Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Rounding a bend in the mountain, the rocky trail stretched ahead, twisting and narrowing between jagged cliffs.
Thorne wiped sweat from his brow, glaring at the deep descent below.
Gisela adjusted her pack with a grin. “You look like you’ve been caught in a blacksmith’s forge. Are you going to make it?”
Thorne raised his brow. “That depends. Are you going to blow some frost my way?” A wink and a smirk followed his words.
Despite the chill in her veins, heat rose to her cheeks.
Eira’s voice whispered in her mind, “We can certainly deliver that. Hold out your hand.”
Gisela could hear her mischievous tone as she followed Eira’s instruction, forming a swirling ball of frost in her palm. She blew, sending it toward Thorne’s face, coating his eyebrows and the short beard he had grown over the past couple weeks with a layer of ice.
Silas glanced over, and a full-bellied laugh echoed around them. “Care to send some my way too?”
Gisela happily obliged.
Silas let out a satisfied breath, brushing frost from his beard. “Easy now,” he said. “This path gets mean on the way down.”
The rest of the descent took another hour. There was a newfound strength in her body that wasn’t there when she had ascended that same mountain not so long ago.
The rocky heights gave way to a field of scattered boulders at the base. Overhead, a flock of birds broke from the clouds, flying hard for the mountain. Gisela, Thorne, and Silas peered up at them, noting their strange, unnatural formation.
One of the birds abruptly veered away from the group, its head swiveling in their direction. Diving at an alarming speed, a horrific caw tore from its beak. Before it crashed into Gisela, Thorne moved swiftly in front of her, projecting a blast of flames.
The roar of his fire swallowed the bird’s cry.
The bird disintegrated, leaving nothing but scattered ash on the ground.
Gisela blinked at Thorne’s back, heat still rippling through the air.
Smoke lingered, and a tense silence followed as the rest of the flock disappeared out of view.
“Did you see its eyes?” Silas asked.
Thorne and Gisela shared a look.
Crag appeared next to Silas. “Mystralos will continue to decline if we don’t get the Life Stones back into the pedestals.”
“The King doesn’t even care, does he?” Gisela shook her head.
“He must be after something. Some advantage or power he believes will come from all of this,” Silas said.
Muffled voices drifted toward them through the rustling leaves and Crag pressed his palms to the ground, raising a boulder to hide them.
The trio huddled in silence as the group approached. From behind the boulder, they watched members of the King’s guard heading toward the mountain.
The guards dismounted their horses, tethering them to a nearby tree before beginning their ascent.
“Trail’s too damn narrow,” one guard said. “Last thing I need is my horse tumbling off that cliff.”
“And you along with it,” another said, laughing.
Gisela looked up at Thorne, her expression tense. “The guards . . . from the letter your father received?”
Thorne nodded as he processed her words. “I’d bet they’re going to the cave. Stay here, Freckles,” he said, throwing a smirk over his shoulder as he followed the men.
“Don’t!” Gisela demanded through clenched teeth.
Silas put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let him go. We’re right down here. He might overhear something of value.”
Gisela hesitated, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. Then, a thought struck her. “I think we all just got something of value,” she said as her gaze flicked to the tied-up horses. Mischief sparked in her eyes and Silas caught it instantly. His grin mirrored her own.
Thorne kept his footing as quiet as possible, avoiding crunching leaves and loose rocks. He crept from tree to tree like a shadow, muscles coiled, senses straining.
“Patrollin’ a cave no one even knows about. What a joke,” one guard muttered, kicking at a loose rock.
“Beats the villages. At least we get a view,” another said.
“I swear, ever since Zaro showed up, everything’s . . . off,” a third guard said, scratching his head. “Weird posts lately. He’s got his own agenda with all this. I don’t trust him.”
The first snorted. “Ravenor’s too stupid to see it.”
“Power-hungry more like it.”
“And that potion they’re usin’ on the Mystics now?” The first guard shivered. “Fuckin’ scary, man.”
“Oh, I’ve heard the screams from Zaro’s lab.”
“The executions were mercy.”
They all chuckled, jumping over a fallen tree.
“It’s all taking too long. Whole realm’s gonna be in shit soon. Got family in Thunderpeak, and it’s gettin’ bad over there,” the first guard muttered.
“You hear about the scribes . . .” the second guard’s voice trailed off.
Thorne pressed himself closer to the tree, chest tight.
Elysande.
The thought of her being caught up in whatever the King and this Zaro person were planning made his stomach knot.
When Thorne reached the base of the mountain, Gisela and Silas were mounted on the guards’ horses, looking far too pleased with their theft.
“Our journey just got a little easier,” Gisela said, tossing her hair back playfully. Noticing Thorne’s grave expression, her smile melted away. “Did you hear something?”
Thorne sighed, shoulders heavy. He approached the third horse, patting its side before swinging himself up.
“They’re patrolling the cave like we thought.” He swallowed, running a hand over his face. “But they said someone named Zaro is close to the King. And Mystics . . . they’re using some sort of potion on them. Sounds like it’s making them suffer.”
Silas dropped the reins.
Thorne’s face softened at Gisela. “And something’s going on with the scribes.”
The blood drained from her face. “Elysande.”
Thorne shook his head. “Your father won’t let anything happen to her.”
“No . . . she was summoned . . . she—”
The wrinkles around Silas’s eyes deepened as he grabbed the reins of his horse. “We move fast. Let’s get to Rockridge. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”
They set off on their new mounts, the sound of hooves thudding against dirt.
Gisela’s thoughts spiraled. The potion was barbaric, and involving the scribes meant targeting knowledge itself.
They were keepers of truth, not warriors or threats.
Without them, the history of Mystralos would become a twist of rumor and lies, rewritten by whoever held the crown.
Every attempt at a deep breath was stifled by a phantom grip closing around her ribs.
King Ravenor was seizing more power and erasing the past.
Elysande’s gentle laugh echoed in her memory. Her ink-stained fingers. Her patience. Ely had never hurt anyone. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into the King’s plans.
The day passed as they rode, the landscape gradually shifting beneath them.
Gisela’s grip on the reins tightened until her knuckles ached, the fire in her thighs spreading into a stiff, dull throb along her back.
Ahead, the rugged outline of Rockridge’s village emerged. The smell of smoke and stone filled her nose.
Gisela stole a glance at Thorne, deep in thought, his eyes sweeping over the horizon.
He turned his head, his eyes steady and unblinking before his mouth curved into a slow, sly smile.
Her breath hitched, toes curling against the soles of her boots.
The King’s guards flooded the entrance to Rockridge. They typically didn’t visit the villages unless there was an inspection. It didn’t make sense. The last inspection was only a month ago.
Silas hesitated and pulled back on the reins. “That’s strange.”
“The guards did say they were patrolling villages now,” Thorne said.
Gisela squinted through the haze of the commotion. They were loading two young villagers into a carriage, their faces frozen with fright.
“Did they do another check?” she asked.
Silas shook his head, his expression grim. “I know a better way in.”
He led them to a secluded spot where the rugged terrain met a line of trees. Silas dismounted and gestured for them to do the same.
Crag crouched and slammed his hands onto the ground. A low rumble vibrated through the earth as it shifted, forming a narrow tunnel that led beneath the village’s perimeter. The earth parted in a dark, winding passage.
Gisela stared in awe. Then, her intrigued smile quickly faded. “Any chance you can make that passage wider, Crag?”
“I am afraid not. This was risky enough.”
Gisela nodded as Thorne moved in front of her, the tunnel forcing them into single file.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, swinging his hand back until she found it.
She exhaled, a small measure of reassurance settling as their fingers laced.
“This should take us directly under the village,” Silas said. “It’ll be safer than trying to get past the guards.”
Cool, damp air greeted them as they moved forward. The soft glow of the Primals illuminated their path—save for Ignitus, whose dark flames did little to lighten the tunnel’s shadows.
“You alright?” Thorne whispered to Gisela.
She nodded, squeezing his hand. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and the frantic rhythm of her heart steadied.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
She searched his eyes, admiring the unexpected gray within them, before her attention drifted to his mouth. It was a cruel sort of perfection—the kind that made her forget they were hiding in the dirt beneath a village.
They stopped beneath a large grate in the ceiling.
“Where does this lead to?” Thorne asked.
Silas smiled. “The tavern.”