Chapter Sixty-Three
ELYSSARA
My hands shake with fury as Kael urges Nyx on, waving to the people—his people—that line Thornewood’s paths. He nods his head at every person we ride past, and I internally berate myself for never noticing the graceful, regal way he moves through life.
How the fuck didn’t I notice this?
I will explain everything, Duskae, his voice tumbles through me, caressing my mind with gentility, soothing me. And I resent it.
Like I would trust anything that comes out of your fucking mouth, prince. I spit the last word like an insult, spearing it in his direction.
I’m thrilled to see that my title hasn’t done anything to quell your defiance and stubbornness, El, he replies smoothly.
Fuck you and your fucking lies, Kael. Again. I’ve been lied to again.
He exhales slowly, closing his eyes, as if I’ve wounded him, but almost imperceptibly, he quickly pulls up that cocky mask in place, before saying, I’ve always loved that filthy mouth of yours, in my direction.
The fucking audacity of him.
I remain silent atop Nyx, and Kael doesn’t try to goad or soothe me again.
The crowd thins to nothing, and we all dismount from our horses. I cross my arms, and Seren makes eye contact, but I shake my head firmly at her. I don’t want to be soothed, approached, or supported. I want to unleash my magic upon this entire fucking place. I am done with being left in the dark.
Kael gestures to follow him, and if I didn’t desperately want answers, I would’ve ignored him, but luckily for him, I have some questions that will be answered today.
Kael gestures toward an enormous tree trunk, its bark smooth from countless journeys upward.
Carved elegantly into the wood is a spiraling staircase, climbing effortlessly around the wide girth of the tree.
Soft, bioluminescent vines wind along the railing, bathing the ascent in gentle, silvery-blue light.
As we climb, the sounds of the forest recede below, leaving only the calming rush of distant waterfalls and the subtle creak of wood beneath our feet.
The space opens around us, seamlessly carved into the sprawling branches of an enormous, ancient tree. The walls are woven from interlocking branches, lush leaves, and spiraling vines that allow soft sunlight to filter through, dappling the polished wooden floor beneath my feet.
At the chamber's center stands a massive round table, expertly carved from the cross-section of a single, immense tree.
Its countless rings spiral outward, each marking the passage of years, maybe centuries, a history record laid bare for all to see.
Surrounding it, seats formed from smooth, sculpted roots curve naturally, encircling the table like an embrace.
Despite the fury still pulsing through me, I can't help but pause, momentarily stunned by the harmonious beauty and regal simplicity of the space Kael and his people have created high among Thornewood’s branches.
“Welcome to Council Hollow,” Kael murmurs gently beside me, a quiet pride in his voice.
A few people have already taken a seat on the sculpted roots, as if they’ve been waiting for us—an elderly woman with silver-streaked dark hair elegantly styled, striking soil-hued eyes, rich brown skin, and a dignified elegance that is hard to miss, an older gentleman with white hair and gray eyes that pin me in place with keen observation, and a younger man who can’t be older than twenty years who looks nervous and on edge.
“Take your seats,” Kael says with command to the room, gesturing to the large table.
Everyone moves in, and he takes the largest seat, which I am assuming is the head of the table, and Therion takes the seat to his right. He nods to me to take the seat to his left, and I roll my eyes, ignoring him, and opt for the seat directly across from him—the furthest point from him.
I’m seated next to the older woman, and she looks towards me, a warm expression on her face, and her elegant robes whispering softly around her as she inclines her head to me with quiet dignity.
“I have long waited to see the Lightborne,” she murmurs, eyes bright with restrained curiosity.
“Welcome, Elyssara. I am Lady Sylvaine Morelle.
Should you need to understand Zerynthia's old bloodlines, I am at your service.”
“Lady Sylvaine,” I say politely, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. And, given that I have only just learned that Zerynthia exists, I have no idea what I need to know.”
Lady Sylvaine huffs a laugh at that, “Well, I’m here whenever the time comes.”
The young nervous man chances a look at me, and I meet his gaze.
He immediately darts his eyes away, unsettled.
Lady Sylvaine leans over, sensing my curiosity, murmuring quietly, “That’s Rowan Nix, our Keeper of Memories.
He stores the history of Zerynthia—everything forbidden to be written down—in his mind. Nothing escapes him.”
I whip my eyes to her then, “In his mind? How?”
“Rowan is a Mindweaver—it’s old Zerynthian magic from the Nix bloodline,” Lady Sylvaine answers simply.
“Magic from his bloodline? I didn’t even know that was possible,” I whisper my shock.
“Starborn magic isn’t the only magic, dear. Especially not in Zerynthia.”
What the fuck.
Before I could probe the woman further, Varian commands the room, “The Zerynthian War Council meeting is now in session. All hail Prince Kael Thorne of Zerynthia!”
Everyone, aside from Ronyn, Seren and me, moves to make the inverted triangle symbol, but Kael dismisses them with a wave.
“No need for all the formality, Varian,” Kael instructs. “Let’s just get on with it.”
Apparently, Varian has a flair for theatrics.
Lady Sylvaine clears her throat, announcing she’s about to speak.
With her voice smooth and steady, rich with quiet authority, she begins, “While you’ve been away, Prince Kael, we’ve quietly strengthened ties beyond our borders.
Ambassadors from Caeloria have responded favorably to our messages, and even the emissaries of Nymeris seem intrigued by our message that a true heir to Zerynthia has made himself known after all these years. ”
Varian chuckles softly, folding his hands with practiced ease. “Indeed. I had the honor of receiving correspondence from Caeloria’s High Chancellor myself. They remain tight-lipped, but supportive—watchful of our next moves.”
The older gentleman with white hair leans forward.
He adds thoughtfully, his gray eyes distant, reflecting a quiet wisdom, “Nymeris is wary as ever—they’ve always been cautious—but the mere mention of restoring Zerynthia has piqued their curiosity.
It's clear our struggle has implications beyond our borders.”
Caeloria? Nymeris?
The names echo softly in my mind, strange and intriguing. Just how much don’t I know? How far does Kael’s reach extend?
“That’s Eldric Bannon, former Royal Advisor to King Aurius Thorne, and now advisor to Prince Kael,” Lady Sylvaine whispers in my ear.
Hold on, the crown is passed down through the bloodline?
Kael intercepts my thoughts and sends one of his own back. It’s a monarchy in Zerynthia, El—not a power play like Dravara.
I nod to him and Lady Sylvaine, but can’t peel my eyes away from the meeting.
“Caeloria need to declare their position. We need to know we have their aid when the time comes,” Kael commands.
“I’ll press further,” Eldric confirms.
“Good,” Kael says, then he turns his gaze to Daelen. “Dae, any further knowledge of The Decay since we’ve been gone?”
Daelen sits up straighter, clearing his throat. The first sign of seriousness I’ve seen. “We’ve been tracking its movement,” he begins. “It isn’t a fixed wall of magic—it breathes, it shifts, it watches.”
A flicker of unease runs through me at his choice of words. It watches?
“We sent scouts to the southern border,” he continues, “where it used to be weaker, but the passage we once knew has closed. Completely sealed.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “The Decay isn’t just a barrier—it learns. Every time we find a vulnerability, it adapts.”
Therion mutters a curse under his breath.
How did we get across then? I send the question down the tether.
Bloodline access. Kael’s response comes quickly.
He folds his hands on the table, expression darkening. “And the people who try to cross?”
Daelen hesitates. “Few return. Those who do...” He exhales, gaze flicking to me briefly before continuing. “They don’t remember anything. Sometimes, they forget why they even tried. Sometimes, they forget who they are altogether. Enchanted to wipe memory, most likely.”
A cold shiver licks up my spine.
“It’s worse than that,” Varian adds, his deep voice measured but grim. “Some return... changed.”
Silence falls over the table.
Merrik tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “Changed how?”
Varian exchanges a glance with Daelen before answering. “They speak of things inside The Decay. Shadows with too many limbs. Whispers that tell them to stay.” His voice drops lower. “One man... he clawed his own eyes out the night he returned. Said he could still see them, watching him.”
My stomach twists.
Kael exhales sharply. “So, the southern passage is completely closed?”
Daelen nods. “For now. But we’re watching it. There are patterns—weak spots, but they never stay in one place for long.”
Kael considers what he’s saying for a long moment, the room stays silent, waiting for their Prince. “Monitor it, we’ll need to move soon.”
“Yes, very lovely,” Zakarius says mockingly. “Now, are we going to talk about the plan changes, Kael? Or will you keep the fact that we’re no longer prioritizing Nalya from the council?”
All eyes shoot to Kael, shock and confusion marring their faces.
Kael narrows his eyes, boring a hole into Zakarius with pure hate, “We will not be pursuing the original plan, and I will take no questions about it in this meeting.”
What original plan? I have so many fucking questions.
“She’s your sister, Kael! She’s rotting in Maldrak’s dungeons, and you’re—” Zakarius’s voice breaks, just for a second, before he reins it back in, jaw clenching so tightly I hear his teeth grind. “You promised her. You fucking promised.”
His hands slam against the table, rattling goblets, sending a few scrolls tumbling to the floor. No one speaks.
“What do you think he’s doing to her right now?” Zak spits. “Torturing her? Raping her? Starving her?”
Kael doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink. The air shifts. Shadows ripple from his chair, crawling up the legs of the table, licking at the wood like hungry fire.
“Nalya doesn’t want you, Zak.” Kael’s voice is calm. Deceptively soft. Lethal.
Zakarius flinches. But the anger doesn’t fade—it sharpens. For a split second, I swear there’s something devastated in his eyes, buried beneath the rage.
“You don’t get to say that,” Zakarius seethes, voice lower now, almost trembling. “You weren’t there the night she begged me not to leave.”
Oh.
“You’re an insult to your father’s legacy,” he spits the words with venom.
The room holds its breath.
Kael drops his voice even lower, even calmer, “Stop trying to play the knight in shining armor for a princess who doesn’t fucking want you, Zak.
” Kael’s face twists into something dark and sinister, “Stop pretending that your role here is anything but a debt I owed your father, and accept that you are nothing but a placeholder until someone around here has finally had enough of your shit.” The words come out like a promise, as if Kael himself might be that someone.
Zak looks as if he’s going to combust in fury, his knuckles turning white as he clenches them at his sides.
He stands then, a tempest within that he is barely keeping in check. And just as I think he’s about to draw his sword, he turns and leaves the room.
Kael doesn’t watch him go. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move.
He simply leans back, smug, satisfied.
As Zakarius’ footsteps recede, the room exhales as if it had been holding its breath. But something sticks with me.
He wasn’t just angry. He was devastated.
Who was Nalya to him?
“Though I fuckin’ loathe to ever agree with the bastard, changing the plan is,” Daelen pauses, searching for the right words, “quite problematic, brother.” His considered approach settles the room, and Kael’s shadows dissipate in the air around us.
Kael exhales deeply and pours himself a goblet of thick crimson liquid. He takes a long pull on the drink and lifts his eyes, looking around the group.
“It’s your job to solve problems, is it not?” Kael posits. “Or perhaps there’s no use for you.” Something in his gaze is fierce and loaded with fury.
“We’ve been working on the plan for years, Kael—”
Jax barely gets the word out before Kael cuts her off. “Prince Kael,” he corrects. His tone is all malice and ice.
Jax looks at him, incredulous, but Kael holds her gaze. A challenge. She looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t dare. I don’t entirely blame her.
Therion, ever the voice of reason, “How about we all take tonight to drink, eat and sleep, and come back to the hollow tomorrow?”
The older gentleman, Eldric, places an affectionate hand on Therion’s shoulder, “A fine idea. Council, are we in agreement?”
Murmurs of agreement fill Council Hollow, but it’s Kael who has the final word. “Leave if you must, but if you can’t bring a new strategy to the table by the time we’re back from the next relic, you’ll find your seat filled by someone else.”
The group rise from their seats, breaking off into small groups to discuss matters, or leaving.
I’m left sitting here, reeling.
My mind spins, my pulse pounds. I came here expecting answers.
I’m leaving with even more fucking questions.
And the worst part? The only person who has answers is the same fucking liar who put me in the dark to begin with.