of the realms, where birds still sing and people live in peace?
It is far easier to forget that the world needs changing.
But the winds did not forget.
The heavens chose me.
The Stars named me.
The skies whispered my fate.
And now, for the first time, I do not just accept it—I hunger for it.
For the first time, I do not fear what I am becoming—I crave it.
Vengeance is no longer a weight in my palm.
It is the fire in my blood, the breath in my lungs, the blade in my hand.
The echoes of the Vaythari chanting my name still reverberate across the valley as we ride, but it is Kael’s steady heartbeat and breath at my back that anchors me to reality.
This is real.
This is mine.
And finally, I am not afraid.
Ronyn bellows, “So... are we gonna talk about Seren suddenly speaking mountain-tongue, or are we all just gonna pretend that’s normal?”
Seren flushes, but before she can speak, Therion exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding this in for a while.
“I don’t sense magic on you,” he says, looking at Seren. “Not the kind I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”
Her brow furrows. “Then what does it mean?”
Therion’s jaw ticks. He weighs his words, careful, calculating. “I don’t know yet.” He looks at her then, sharp and assessing. “But when I first met you, I thought I felt something. Like... you were reading me. Testing me. Probing.”
A beat of silence.
“Maybe it was me?” I offer, though even as I say it, I know I’m wrong. “My magic was still there, even if I couldn’t use it.”
Therion shakes his head. “No. Yours was thrashing, wild. Hers was... quieter.” His gaze flickers to Seren. “Like a shadow that doesn’t want to be seen.”
Seren swallows hard.
Ronyn claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Well, it sure as shit wasn’t me—unless my supernatural gift is my charm with the ladies.” He grins and bounces his brows.
Kael snorts, shaking his head as he reins Nyx closer to the group. “Ronyn,” he drawls, voice rich with amusement. “If that’s a gift, it’s one the gods forgot to bestow.”
Laughter ripples through the group, easing the weight in Seren’s face.
And yet... something lingers beneath Therion’s words. A question none of us are quite ready to answer.
There is a connection between us all that didn’t exist before we began our journey up the mountain.
A softening.
A melding together.
As if we are no longer five fractured souls, but rather, whole.
I have never belonged to anyone.
I have never let myself belong.
And yet... I do.
We all have something to lose, yet we have all chosen to let each other in, to open ourselves up and belong to something greater than ourselves.
It is beautiful.
And terrifying.
Kael senses the shift in me then, because he leans forward, pressing firmly against my back, the scent of leather and oakmoss enveloping me.
“You are so godsdamned beautiful when you laugh, Elyssara.”
My breath catches on his words, the reality of this—of him—settling into my bones.
“Are we really doing this?” I say, the words loaded with meaning and heavy with context.
Without hesitation, he speaks like the unflinching warrior he is. “I told you last night that you’re mine,” he pauses for a moment, looping an arm around my waist. “And I meant it. Always.”
And this time, I do not hesitate either.
I lean into him, his heartbeat steady against my spine.
“And you are mine.”