Chapter 50 Oaths and Occult
OATHS AND OCCULT
“Focus,” Lochlan instructs, his voice a calm anchor in the tumult of my thoughts.
A new routine has taken shape over the past two weeks. I spend my mornings pushing my body in the gym before Daire, Griffin, and I head into the baths, where I’ve memorized their touches and breaths as they drive me to climax, and we soak.
We eat breakfast together, all six of us, going over more of my history: places, things, and people who played significant and even minor roles in my life. Then Lochlan, Holden, Kai, and I do shield training.
“Lyra will expect resistance—a certain amount is natural—but if she thinks you’re hiding something, it will draw her attention,” Lochlan reminds me.
I take a deep breath, visualizing my thoughts as we’ve practiced—a neutral narrative, with as few specifics as possible so that what I tell her could be Montana or Vermont—it isn’t a name, but a place.
I organize the concentric circles with minimal gaps, the way they’ve taught me authentic memories present.
Surface memories are first, deeper truths—none of which include the fire, prison, or the Vestra—are buried at the center.
Between them are carefully curated decoys and partial truths that feel like realities after so many practice sessions.
Good, Lochlan murmurs in my mind.
A tentative trust has taken root between us, fragile but growing.
Careful. This feels like something you’ve memorized, not lived, he says, strolling through one of the fabricated memories.
Add more details. His presence in my thoughts brings a rush of sensations as he constructs something richer.
The forest I imagined suddenly has the crisp scent of autumn leaves and the bite of a chill.
Sunlight filters through the maple leaves.
It’s so real, it feels like I could reach out and brush my fingers against the brightly colored leaves.
Remember how it felt, not just what happened.
I let his inspiration guide me, adding squirrels and crows, dropped acorns. A moonstag appears in the distance, its ice-like antlers glinting in the sun for a second before it vanishes, along with half the details.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“We should take a break,” he says, tugging at his tie, already loosened around his neck. “Why don’t you go get some tea?”
Assurances and promises that I can do this are ash on my tongue as he paces the length of the formal library—the one I burnt my first day here.
The kitchen pulses with warmth and energy, the scent of honeyed fruit, fresh tea, and something sweet and familiar curling through the air, making my stomach growl.
Gwen sways at the counter, her hips moving to a happy, upbeat song as she slices solverns, small, pale fruit that tastes like a cross between a mango and an apple, with the texture of a fresh plum. She hums along to the tune playing from her crystal link.
“What has you so happy this afternoon?” I ask, stealing a slice of solvern.
She grins, still dancing. “Spring is coming,” she sings, shimmying her shoulders. “Soon, the house will be filled with flowers and medicinal plants.”
The kitchen is often filled with flowers and medicinal plants from the massive garden and greenhouse out back, which we wander through most afternoons before my shielding practices.
Still, her enthusiasm is infectious. My lips twitch with a smile as I steal another slice of fruit.
“I should have brought you some dreamblossoms from Portelina.”
She twirls again, wrapping her hands around mine and dragging me into a spin. “I have a surprise for you.” She releases me and dramatically points to a covered dish on the counter.
I lift the lid, revealing stacks of pancakes, still warm.
My pulse stutters as a breathless laugh spills from me. “Gwen, you’re a goddess.”
She smiles broadly. Proudly. Then holds out her arms and bows. “Goddess—no. Miracle worker—perhaps. Wait until you taste them. These deserve a happy dance.”
“Require a happy dance,” I say.
A faster song starts, and Gwen grabs my hands again, pulling me with her. A surprised squeal escapes me as I twirl and move with her. It’s silly, impulsive—so wildly uncharacteristic of me.
“More hips,” Gwen says, swaying with the music.
“I don’t move like that.” But I try to mirror her movements.
She cackles. “Stop thinking and just feel the rhythm.”
I snatch another piece of solvern and throw it at her.
Gwen shrieks and ducks, giggling as she retaliates, throwing a larger slice at me. I twist to dodge, spinning dramatically, my arms lifting like I’m on a stage for a ballet, which has Gwen’s laughter ringing through the kitchen.
I’m completely lost in the moment. Too lost to notice the large silhouette in the doorway until I nearly spin into him.
I freeze as I slowly lower my arms and try to read Holden’s expression as my stomach plummets. The kitchen is too quiet, my pulse too loud. I must look like an idiot—barefoot, flushed, and carefree—a stark contrast to who I’ve become, who I am most of the time.
His lips twitch—a flicker that teases my memories.
Gwen grabs my hands once more, spinning me back toward the stove, where she releases me and points to the mug of steaming tea. “No more celebration dancing until you’ve finished your tea. Your energy is still too low.”
“What exactly are we celebrating?” Holden’s deep voice is even. Unreadable.
“Pancakes,” she tells him brightly. “Brielle mentioned they were one of her favorite breakfasts, so I did a little research, compared some recipes, and—” She makes a grand flourish to the stacks of pancakes.
“What are they?” he asks.
“I have to go meet Chandler in the garden, but Brielle can explain.” Gwen wipes her hands on a towel before grabbing a whole solvern and slipping out through the dining room.
I swallow, reminding myself he has seen some of my worst memories, he’s also seen plenty of my most embarrassing moments, including a firsthand account of me being stripped bare and orgasming, not to mention the balancing exercises Griffin has added to my training sessions.
Dancing and laughing shouldn’t make me feel so exposed.
“They’re a cross between a cake and bread,” I explain.
“And you like them?”
“It’s pretty hard not to like cake or bread.”
He grins, a look that makes my heart feel sticky. I’ve seen his smile so few times. So rarely directed at me.
“I have something,” Scarlet says, stepping into the dining room, a book spread in her arms.
My heart sinks at the interruption as Scarlet moves to stand between us, showing the cover of the old book. Look at this. It’s filled with ancient prophecies and look—” Her gaze meets mine. “See how it’s written?”
Holden leans closer. “Where did you get it?”
“Why are they transcribed in spirals?” I ask.
Scarlet ignores him, her blue eyes wide and bright. “This is how seers initially transcribe them.”
I rake over the page and then look back at her. “Are you sure?”
She nods. “It was news to me, too. But get this, a few weeks ago, I asked Everett about prophecies because he was obsessed with them last year—even went through the steps to get acceptance to the Council library so he could go through them—”
“You told Everett?” Holden’s voice is sharp.
“I asked Everett about general prophecies.”
“Scarlet.” He runs a hand over his mouth, his panic blares through my chest.
“Relax,” she says. “I didn’t tell him anything.
Besides, we can trust Everett. He has more suspicion in his pinky than your entire Vestra.
” She stares at him with a silent challenge.
“Anyway, he made a comment about how prophecies aren’t meant to be read in isolation.
I couldn’t ask him what he meant because Nick came over, but I think I get it now.
” She points at the page nearest me. “I’ve read this official prophecy, and it’s not the original format. ”
Holden looks stricken.
“And look at this,” she underlines gold script written between the lines.
“They read like conditions. Like if one circle completes, the next won’t, or might.
Each prophecy is one possibility among many.
” She looks between us again as my thoughts race to understand this discovery.
“Which means your prophecy could have a dozen conditions, or maybe it isn’t even meant for your Vestra. ”
“Are we sure it’s real?” I ask as hope invades my heart, pushing me toward the answer I’ve felt and have continued denying.
Holden’s dark eyes meet mine, that spark of wonder I’ve seen in fractional seconds, making my heart race before he shakes his head. “I’m going to need that book so I can run some tests.”
Scarlet nods, passing it to him.
Holden abandons the pancakes and whatever had been building between us, striding off in the direction of his office.
Mysthaven is quiet, bathed in flickering firelight that dances in the hearth as I curl deeper into the couch in the library. The Codex lies open on my lap. I reread a section for the third time:
A Nexus is bound beyond mere proximity—though distance can dull their connection, their emotions remain intertwined. In the early stages of bonding, these emotions can be particularly strong, and are believed to occur even before the bond has been forged.
The word Nexus strikes me as significant—different from the typical Vestra terminology.
“What are you thinking about, Spitfire?”
I startle, glancing up to find Daire leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his amber eyes studying me with an amused glint.
“I didn’t hear you coming.”
The soft curve of his smile warms my chest. “I wasn’t trying to be heard.” He steps forward, lingering close enough that his warmth brushes my skin. “What are you reading?”
I bookmark my place with my thumb and show him the cover. “Do you know who wrote it? It almost reads like learning about Elementals from someone who wasn’t one.”
He shrugs. “You’ll have to ask Holden or Loch.”
I hesitate, but then decide to ask. “Can you sense my emotions?”