Chapter 9
Chapter nine
“Does she have a habit of falling over?” Silas’s muffled voice drifted through the haze as her consciousness returned.
“No, definitely not,” Thorne whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself lying on an unfamiliar bed.
Thorne and Silas hovered over her, amusement tugging at their mouths.
“Are you okay?” Thorne asked.
“Yeah.” She blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a shock when you first see one,” Silas said.
“See one . . .?”
“A Primal,” he answered. “They’re the essence of our power.”
Gisela looked at him, bewildered. “You’re saying we have one of those?”
He chuckled, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “You absolutely do. Crag sensed you both coming from beyond the mountain. You two must have strong ones, usually we can’t do that.”
Her hands shook and sweat beaded on her forehead. They’d been given only fragments of information about the Mystics. A sentient being . . . inside her?
Silas handed her a piece of bread and set a warm cup of tea on the wooden end table.
“I’ve got clothing for you that’ll be more practical for your travels, if you don’t mind pants and tunics.
Why don’t I fetch those for you, and then we can all sit down and have a little chat.
Crag will be able to answer more of your questions. ”
Without waiting for a response, Silas left the room.
She sat up to lean her head against the headboard. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” Thorne sat down next to her and handed her the cup of tea. “I’m not gonna lie . . . I was pretty close to fainting myself. I thought I was hallucinating.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this,” she admitted, shaking her head. She took a sip of her tea, and the warmth of it traveled from her mouth to her core.
“Me neither. But we’re already here.”
Gisela’s thoughts crowded in, loud and relentless. With no Mystic lineage, she wanted to believe the mark was somehow a mistake. Aside from feeling drawn to the Ice Stone, there was nothing to suggest she was anything more than an ordinary girl.
Silas returned to the room with a tunic and pants for Gisela, as well as new clothes for Thorne. A soft smile lingered on his face, his expression gleaming with excitement, as though this simple task brought him genuine pleasure.
Silas and Thorne stepped out, giving Gisela space to get dressed.
The tunic and pants felt strange on her, though they were almost a perfect fit.
She tugged at the waistband, adjusting it slightly.
The sturdy fabric was a far cry from her dresses, but for the first time, she felt like she could actually run if she had to.
When she stepped out of the room, Thorne and Silas were seated in the main area.
Thorne’s eyes roamed from her head to her toes and the corner of his mouth lifted.
Gisela shifted her weight, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Thank you for the clothes, Silas,” she said. “If I may ask, why do you have women’s clothing? Do you have a wife here?”
Silas grimaced, his face flashing with pain. “No, my wife is with the gods now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gisela replied.
“It was a little over a year ago. Those clothes were my daughter Marina’s.” He sighed. “We had an argument. She left after we completed the Trials. I haven’t heard from her since.”
Gisela nodded. He was alone here.
Except for Crag.
“Have you always lived here?” Thorne asked.
“No, we’re from Rockridge. We left after the kingdom executed my wife, Helena. She made it through the inspections as a young lady, only to be discovered later anyway.”
Gisela’s mouth fell open. Helena was a Mystic too. “How did you make it through the inspections?”
“Helena was born in Aquamere,” he said, voice rough.
“That’s where it happened. She’d gone back to visit friends.
” He swallowed, then cleared his throat.
“Growing up, her best friend there was an herbalist. Taught her how to make something to cover the mark.” He looked away, eyes dark with memory.
“After the execution, Marina and I didn’t wait to see if the guards would come for us. We fled that night.”
“What she made . . . was it like a putty?”
Silas shrugged. “Yeah. Is that what you two have done?”
They both nodded.
Silas looked contemplative, lost in thought.
Thorne leaned back, a shadow of a smirk on his face. “I didn’t know what I was going to do when I found my mark. I followed this one into the woods one night. Saw her making something and putting it behind her ear. Figured if she could do it, I could too.”
Silas raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-sympathetic. “Resourceful, but why did you have to follow her? Aren’t you two married?”
Gisela flushed. “No, we’re . . . old classmates. Friends.”
Thorne’s smirk widened ever so slightly at the faint pink tint creeping up her face. “Friends,” he repeated, as if testing the word.
“I learned how to make it years ago,” Gisela said. “Before I knew what it could do. When my mark appeared . . . I don’t know what made me try it. I was desperate.”
Silas rubbed his chin. “Trust me, I know desperation. And loneliness. Thought we’d never meet another Mystic. We would have protected more of them, but you know how it is. We never want to reveal ourselves. It’s hard to trust people.”
Gisela nodded, her eyes flicking to Thorne.
“Do you mind if I allow Crag to join us?”
“No, not at all. And I promise I won’t faint this time,” Gisela smiled sheepishly.
Crag materialized next to Silas, who straightened with pride, a broad smile spreading across his face.
Thorne stiffened, his grip tightening on the armrests of the chair.
Gisela’s lungs refused to expand as she studied Crag. Though she had only glimpsed him earlier, his presence was mesmerizing.
“I will not cause you two any harm,” Crag’s voice resonated through the room. “Destiny has brought you here. It is vital you complete the Trials. And accept your fate at the end.”
Thorne kept his gaze steady on the Primal. “That’s exactly why we’re here.”
Crag hummed in agreement.
“What are the Trials of Kharos, exactly?” Gisela asked.
“They’re what Mystics endure to awaken their Primals,” Silas explained. “It’s a knowledge lost to many of us. The Trials aren’t easy, which is why most Mystics here don’t have their Primal.”
“You mustn’t succumb to your fears during the Trials,” Crag added.
The butterflies in Gisela’s stomach fluttered at the thought.
“The main entrance to the cave was destroyed when King Thraxus started killing us,” Silas continued. “But there’s another way in.”
“How did they manage to execute those with awakened power?” Thorne questioned. “Couldn’t those Mystics have just . . . destroyed them?”
Silas furrowed his brow at Thorne. “Contrary to popular belief, son, it’s not in our nature to wield our powers for harm,” he said firmly.
“The guards are following orders from tyrants. But there weren’t many awakened Mystics.
Most of them fled, and others were taken by surprise. I was but a baby when it started.”
“What’s your power exactly?” Gisela asked.
“I’m an Earthshaper,” Silas said with a touch of pride in his voice. “My power channels through Crag, who’s an Earth Primal.” He gestured toward Crag, who gave a slight bow of his head.
“Do you know what Thorne and I are? Can you tell?”
“No, we’re not able to tell. Though, I have my suspicions about this one here,” Crag said, nodding toward Thorne.
Thorne leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Crag crossed his arms over his chest, and a light smirk appeared on his face.
Gisela glanced back and forth between them. Her heart quickened ever so slightly as she sensed the tension building around them.
Silas broke the silence, giving Crag a pointed look. “He’s the reason I can call upon the Earth and use it to cultivate and grow my crops, but it’s been difficult lately.”
“The Stones,” Gisela said. “King Ravenor took the Life Stones from all the villages. In Frosthaven, the forest is dying, and the animals are changing. We encountered a vicious beast on the way here.”
Crag and Silas exchanged concerned glances.
“I suspected the balance was disturbed,” Crag said, nodding. “I could feel it. Though, whatever is happening to the animals has not reached the mountain yet.”
“What does that mean exactly, though? The balance?” Thorne asked.
“The Stones do not only sustain the villages. They are the very essence of our world. The Stones and the Guardian Trees work in tandem to maintain the balance and protection of our realm.”
Gisela blinked. Guardian Trees?
“The Trees draw the gods’ power and hold the realm in balance,” Crag said. “The Stones absorb that power and return it to the land. Remove them, and that balance breaks. What follows . . . it has never been done.”
She’d climbed the grand tree in the Snowdrifts for years, never knowing it was holding the realm in balance. “You said The Guardian Trees,” Gisela mused.
“Yes. One stands in each village of Mystralos.”
Gisela’s brows lifted, mind churning.
“Why’d the King remove the Stones?” Silas asked, shaking his head in frustration.
“He said they would be stronger united. Said an Ancient Elder told him so,” Thorne said.
Crag fumed. “He dared take them from their rightful place on the word of a false prophet?”
“Crag . . .” Silas warned.
“He continues to insult the Six, executing those granted with their gifts and now he’s defiled the very bond they gave this land.”
The house rumbled violently, the floor beneath them shuddered. They all grabbed their chairs, bracing themselves. The walls creaked as though the house might give way.
“Crag, please,” Silas said. “I worked hard on this house.”
As fast as Crag materialized from Silas, he disappeared, and the house steadied.
Thorne and Gisela both let out a breath as their eyes met.
“Apologies,” Silas said, tensing his body. “That won’t happen again.”
“It’s alright.” Gisela forced her fingers loose around the chair.
They told Silas everything they knew: the sudden halt of the inspections, the King’s announcement before he took the stones, and the warning Gisela was given by Elder Aldric.
Silas confirmed it was, indeed, a prophecy.
He listened intently as they spoke, his brows furrowing with concern.
When they finished, he revealed his Mystic mark on his thigh—a swirling circle with extended vines.
Silas moved to the kitchen and set plates on the table. He arranged dishes of freshly cooked venison, colorful vegetables, and a small dessert of nuts, seeds, and honey with a light dusting of cocoa.
Gisela went straight for them, giving in to her sweet tooth. She crunched into one, savoring the perfect blend of sweetness and hint of cocoa bitterness. She couldn’t help but let out a satisfied moan. “What are these?”
Silas chuckled. “Crumble Clusters. They’re famous in Rockridge.”
“It’s delicious,” she said. “I love sweets.”
Thorne glanced up at her from his plate, his eyes softening with a smile as he watched Gisela’s joy radiate off her.
Silas cleared his throat, shifting the mood reluctantly.
He set down his fork and looked up, face firm.
“The Trials are different for everyone. There’s no way for me to prepare you, and nothing truly can.
You’ll each face your worst fears, be broken down completely, and essentially, your old self will perish.
A new self will be reborn with your Primal.
It’s the only way to secure a lasting bond with them,” Silas explained.
Fear settled in Gisela’s stomach, turning sour. Despite it, a tiny spark of resilience ignited.
Gisela glanced at Thorne. Emotions flashed across his face—fear, apprehension, acknowledgment, and then strength. The two of them caught each other’s eye. Neither looked away.
They were tethered on this journey, whether they liked it or not.
Before they settled for the night, Gisela stood by the window in their room. She stared at the horizon, ruminating on all the possibilities that awaited her.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Thorne said, breaking her away from her thoughts.
“No, it’s fine. I sleep curled up anyway.
We can both fit.” She moved to the bed, claiming the side closest to the wall.
Thorne wasn’t sleeping on the hard floor the night before the biggest day of their lives.
As awkward as it was to share a bed with him, she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable.
It was a strange feeling, caring about Thorne and his well-being.
A couple of weeks ago, Gisela would have paid a good coin to see him in distress.
The past week with him had been transformative in many ways.
She was beginning to see him as a friend. A frustratingly attractive one.
He climbed into bed beside her. Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he assured her, “We’re going to be okay tomorrow.”
Gisela rolled onto her back, her gaze meeting the same spot on the ceiling. “You think so?”
“I do,” he said confidently. “I’m curious to know what’s inside of us.”
“You mean, who.”
They shared a short, comfortable silence.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He shifted toward her, and she turned her head to face him.
“I’ll be with you. I won’t let anything bad happen.”
He said it with such softness that the blood stilled in her veins.
She nodded. Staring into his dark, piercing eyes, the boy she’d once dreaded disappeared, replaced by someone steady. Someone she could trust. Something came over her, and she grabbed his hand.
He widened his eyes.
She closed hers, praying to the gods sleep would find her. Her hand relaxed in his, but he didn’t let go.