Chapter 41 The Runaway Brides
The Runaway Brides
Mariel, Vivian, get up! We have to go.” My pulse pounds in my ears.
Mariel groans but sits up.
I go to her side. “The final Trial will kill us all. We can’t survive it. There’s no time to lose—we have to escape the castle grounds before dawn. Come on!”
Mariel nods gravely, knowing better than to delay us with her questions.
I leap to my feet as the door creaks open behind us, whirling around to see—
Seraphina stands in the threshold, chin lifted, arms folded. A slow, victorious smile creeps across her features. “Planning your escape, are we? You won’t get far,” she purrs. “But please, do try. I don’t mind being the king’s only choice.”
“You can have him,” I snap, grabbing my satchel. “Now move.”
She steps aside in a mocking half-bow. “Run, little Fire. See how long the wind favors you.”
Vivian barrels in behind her, cheeks flushed, curls escaping their pins. “What did I miss? Oh stars, we’re doing it, aren’t we?” She grabs Mariel’s hand. “I’m with you.”
As quickly and quietly as I can, I lead Vivian and Mariel through the corridors, sneaking past open doors and dodging the occasional servant. If Keiren has sounded the alarm, he’s done it silently, not giving us any warning.
Outside, the courtyard lies washed in the paleness that heralds the dawn, lanterns guttering, mist curling low across the stones.
In the stable, Brimstone stomps the ground impatiently beside Ashwing.
When we lead them out of the stable, little Moonbeam circles overhead in nervous, fluttering loops.
Vivian hesitates at the sight of the stallion’s glinting black eyes. “You expect me to get on that beast?”
“Either that,” I say, hoisting her up behind me, “or be dragon breakfast.”
Mariel mounts Ashwing, the mare tossing her silver mane as if she understands.
“We’ll ride hard until the ridge,” I say.
We spur forward, hooves clattering over the cobbles. The gate yawns open like a wound, and the orchard blurs past, rows of pale blossoms ghosting in the wind.
Then a sound splits the sky. A roar.
It shreds the silence, a cry of fury and heartbreak that vibrates through my ribs. I don’t look back. I can’t.
“Hold on!” I shout.
Behind us, the sky darkens as enormous wings unfold from the castle spire, casting shadows that swallow the moonlight. The dragon descends through the mist, his bellow echoing off the cliffs.
“Go, Ashwing!” Mariel cries, and the mare surges ahead. Moonbeam streaks after her in a blur of white that stands out starkly against the night.
Brimstone’s muscles bunch beneath me as we plunge into the forest, our only hope of cover, our only hope of losing the dragon—Keiren—long enough to reach safety. Branches whip at our faces; the wind smells of sap and ash.
Then the heat hits in a sudden, searing wave. Fire blooms across the treetops, orange tongues devouring leaves. Vivian screams behind me as Brimstone rears, his eyes wild.
“Hold on!” I yell, clutching the reins.
The stallion bolts. Flames leap around us, trees collapsing in our wake.
Ashwing whinnies somewhere to our left. “Mariel!” I shout, but smoke chokes the word.
The roar comes again—closer now. Lower. The ground trembles. Brimstone veers, hooves sliding, throwing me sideways. Pain explodes through my shoulder as I hit the earth.
Vivian tumbles free. I hear her faintly calling my name before the forest floor itself groans and splits. Roots twist, soil gives way—and I fall.
Darkness swallows me whole.
I wake to the smell of herbs and smoke. My body is a single ache. The cave walls shimmer with dim firelight.
A woman sits by the coals, stirring something in a small iron pot. Silver threads wind through her black hair; her eyes glint green, sharp as cut glass.
“You’re awake,” she says, voice roughened by time. “Good. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
My lips crack when I speak. “Who are you?”
She passes me a wooden cup. “Drink first.”
The water is cool, tasting faintly of mint and metal.
“My name is Evelen.” The name lands heavy, like the echo of a story I’ve half-forgotten. “You’re lucky I found you before he did.”
“The dragon?” I manage.
A slight nod. “And his shadows. They hunt whatever tries to escape him.” Her gaze drifts to the vigil braid at my wrist. “Especially the ones he doesn’t want to lose.”
I swallow hard. “How do you know that?”
Her mouth tightens. “Because I was his bride once, too.”
Silence fills the cave.
“You escaped,” I whisper. “How?”
“Not escaped. Survived.” She looks to the fire. “The curse bound us both—him to the flame, me to the hollow left behind. Time moves strangely for those caught in its wake.”
“You’re part of it,” I realize. “Tied to the curse.”
Evelen nods, a sad curve to her mouth. “And to Talia. She was my friend. The only one who ever came close to breaking it. We were both offered to the king the same year. It was his love for her that saved my life. When she won, when they were wed, she pleaded for him to spare my life.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“You carry her fire. But strength alone won’t save you tomorrow.
You’ll need heart—and the right key. The dragon grows desperate.
The final Trial will be held within the mountain.
The curse tightens with every Bloodmoon.
He will test you with what you love—and what you think you know.
” Her gaze pins me to the ground. “Remember this: What is most precious to him is not always what it seems.”
Keiren’s eyes flash in my mind—blue turning gold, sorrow turning into fire. The journal. I will burn them all.
Evelen shoulders her satchel and fastens a hooded cloak around me, heavy with protective stitching. “I’ll take you to where the tunnel forks. After that, you must choose your path.”
Evelen’s herbs drag me down into a dreamless dark, the kind of sleep that feels less like rest and more like surrender. When I wake, it is without panic. Without pain. The ache in my limbs has dulled to a memory, distant and manageable, like a storm seen from far offshore.
She is waiting when I rise, lantern already lit.
We move through a crumbling alcove where the stone has folded inward on itself like a half-remembered thought. The lantern flame throws long shadows against the damp walls, and the air cools as the tunnel slopes downward, whispering across my cheeks.
“Stay close,” Evelen murmurs. “These tunnels shift. Only the wards keep them from swallowing us.”
Our boots echo softly on wet stone. Water drips from above in slow, patient rhythms. Roots snake through cracks in the ceiling, their tips swollen and slick, feeding on whatever magic lingers here. The earth smells old—older than kingdoms, older than vows.
At a fork in the passage, Evelen stops.
The stone here is carved smooth by centuries of passing feet. One tunnel bends gently left, wide and well-worn, its air warmer, almost welcoming. The other narrows sharply to the right, plunging into shadow so deep the lantern light seems to hesitate before touching it.
Evelyn lifts her lantern higher.
“The path to the left will take you back to Veyora,” she says quietly.
My breath catches.
“It will carry you out beyond the dragon’s wards,” she continues, her voice steady, unflinching. “Back to the outer roads. From there, you could hide. Take another name. Wait out the next year and a half while the Bloodmoon wanes.”
Images rise unbidden—green hills, quiet inns, the steady anonymity of survival.
“There are ships that leave the western ports,” she adds. “If you had the coin, you could buy passage. Flee the country entirely. Live.” She turns to face me fully now, eyes sharp beneath her hood. “But if you go left,” she says, “you leave the rest of us to burn.”
The words settle between us like ash.
I look again at the paths. The left tunnel slopes upward, its stone worn pale by safety and repetition. I can almost see it, Veyora waiting on the other side. Silence. Distance. A life spent watching the sky instead of challenging it.
I could live.
I could disappear.
Evelyn presses her palm to a carving etched into the wall—a dragon, wings spread, climbing skyward.
“The right path leads deeper,” she says. “Toward the Trial. Toward what waits for you.”
She kneels by a shallow stream that cuts through the cavern, its waters glowing with soft, silvery light. When she touches my bruises, the pain drains away like smoke in the wind. When she unwraps my arm, the flesh beneath is whole again.
“You’ll need your strength,” she murmurs.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She rises, the silver threads in her braid catching the glow of the lantern. “Follow the stream until you see a stone shaped like an egg. Beyond that ridge lies the cave. There, your fate awaits you.”
She pauses, studying me with eyes far too old to lie.
“Good luck, child,” she says at last. “May the stars brighten your way.”
At the cavern’s mouth, she presses parting gifts into my hands: a thin loop of cord, worn smooth by use, and a bone-hilt knife etched with constellations so fine that they shimmer when I tilt it. The blade is light. Balanced. Honest.
I touch the vigil braid at my wrist—thorn-red, ash-black, star-white—thinking of Mariel and Vivian. It hums faintly, steady as a heartbeat.
Ahead, the tunnel divides once more.
Left: safety bought with silence.
Right: fire, truth, consequence.
I picture the path left again. Quiet years spent hiding from the sky while cities burn in my absence. Names erased. Faces turned to smoke. A kingdom unmade while I cling to survival like a stolen prize.
Life, at the cost of everything else.
My fingers tighten around the knife.
“I’m done running,” I whisper—to the stone, to the stars, to myself.
I turn right.
The darkness closes around me, cool and absolute, but the vigil braid warms against my skin. Each step forward feels like crossing a line drawn long before I was born.
Toward fire.
Toward truth.
Toward the fate that has been waiting for me all along.
I follow the stream until it spills into a thin spring beneath an overhang shaped like a giant egg. Moonlight slices through cracks above, guiding me to the ridge. Smoke drifts from the mountain’s peak—his breath. My heart pounds.
“This is it,” I whisper.
At the ridge, hooves clatter behind me. I spin—and relief floods me. “Mariel!”
She leaps from Ashwing’s back, wild-eyed but alive. Vivian clings behind her on Brimstone, white-knuckled and breathless. Moonbeam circles above them in frantic loops of light.
I run to them, pulling Mariel into a fierce hug. “You’re safe.”
“For now,” she says. “Whatever happens, I’m with you.”
We climb the final slope together.