Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Mystic Isle had been kind to them.
Gisela stood in the garden, taking in its order—the Primals at ease, the absence of fear, the way magic was allowed to exist without persecution. Nothing here demanded vigilance.
She hadn’t expected how much that would matter. How easy it would be to stay.
But Mystralos was dying. And peace, however real it was here, would not travel with them.
They were leaving with more questions than answers, and she would have to carry that uncertainty with her.
Thorne held Gisela in the palace garden, his chin resting on her head.
A light breeze stirred the flowers around them.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.
Gisela nuzzled into his chest. “It won’t be for long.”
The eel’s attack hadn’t left her, reminding her how unstable the realm had become, how easily everything could go wrong.
She wished he could stay with her, use the tree to get back to Aquamere.
But it wouldn’t allow him, and the reason weighed heavily in her chest.
Silas slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to Seraphina. “About how long until they use the tree?”
“Terranox is fast,” Seraphina answered. “You could be in Aquamere by tonight, but he’ll need to return soon after resting.”
“Where exactly is Aquamere’s tree, Adrian? What did you see around it?” Gisela asked.
“It looked like it was in a small forest,” he replied, relaxed with his arms crossed. “You can hear the ocean from it.”
Marina gave a firm nod. “I bet it’s on the forested cliff above my house. Tidelwood. Perfect.”
Bjorn swung her around and kissed her.
Silas averted his gaze.
Their Primals gathered around Seraphina. The air shimmered faintly as their magic rippled across the garden.
Gisela could sense Eira’s sadness, a deep, aching sorrow as if she were leaving a place she truly belonged.
Mystic Isle had been a sanctuary for them, a place where their essence was alive and free.
Aerion, however, floated above them in his usual hammock-like position, casually examining his nails.
His nonchalance stood in stark contrast to the others—Ignitus, smoldering with intensity; Crag, silent and watchful; Ondine, radiating a calm readiness for whatever lay ahead; Tempest, whose concern had sharpened.
Thorne glanced over at the Primals then back to Gisela. “Ignitus doesn’t want to be away from Eira either. I can sense it.”
“I can sense it too.”
Terranox roared, his massive body shifting as he lowered himself to the ground, ready for his riders. The vibrations from his movements hummed faintly beneath their feet.
Gisela’s stomach flipped as the time had arrived. “Until tonight,” she said, nodding to Marina, Silas, and Thorne.
Adrian draped his arm around Gisela’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of the ice princess,” he said with a grin.
Gisela smiled, giving him a gentle nudge.
“Of course you will,” Thorne added. “Because if you don’t . . .”
“You’d burn the world down,” Adrian finished, waving a hand in the air. “We know, we know.”
Thorne shot him a pointed look, but his eyes betrayed a smile. He brushed a quick kiss across Gisela’s forehead before turning to mount Terranox.
Marina hugged Gisela briefly. “See you tonight.”
Gisela walked over to Silas, planting a kiss on Silas’s cheek. “Get there safely.”
“Of course.”
Eira joined Gisela as they watched Terranox launch into the air, the wind whipping strands of hair across her face.
“They will be fine with Thorne and Ignitus,” Eira whispered.
Gisela turned to her. “How do you know?”
Eira didn’t respond.
Adrian approached Gisela’s side, tilting his head to watch as Terranox disappeared into the clouds.
“Where’s Eva?” Gisela asked.
“She doesn’t do well with goodbyes, but she’ll be here soon. I’ll be back down in a bit. I have a stop to make before we leave tonight,” Adrian said, winking, and disappeared through the palace doors.
Gisela shook her head with a smile and sat down on a stone bench in the garden, alone.
“Approaching the veil,” Thorne’s voice echoed in her mind.
“I love you,” Gisela said.
“I love you. I’ll see you tonight,” he responded, his voice growing fainter as he crossed into Mystralos.
Gisela exhaled and ran her hands through her hair. Cool wind brushed her cheeks, and she hugged her knees as the garden’s emptiness settled in.
A faint prickle crept up the back of her neck.
She turned to find Darian leaning against the garden gates, his white hair tousled by the wind.
She rolled her eyes. “You.”
“Me,” he said, opening his arms wide with a grin. He sat beside her on the bench.
“I don’t remember inviting you to sit here,” Gisela said.
Darian laughed. “Why the hostility toward me, Gisela?”
She shot him a look. “You seem . . . meddlesome.”
He cocked his head, his lips curving into a wry smile. “That’s likely true. You remind me so much of someone—someone I never got to truly know but observed from afar.”
Gisela shook her head. “Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“Cryptic. Elusive . . . Annoying.”
Darian’s smile widened. “Ah, but mystery adds flavor, don’t you think, young Frostweaver? You love solving problems.”
Gisela scoffed. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“I know enough,” he said.
“Enough to drop the whole ‘you might be a descendant’ thing and walk away?” she shot back.
“Might?” Darian studied her. “You wouldn’t be wrestling with it if you didn’t already feel the truth of it.”
“What does it mean though?”
Darian’s smile faded slightly. “Family secrets can be quite burdensome.”
“I don’t need vague hints,” Gisela said, frustration rising. “I need clear answers.”
“You will get them,” he said, rising to leave. “Just not today.”
He walked away, and Gisela was left staring after him, her hands curling at her sides. She wanted clarity, not riddles or prophecies.
She was sick of them.
Eva entered through the gates and crossed the garden. She sat where Darian had been, close but not crowding her.
Gisela offered a small, grateful smile.
Eva returned it, gentle and steady.
The tension in Gisela’s shoulders eased. She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing Eva’s hand. “Were you ever able to speak?” Gisela asked hesitantly.
Eva nodded.
Tempest appeared beside her, the air stirring faintly.
Eva’s hands moved in quick, precise motions as she signed.
“Eva and Adrian are descendants of the first-born children of Mystralos,” Tempest said.
Gisela blinked. “Mystralos?”
“Yes,” Tempest said. She glanced at Eva who flicked her hand to say go ahead.
“When their parents died, the loss fractured something in Eva. Her power surged in ways neither of us could steady. The silence came after.” Tempest glanced at Eva, waiting for her to gesture to continue.
“Eva has not drawn deeply from her power since that day,” she added.
“When she does, it does not return to rest easily.”
Gisela looked at Eva, who traced idle patterns in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “I’m sorry.”
Eva met her gaze and nodded once.
“How did they die?”
“Her parents, Lyra and Tyvor, fled Mystralos once Lyra became pregnant. Eva and Adrian were born here, imbued with the Isle’s magic.”
Gisela leaned forward, her posture a plea for more information.
“Lyra and Tyvor returned to Mystralos with Helena. The guards were waiting.”
The words landed hard.
Gisela dug her fingernails into the stone. “That’s how Marina knows them.”
Tempest nodded. “Yes.”
Wind stirred the garden, the scent of the flowers brushing Gisela’s nose. Leaves drifted down around them. She thought of Helena—of all the choices that had led here.
Then she looked at Eva again. Still here. Still standing.
“Can you teach me some signs?” Gisela asked.
Eva’s expression brightened at the request. She nodded and lifted her hands.
“This means thank you,” Tempest translated.
Gisela mirrored the movement, awkward at first.
Eva corrected her gently, tapping her wrist.
Gisela laughed under her breath and tried again.
Tempest continued to provide translations, guiding Gisela through each sign. “That one means friend,” she explained. “And this one is help.”
Gisela looked at Eva, full of gratitude as she signed, “Thank you.”
As Eva moved, Gisela noticed the Mystic mark below her collarbone, small, jagged lines like lightning. Gisela gestured to it, then turned to reveal her own mark behind her ear, now clearly visible. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the small container of putty and showed it to Eva.
“This hides it.” She scooped a small amount of it into her hands and pressed it over her mark. “It’s made from the Guardian Trees.”
Eva leaned closer, studying it.
“Do you want me to cover yours for the journey?”
Eva shook her head, then signed, her hands moving too fast for Gisela to follow.
“She says she will not hide who she is,” Tempest translated.
Eva’s expression turned serious as she nodded in agreement.
Gisela smiled, something warm and proud blooming in her chest. “And you shouldn’t have to.”