Chapter Eighty-Five
KAEL
Nehvara glides into the gathering chamber, a small knife now strapped to her waist—one that wasn’t there yesterday. I have no idea where the others slept, but it seems we all had the same idea to meet here first thing.
Nehvara looks between Elyssara and me, and nods tightly, “It’s done, then. Good. You’ll need each other now more than ever.”
Elyssara and I share a look—she smiles shyly, and I return a wink.
Rubi strolls up behind Elyssara and brushes past her with a smirk, “I could tell you had that well-fucked look, Kael.” She lets out a long whistle, tosses a wink, and plops onto a stone ledge to tie her boots. The woman is always disheveled.
Therion groans at his sister.
“El doesn’t quite have the same look, though, does she, Rubi?” Ronyn asks, throwing a conspiratorial look to Rubi who shakes her head dramatically. “Not up to the task, Kael?” Ronyn wags his eyebrows.
“Poor little prince can’t perform,” Rubi pouts.
I huff a laugh, and grab Elyssara’s hand, pulling her into me, dismissing them with a shake of my head.
“You both feel different,” Therion observes seriously, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know what it is yet.”
“Pretty sure it’s love, brother,” Merrik deadpans.
“We’re Starbound, now. The tether is complete,” Elyssara shares, nuzzling into my shoulder, and it surprises me. She seems... proud.
“Because you fucked? I thought that already happened,” Jax says indifferently. “What’s so special about this time?”
Fucking Jax.
“Jaxxy,” Merrik admonishes with a sigh. I don’t know how the man does it—his patience is unnatural.
“That’s not what solidified the tether, you fucking ass,” I say to Jax. “It’s...” I trail off, unable to find the words.
“Choosing to love each other, despite knowing we were never meant to,” Elyssara finishes for me.
“Should I... offer congratulations? Is that appropriate in this circumstance, my prince?” Rhyven asks sincerely.
I fight the urge to laugh at his constant need for diplomacy. “I don’t think so, Rhy. You’re good to just carry on as you were.”
He nods, stepping backwards with two strides, and clasps his hands behind his back.
I turn just in time to see Seren stalking up to me, her pointer finger colliding with my chest, “Do not hurt my friend, Kael Thorne. Do you hear me?”
I can’t help myself—I laugh. The sweetest woman in existence just threatened me.
I try to leash my laughter, but fail miserably, “I will not hurt your friend!” I pull it together, and add, “Nothing would bring me more pain than hurting Elyssara.” It seems to satisfy her because she nods curtly and turns swiftly, walking back to Ronyn, who is still raising his eyebrows at me.
“Enough,” Tvira announces, striding towards us from a dark corridor. “The Flame-heart deserves your reverence,” she says, as if reprimanding young children. “We follow Nehvara into the vault,” she commands. “And we do it in silence.”
There’s no room for arguing in her tone, and we all obey.
So bossy, Elyssara mocks down the tether, which sounds louder and clearer than it has in the days before.
Or maybe she just knows what she wants, I reply. We both know how I love a woman who knows what she wants.
Nehvara turns her head to us slowly, a small smile gracing her face as if she’s somehow privy to our conversation through the tether.
Nehvara keeps walking through the dark caves of Cindralis, taking us deeper and deeper into its underbelly. She carries a lantern that barely enlightens the space enough to see a few steps ahead, and the humidity in the air is cloying.
We walk in single-file, sweat beading on my skin, for what feels like hours, but no one speaks. No one dares to with Tvira walking at the rear, her spear clanging the ground with every step.
Elyssara turns to me, her face glistening with sweat, she opens her mouth to speak—
“We’re here,” Nehvara announces, stopping in front of a stone archway.
“The Heart of Ashara is sacred. Holy. We have been guardians of the Flame-heart for a long time, waiting for the Lightborne to walk the realms to claim what’s rightfully hers,” she says, her words reverberating off the stone walls.
“You will know when and how to awaken the Flame-heart. There will come a time when you will be faced with loss, and you will know,” her cryptic words wrap around us, and Elyssara’s breath hitches.
“The Flame-heart asks for your blood, Lightborne. That is all,” Tvira says coolly from the back of the group.
“My blood?” Elyssara asks.
“Come,” Nehvara commands, gesturing to Elyssara to move to the front.
Nehvara unsheathes her small knife, palming it with deftness—like she’s used it before.
.. skillfully. She spins the knife around, holding out the hilt to Elyssara.
“A slice across the palm, a drop of royal Dravari blood on the jewel,” she instructs with simplicity.
Elyssara looks around at me and holds out her hand for me to join her. “Yes, yes. Take your Starbound,” Nehvara says mockingly, though I can tell she means it fondly.
I take her hand and step through the threshold—and the air shifts immediately.
Even thicker—charged with a power so old it hums against my skin.
Crackling like a warning, or perhaps a welcome.
The chamber is vast and circular, carved from dark stone like the rest of Cindralis, but here, rivers of molten embers run through the walls like veins, casting the chamber in a fiery red glow.
It flickers and dances, casting moving shadows across the chambers. In another situation it might be eerie, but here, with her, it’s beautiful.
At the center of the room, a single stone pillar rises from the floor—worn smooth by time, reverently polished. Upon it rests a red velvet cushion, and nestled atop it, The Heart of Ashara. The jewel of the Flame-heart.
A chain of gold, delicate yet strong, spills over the velvet. In the heart of the pillow, a swirling red and orange jewel is encased in a claw-like setting of solid gold, each curve precise, talon-like.
Elyssara edges closer, moving slowly, deliberately. As we get closer, I realize the jewel moves, as if it’s a living thing. A sacred, holy thing, desperate to awaken. Red and orange meld together, crashing into each other like waves.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers in awe.
“It’s yours,” I reply smoothly, reminding her that she is the rightful Dravari heir. Soul-bound to dragon-kind.
A small gasp escapes her as she stands before the pillar. “Mine,” she whispers, as if reminding herself. The air crackles around us, ancient magic drenching the chamber.
She moves her hand to the gold chain of the Heart of Ashara, moving to pick it up, her fingers graze the metal lightly.
“Ow!” She shrieks, pulling her hand back sharply, and cradling her hand in her chest.
I move to her side swiftly, “What happened?” I demand.
“It felt like a bolt of lightning under my fingertips,” she says, her fingers branded with a swollen red welt.
“Blood, dear. It needs your blood,” Nehvara croons from the archway.
“Right. Blood,” Elyssara murmurs to herself.
She holds Nehvara’s knife in her right hand, hovering it over the palm of her left. The knife is small, ceremonial, runes etched into the hilt that I don’t understand.
With a single cut across her palm, crimson wells up, vivid against her skin.
She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t hesitate either.
She holds her hand over the Flame-heart, letting a drop of blood fall directly onto the jewel—the Heart of Ashara.
Where ruins burn and the Flame-heart sleeps.
I remember the words.
The instant it hits the Heart, the room responds.
The molten veins flare to life, blazing brighter, filling the chamber with a vibrant glow. The pillar hums in unison. Ready.
Elyssara steals herself, ready to try the necklace again.
She ghosts her fingers over the chain, testing, assessing.
She goes straight for the jewel, scooping her fingers under it to lift it into the palm of her hands.
The Flame-heart illuminates, and simultaneously, so, too, does her skin marking. The Eye of Lireal on her chest stirs awake, constellation blooming to life, the etching spreading further across her chest with permanency.
She looks to me, wonder filling her eyes, and it steals the breath from my lungs.
Elyssara clasps the Heart of Ashara around her neck, letting it hang delicately on her chest.
“Beautiful,” I say, and she smiles, scrunching her nose in genuine, unabashed happiness.
If there was ever a moment I believed in fate, it’s this one.
The room settles back into its mellow glow, the crackle of magic in the air simmers into a steady hum.
We walk to the archway, where the group gathers around for a look at the Heart of Ashara.
“It is done, Lightborne,” Nehvara declares. “You’ve set in motion a cascade of events that cannot be stopped.” Her voice is pragmatic—but beneath it, something tightens. Ominous. Certain.
We settle back into our single-file line, and make our way back to the gathering area.
Ronyn breaks the silence, “So that’s the fourth key,” he says.
Murmurs of agreement thread through the air.
“And there’s no mention of other relics in the prophecy?” He says, as though he’s trying to figure something out.
The group gives him more non-committal murmurs of confirmation, but I hold my tongue. Realization dawning on me.
“But doesn’t the prophecy say there are five relics?” He looks around, arms outstretched in question, but no one speaks until, slowly, I see it click for them, too. “So what the fuck is the fifth relic?”