Chapter Sixty-Seven
KAEL
The mid-morning air bites with a crisp edge, despite the sun’s warm glare.
Leather creaks, steel slides into sheathes, and the scent of the fresh Riverian earth swirls around the clearing as we prepare the horses.
The energy and buoyancy of earlier this morning is gone, replaced with the quietness that always comes before risk and unpredictability.
Elyssara stands up straighter, smoothing down the unruly strands of vibrant hair that have sprung free from her braid. “Only Kael and I are going,” she announces, and all eyes turn to her.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Therion counters, tone unwavering.
I stifle a chuckle—they’re both as stubborn as each other.
Rowan hovers awkwardly on the outskirts of the clearing, desperate to be useful.
He takes a small step forward, and tentatively speaks, “Logically speaking, Elyssara and Prince Kael are the only ones with any validity to enter. That is, if Queen of the Vaythari counts.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, “The rest of us will just be mulch.”
Ronyn raises an eyebrow, “Mulch?”
“Chewed up, unceremoniously digested food for the sentient roots,” Rowan explains as if it should’ve been obvious.
“Right,” Ronyn grimaces. “Thanks for clarifying.”
“I’m General of War—I’ll escort you as far as possible. It’s not up for discussion,” Therion’s voice is a low rumble, and I know there’s no point arguing. The man has protected me with his life—and axe—since we were mere boys.
I nod curtly.
“I go where El goes,” Ronyn asserts, though his bravado is palpable.
“I would expect nothing less,” I allow.
Elyssara sighs, “Fine, but that’s it!”
I catch movement to my left through the trees—the sun glaring off polished steel. Zak breaks through the tree line, a snarl already forming on his lips.
“Fuck’s sake,” Merrik breathes quietly, and I don’t blame him.
Zak’s father was a good and loyal man—part of my father’s council of advisors, who was killed in Maldrak’s takeover—but the only thing he has inherited from his father is his strategic mind.
Zak is loyal to one thing, and one thing only—himself.
Elyssara stiffens at the sight of him, jaw clenching.
“Don’t be like that, Lightborne,” he says snidely. “I promise to make the journey unforgettable,” his lilting tone drips with sarcasm and sets me on edge. “Plus, maybe I don’t trust you with the heir to the throne of Zerynthia.” He tilts his head to the side, challenging us to make an argument.
A hush falls over the group. Even Rowan stops fidgeting.
Elyssara’s lips tighten, but she says nothing. Neither do I. But I’m not fooled. Zak’s protectiveness has nothing to do with me, and I know it. He’s got another agenda, and I’ll find out what it is one way or another.
If he so much as looks at Elyssara the wrong way, he won’t make it back.
“What the fuck could you possibly bring to the table for this journey, Zak?” Therion probes, cutting an imposing figure by standing up straighter and letting his frame tower over Zak.
“Aside from the ability to piss people off with nothing more than your existence,” he adds with a penetrating glare.
Jax snorts. Her sense of humor is dark and unassuming, but she’s loyal to a fault.
“Intelligence,” Zak quips. “While you’ve been off drinking ale and bedding women in Dravara, I’ve been here,” he gestures to the jungle around him, “analyzing the jungle’s rhythms, finding the rip in The Decay, watching the way The Grove moves.”
The rip in The Decay? Therion and I exchange a quick glance. Not even Daelen knew about that.
“Oh, didn’t know about the rip, my prince?” He says the last words with haughty arrogance, but I let it slide.
“When?” I keep it simple.
“The day before the last full moon,” he explains, “the sky beamed with bright light and then we heard it. It was like thunder.”
That was when we were at Lyssar Temple, Elyssara speaks down the tether to me, surprise coating her tone.
It was, I offer in response.
The blade ignites and the veil is torn.
The words from the prophecy reverberate in my mind.
Noticing the surprise on our faces, Zak continues, “Rhyven tracked it and has been watching it ever since.” He pauses, as if weighing whether he should continue.
Cautiously, he says, “People from The Wastes have been walking through it. Confused, lost. They end up dying, of course—no water, no food. If there’s nothing keeping them in, or we can’t bring it down all together, they die. Bit of a problem.”
Merrik drags his hand through his hair, understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Fuck,” is all I can think to say.
“Yes, fuck.” Zak agrees sarcastically. “Admit it, Kael,” he says, voice dripping with arrogance. “You need me.”
I loathe to see any value whatsoever in Zak, but this is why he’s here. He’s strategically fucking brilliant. His brother, Rhyven, is an Aetherstride, and Zak is a Bloodbond. Together, they are precise, intelligent, and lethal. Zak’s loyalty, on the other hand, is questionable at best.
“For the moment,” I allow, and I mean it. He’s one lingering gaze at Elyssara away from being kindling for the fire.
I help Elyssara onto Nyx and swiftly swing myself behind her. I brush my hand over her waist, grounding her, grounding myself. A silent promise: I’ve got you.
“Let’s go,” I say quickly. I’ve had enough of this conversation.
“Seren, Rowan,” I say, eyeing the scholars, “I need you to work on the next relic and have answers by the time we return.” They nod stoically.
“With the rip in The Decay, our timeline just collapsed. We don’t have the luxury of time anymore. ”