Chapter 24
Chapter
The next day my father came to me with good news.
He and his scholars had found on old maps the place where the first settlement once stood, somewhere near White City.
There was a chance we might discover a temple of the elements there.
In ancient times, there were many such sanctuaries, scattered through every great city, but the centuries had buried them beneath time and forest.
Father decided we would travel there, and he wanted me to come along.
He hoped we might sense a trace of power.
I couldn’t refuse. We gathered a small group, Kael, Brenn, and a few guards.
And set out at dawn, on horseback, while the mist still drifted among the trees.
The forest felt endless. Shadows moved between the branches, and now and then I glanced to the side, feeling the echo of that day when the wolves attacked, the memory twisting my stomach.
Still, I kept my hands near my daggers, just in case.
After a few hours of riding, father turned in his saddle, a too innocent smile curving his lips.
“So, have you found yourself a suitor yet?” he asked, as though inquiring about the weather.
I nearly fell off my horse. Kael cleared his throat, and Brenn began to cough so hard he nearly cried.
“Father, please,” I groaned. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Not talk about what?” he muttered. “You are my daughter, of age already. I would like to know whether I will live to see my grandchildren.”
“And what if the world is swallowed by darkness and we all die?” I asked solemnly.
“Then it will hardly matter,” he replied calmly. “But if it does not end, I would rather not have my daughter remain in the saved world… an old maid.”
“Father!” I hissed.
“What?” Father shrugged. “I heard about your little story with young Dorthal. I am glad the training did not go to waste.”
I clenched my teeth.
“If someone ever appears, I will let you know.”
“I should hope so,” Victor said with satisfaction, clicking his tongue to urge his horse forward.
“It is not that Cavareth boy, is it?” he called over his shoulder.
“Father!” I shouted, but he only laughed aloud.
“Daughter, I was young once too!” he called back. “And I know when someone irritates you that much, it is rarely without a reason!”
Kael and Brenn were crying with laughter. And I… I wanted to throw them all into the nearest stream. But in the end, I smiled to myself. Because despite everything… It was good to hear my father laugh again.
We rode on in silence. The forest grew thicker, the branches hanging low as if to bar the way to any who dared come too close.
The air turned cooler, heavier. Only the steady beat of hooves and the snapping of twigs broke the stillness.
After some time, a stone obelisk appeared in the distance, tall and overgrown with moss and ivy.
Father raised his hand, signaling us to stop.
“Here. We go on foot from this point,” he said, dismounting.
We followed him deeper into the woods. With every step the silence thickened.
No birds sang, not even the wind stirred.
Soon we saw the faint outline of walls ahead.
The temple was but a shadow of its former glory.
The stones were veiled in moss, the roots of trees breaking through the foundation.
The roof was gone, and the statues of gods stood broken, faceless.
Damp earth clung to my boots, and the air smelled of decay.
“This is it,” Father whispered. “The ancient temple of the Elements.”
I looked around the place that had once been sacred.
Between the stone columns stood large bowls, round vases set upon pedestals.
They resembled the ones in the palace catacombs, though these were older, stripped of their carvings.
I lifted my gaze and noticed something strange.
Four vases stood evenly spaced, but beside them lay the shattered remains of a fifth column, broken into pieces.
A chill ran through me.
“Father,” I asked softly, “do all temples have these vases?”
Victor moved closer, running his hand along one of the stones.
“Not all,” he said. “Only the oldest. They were used when people still offered tribute to the gods. Later, such practices faded. Once, palladium was given as an offering. When that ended, the few who still came left simpler gifts: a lump of earth, drops of water, a burning candle. Only superstitions remained.”“
“And you?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer. “What did you offer, when you made your sacrifice?”
He looked at me with quiet gravity.
“Blood,” he said without hesitation. “Your mother’s and mine.”
Of course. I fell silent, glancing down at my hands. The skin was smooth, yet I knew how much power it could unleash.
“Then perhaps it was never just superstition,” I murmured.
I moved deeper among the ruins, touching the moss-covered stones. Each seemed to tremble faintly, as if something within them still slept. I stopped by the remains of the broken column.
“Have you ever seen a fifth vase before?” I asked, pointing to the fragments.
“Rarely,” Father admitted. “I paid no mind to it once, but lately I have heard the fifth bowl was cursed. No one dared make an offering there. The boldest would destroy it, fearing ill fortune.”
I stared at the dark shards of stone, and suddenly my dream came rushing back. The black vase, obsidian-dark and cold as the grave. My chest tightened. I didn’t know whether it was a coincidence or a sign. Father ordered the guards to transcribe all visible runes.
“We will take the inscriptions to the palace,” he said. “The scribes will try to decipher them. Some of these symbols may be older than our oldest books.”
I helped for a while, though I felt nothing. No trace of magic, no echo of the elements. As though the place itself had died.
“There is nothing left here,” I said at last, glancing around the ruins. “As if someone drained all power from this ground.” Father nodded, and we made our way back to the horses.
The forest swallowed us again in silence. The sunlight filtered through the leaves like through green glass, and I could not stop thinking about the fifth bowl. The one meant for a god no one worshiped anymore.
The journey took three days and two nights.
When we finally reached the palace, I wanted nothing more than a bath and a soft bed.
Father went straight to the library with the runes and scrolls we had found, while I stayed behind to unsaddle my horse and ensure the guards led the rest of the animals to the stables.
Crossing the main courtyard toward my chambers, I spotted Peter.
“I am glad to see you returned safe and sound, my Lady,” he said with a polite bow. “And not only I. It seems a certain young Lord was growing rather impatient. Another day, and I might have been sent on a rescue mission myself.”
I rolled my eyes, and he handed me a small, folded note. The handwriting was bold and graceful:
I miss you.
Peter bowed again and vanished between the columns before I could say a word. Aidenar was no poet, yet my heart quickened all the same.
The bath was long and hot, scented with soap and roses.
I washed away the dust, the weariness, and the ghosts of the road.
When I stepped out, my hair was still damp, flowing over my shoulders like molten copper in the candlelight.
I slipped into a simple gown, wrapped Mirabel’s cloak around me, and followed the call of my heart.
To the Regent’s chambers.
It was late, the corridors empty and hushed, as though the palace itself slept. I made my way along the familiar path: stairs, gallery, library, the narrow passage. At last I reached the heavy door. I pushed it gently and knocked on the bookshelf, as always. No answer.
I stepped inside. The bed was empty. I looked around and then I saw him.
He stood on the terrace, his back turned to me. A white shirt clung to his straight shoulders, his fair hair neatly combed, the faint shadow of his beard gone. He looked once more like the Aidenar everyone saw, the young lord, the heir, master of the air.
When he sensed me near, he turned his head. A warm smile curved his lips as he reached out his hand.
I went to him. He drew me close, his arms wrapping around me. He smelled of lavender and rosemary, then I noticed the pots of these herbs that filled the terrace, their scent thick in the warm night air.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.
“It took me some time to recover from the journey,” I replied, still resting against his chest.
I looked down at the city spread below us, a sea of lights.
“Will you miss this view?” I asked quietly.
“This?” he whispered, his eyes were on me, not the city. “Always.”
The air between us grew heavy. My heart raced.
I wanted him, there was no denying it, no hiding it.
My skin prickled though the night was warm.
His fingers slid up my neck, through my hair, and then he tilted my head back.
His lips brushed mine, a question in their touch.
I did not pull away. The kiss deepened, slow and burning.
He guided me backward toward his bed, our breath quickening.
My cloak slipped from my shoulders and fell soundlessly to the floor.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping my hips, drawing me closer until I straddled him.
I saw his eyes widen and felt his body tensed.
His touch was fire, his breath uneven. His mouth traced my neck, my jaw, my collarbone.
His hands were gently discovering my body.
The world narrowed to warmth, to scent, to him.
My every nerve screamed that this was what I had longed for.
I pressed against him with my hips and suddenly he groaned in pain. A grimace crossed his face, and I realized it was the wound, still unhealed.
We stopped.
“Aidenar…” I whispered.
I pulled back slightly, my heart pounding.
Then came the rush—fear, shame, reason. Thoughts spun through me like a storm.
I realized where this was leading, and panic seized me.
I was not sure I was ready. My mind filled with images of the other women who had been here before me, of the secrecy of my visits, of what I was becoming. My whole body tensed.
“I cannot,” I stammered. “I cannot be just another of your mistresses, hidden in your chambers.”
I grabbed my cloak, flushed with shame, and fled through the hidden door, leaving Aidenar sitting on the bed, his face marked with astonishment.