Chapter Forty-Four #4
She spins on Lara. “Free the dragons from the spell. We need them. We need to bring down The Barrier so their blood isn’t being used, and bring the fight to us,” she commands icily.
Lara does not falter. She cocks her head to the side. “Nyrielle and Maireth have already offered me quite a compelling deal to serve them in this war. What do you have to offer, Lightborne?”
Ice pools in Elyssara’s veins. Lara’s been playing both fucking sides this entire time. But before she speaks, Seren shoves past Elyssara in a fit of rage.
Her teeth are bared, breath saws in and out of her in sharp pants.
“You would honestly prop up a world that casts witches out, makes us abandon and hide our children, subjugates the innocent?” she hisses, hurling the accusation at her like a dagger.
Lara looks down at Seren, callous and cruel, as if admonishing a disobedient child. “What am I loyal to Seren?”
Breaths rush in and out of Seren too fast, and she spits, “Coin and coven.”
Lara shrugs. “The Lightborne offers us nothing. The north offers coin, safety… guaranteed victory if the information I’ve heard tonight is correct.”
Insults and arguments swim through the air, but Elyssara can’t hear it. She’s swallowed by the fear that the High Witch will allow them to fall to their deaths without a chance.
Seren steps closer still, looking up from her petite stature to Lara’s tall, slender frame that looms over her.
“She offers you an opportunity to become more than what the world sees us as—evil beings to be feared. No sense of morality or loyalty,” she pleads, voice ragged and raw.
She pauses for a heartbeat, weighing her words carefully, pointedly. “She offers you a chance to make your mother proud of the daughter she could never raise.”
Silence spills across the rooms, endless, absolute. The whole group feels the gravity of this moment.
“I give you an opportunity…” Seren breathes, her voice frail and broken, “to be the kind of mother I wish I had.”
The words don’t echo—they sink. Tears fall freely down Seren’s cheeks. Lara stills. Something falters behind her gaze of steel. She tries not to let it show, but the breath that snags in her throat belies her cool exterior. Silence swells. Time freezes.
Lara and Seren stare at each other for a long moment. A thousand words pass between their eyes, but never between their lips.
Lara moves to open her mouth, but thinks better of it. She breaks their stare, and her voice dips into a low, calculating register.
“I will assess my options.” But her voice isn’t as steady as before.
Seren flinches like she’s been struck. But her lips twist into a vicious snarl. “You are a coward, Lara.”
Lara shrugs indifferently. Completely unfazed. Or so she would like it to seem.
Elyssara wants to reach for Seren. To pull her into her chest and smooth her hair like she used to. But this woman before her… she is not the same Seren. She is powerful. Unyielding.
“You would leave us without The Barrier and the dragons? You would really leave us with fractured allies, no guarantees, and minimal defenses?” Seren hisses between gritted teeth. But the fight leaves her face, and it softens into sadness. “Why?” she whispers.
Lara lets out a frustrated sigh. “I will accept the assignment from Ilyra. I did as I said I would—I listened. The odds are not in favor of this alliance. And now, I have decided. It is pragmatic, not personal.”
She says it like she’s discussing the weather. Like people won’t die from this choice.
Mavyrn’s words flood Elyssara’s mind: if you can get to Lara, the war is won.
And here Lara is… refusing to join this side of the war. Does that mean they’ve lost before they’ve even begun?
Dread pools low in her belly. Lara’s words fall on infuriated ears.
“Bullshit! That’s fucking bullshit, Lara, and you know it,” Seren snaps. “Everything is emotional. Every choice a person makes is fundamentally driven by an emotion—a promise of what you think you’ll get from it. So, what do you get, Lara? What is she promising you?”
The words slice through the group.
Because she has a point.
Lara rolls her eyes, and drawls, “Emotions are so tedious.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She has offered land in the Known Realms. Access to resources, protection behind her wards, and no prosecution from the people. We would live in relative peace and freedom.”
A humorless laugh rips from Elyssara’s throat without warning. “If you think she’ll honor that then you really are a fool, High Witch. And if you think you hunger for a life of peace and not one of adventure, you’re daft as well. I knew you were an asshole, but I never took you for an imbecile.”
Lara’s face remains neutral.
But Seren’s voice breaks through the tense silence. “You want the witches to have a home. Safety. You want to give the witches what your mother was unable to give you.”
Lara scoffs. “Too many years with humans has made you sentimental, Seren. I want access to riches and resources without the threat of being burned alive every heartbeat. Don’t mistake my motivations for morality.”
Seren’s shoulders fall as she exhales. “Fine. Go to Ilyra. But when I see you on the battlefield, I won’t hesitate,” she snarls, raising her palm and showing the High Witch the noose etched into her skin.
Lara smirks at that. “I would expect nothing less.” And she raises her palm in return, revealing the pile of bones.
Seren nods curtly, her eyes filled with emotion she’ll never admit.
Fuck.
This is the part of the plan that cannot afford to go wrong. Elyssara spins to the rest of the group, fire in her eyes and magic in her veins. They stare back at her. But they are not the faces of warriors, they are the faces of people who know they’re facing a war they cannot win.
Not without the witches.
Not without the dragons.
So she knows what she has to do: become the Queen of Dravara and lead them.
“We visit Thalmyr, secure his army, find Nyrielle’s weaknesses, and use the castle as a stronghold. We let The Barrier fall. And we bring the war to us—force them to face us on our terms,” she commands, dragging her gaze across her allies.
The words don’t sound like a suggestion. They sound like inevitability.
Vren scoffs, dragging his hand down his face. “And how do you propose we do that? What would lure them to us?”
Elyssara raises her palm, light blooming there. “Me. My power threatens their dominion. They believe in the prophecy more than anything. They’ll want to eliminate threats. And…” she trails off, searching the space for Marin.
“You need to encourage Maireth to move on us. Tell her The Barrier is down, and it’s time to strike,” Elyssara commands, but underneath the power in her voice, doubt stirs. “There’s no way we can beat their defenses if we go to them, and they won’t be expecting us to have the Starborn army.”
Not that she’s secured the Starborn army yet.
Marin nods, taking the orders without pushing back.
Elyssara spins again, settling back on Lara. “Will you encourage Nyrielle to strike on Virellin? Would you do that if nothing else? Consider it an assignment.”
Lara stares her down. “And in return?”
Of course.
“Safety from being hunted by the Dravari Monarchy. Safety in our kingdom when I take the throne,” Elyssara says, making all of this up as she goes.
Lara mulls it over. “And if you’re not alive to take the throne?”
Vren curses under his breath—something about putting faith in the witches being futile.
And maybe something about them being cunts.
“Then the world is Nyrielle’s and all bets are off. Enjoy your safety in Nymeris if that ever comes to pass,” Elyssara answers, tilting her chin up.
Lara shrugs one shoulder. “Fine.”
The words come out easy, simple—like she’s not altering the Known Realms with a single decision.
“One more thing,” Lara drawls.
Elyssara’s eyes flick up.
“The rest of The Dreaded are yours to command as you please. Nyrielle only wants my service.”
Elyssara’s eyes narrow. Because this doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like strategy. Like there’s a reason Nyrielle only wants the High Witch.
Elyssara gives her a curt nod. “Don’t fuck me over, High Witch.”
It isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.
Lara smirks. “Don’t fuck it up, Lightborne.”
And just like that, the deal is struck.
Elyssara steels her nerve for a little longer, turning back to the group.
“Rubi, Saana, Vren—confirm the dragonblood will purge the threvenar, and find a way to get it to the people,” Elyssara directs.
They nod, packing up the materials.
“Marin—get your mother to move on Dravara, and keep my fucking Starbound alive,” she snaps, not an ounce of hesitation in her tone.
“And then what?” Marin presses. “What happens when my mother uses him against you?”
Her heart seizes in her chest.
“Let me worry about that,” she snaps, but truly, she doesn’t know.
She shoves down the fear.
“Teddy, I need a war strategy. One that will outwit what you’ve handed to Nyrielle,” Elyssara instructs.
His face falls, filled with regret and self-deprecation. “Understood,” he answers, but the words hurt him.
“Time to visit Thalmyr.”
She stabs her finger at Calira. “You better not be setting us up, Commander. Now, take us to the false king.”
The war has already begun.