Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
“Come,” Zaro said, motioning for Thorne to follow him. Without waiting for a response, he turned and led the way toward a side door in the throne room.
Thorne glanced back at Gisela, offering reassurance, but she remained rooted in place.
They disappeared behind double doors.
Her fingers fidgeted nervously at her sides. Every step he took toward that threshold felt like a step toward a place he would never return from.
Trust him.
Trust Thorne.
She stepped outside and found Marina, Silas, Eva, and Adrian waiting in the courtyard.
Elysande sat on a bench, mumbling to herself.
The air was fresh, and the distant bustle of Tevrin drifted to her ears.
Outside these walls, life carried on, completely unaware of the shift in power that had just begun.
“It’s over. We have them,” she said.
“Gisela,” Marina said. “You really believe this is the right choice?”
She met her gaze, hesitating. “Yes. We need to restore balance as soon as possible. King Ravenor is dead. We have the Stones. This is everything we wanted.”
Marina’s expression softened slightly. “Trusting him is a risk.”
“I know,” Gisela replied. “But if we don’t do something, we’ll lose everything.”
Marina looked away, frustration mingling with concern. “I can’t shake the feeling that there is more to it than this. What if it goes wrong?”
“Then I’ll take responsibility,” Gisela said, stepping closer. “I want to make this right. For all of us. For Mystralos.”
Silas interjected, placing a reassuring hand on Gisela’s shoulder.
“We’re all in this together. The Stones will set everything right again.
” He paused, his eyes landing on the bag of Stones.
“But the Seer’s words . . . they’ve never left me.
‘Only when the Great Guardian Tree is revived will balance be restored for good’. ”
Adrian shifted on his feet, turning back toward the castle. “The castle’s tree . . . it didn’t look decayed.”
Gisela tilted her head. “Maybe fate has shifted.”
Marina sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Just be careful where you put your trust, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
They started walking, and Silas fell into step beside Adrian. “You used Aquamere’s tree to reach the one beneath the castle . . . Thorne said it wasn’t safe.”
Adrian hesitated, then nudged Eva gently. “It was her call. She saw—”
Eva’s fingers closed around his wrist.
Adrian winced. “She says some dangers are worth the risk,” he said. “This was one of them.”
Zaro and Thorne stepped into a small study. Through the large window, he could see Tevrin sprawled out, a patchwork of rooftops and winding streets. The sun was almost completely set.
Lanterns kindled one by one across the city, hearth smoke curling from chimneys as it settled into evening.
Unaware.
Zaro moved behind the desk, gesturing for Thorne to sit in the chair in front of it.
Thorne hesitated, sweeping the room, searching for hidden threats.
“You don’t have to worry, Thorne, I assure you.” Zaro studied him with an unsettling calm, his fingers lightly drumming the desk. A thin crack branched through the wood beneath Zaro’s hand, then sealed itself as his fingers stilled.
“You’ve made quite the journey. I must admit, it’s no small feat to confront a King. Even with powers as unique as yours.” With a wave of Zaro’s hand, the door behind Thorne swung shut.
Thorne’s gaze darted to the door, before slowly turning back to Zaro. “You’re a Windbinder?”
Zaro looked at Thorne thoughtfully. “Among other things.”
Thorne said nothing. He was used to men who wielded power as a weapon, who saw others as pieces to move on a board.
“You’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you alone,” Zaro continued. “I have a proposition for you.”
Thorne remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest. “A proposition?”
“Yes. Come work for me here, at the castle. Surely you don’t want to return to Frosthaven?”
Thorne was struck by Zaro’s ask. “I won’t leave Gisela.”
Zaro’s expression remained unchanged. “She’s more than welcome to join us. In fact, I encourage it.”
Thorne sat down, thinking for a moment, when Zaro bent to retrieve two drinking glasses.
“Thirsty?”
A dark liquid poured from his fingertip, filling the glass. It rippled once before settling.
Water.
Thorne’s throat tightened as the liquid caught the light, shimmering like ink.
Zaro took a sip, a sly smile spreading across his face.
“I don’t even know you,” Thorne finally managed to say.
“Ah, but you will,” Zaro replied. “It’ll take time to establish trust. I understand that. Gisela and I already made some progress on that front.”
The way he said Gisela’s name didn’t sit right with Thorne.
“Once the Kingdom learns of their tyrant King’s demise, executions will end for good, and the realm can live in peace as it once did. You’ll see the change in the tides.”
“Well, it’s hard to trust someone who would let beasts ravage the villages of the very realm you claim to want to protect. People died. Even more were injured. Our powers are weakened.”
“Were yours?” Zaro asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Thorne tilted his head, his gaze hardening. “What do you know about me?”
Zaro regarded him. “Not nearly enough, unfortunately. But that can change. Think about my offer, Thorne. Together, we can reshape this realm. I’d like you by my side.”
There was so much Zaro was saying and so much he wasn’t. But one thing was clear: whatever Zaro’s true intentions were, he was far from finished.
“I’ll consider it.” Thorne got up to leave when Zaro’s voice made him stop.
“Oh, and Thorne?”
Thorne turned, waiting.
Zaro smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Tell my sweet Selene that I will find her. She can’t hide forever.”
Thorne’s face paled. “How do you know my mother?”
Zaro looked amused. “Oh, Thorne. What did your father always say to you growing up?”
Thorne’s mind raced through painful memories. Cillian had hurled many insults at him over the years. He made his aversion for Thorne evident in any way he possibly could. But one phrase stood out before all others.
“You are no son of mine.”
He had known it was Cillian’s way to inflict pain, to distance himself from a son who never met his impossible expectations. But now, hearing Zaro’s words, the meaning twisted into something far darker. Thorne’s heart pounded in his ears as he struggled to piece it all together.
“That’s right. You are no son of his,” Zaro said, his voice dropping to a low, steady lull. Black flames wrapped Zaro’s fingers—the same dark, hungry fire that lived in Thorne’s veins. “Because you’re mine.”
Gisela stood at the base of the castle steps as Thorne descended. He was pale, tension carving deep lines into his face. The six Mystics had gathered, their eyes fixed inside the bag containing the Stones. After all they’d been through, here they stood.
She studied Thorne as he approached. “What was that all about?”
Thorne’s gaze dropped to the ground, avoiding her. “Not right now.”
When Gisela reached for his arm, he stiffened beneath her touch. She searched his face, but he kept his eyes averted.
Gisela knew Thorne. She was bound to him, soul and mind alike. She knew his anger, his sadness, and the jagged edges of his torment.
But this . . . this was something else.
She brushed his mind, but couldn’t read what lay there.
“They look dull,” Adrian muttered, frowning as he lifted Windspire’s Stone from the bag.
Gisela carefully picked up Frosthaven’s Stone. It was warm, like its elemental energy had faded. She turned it over in her hands and bit the inside of her cheek.
With slow deliberation, Gisela reached into the bag and pulled out Rockridge’s Stone, offering it to Silas. One by one, she matched the Stones with their corresponding Mystic. Thunderpeak’s Stone stung as her hand grazed it, and she pulled back.
Eva reached in and took it, her hand stalling for a moment as her fingers closed around the Stone. She withdrew slowly, her knuckles white against its defiant glow.
When she reached Sunhold’s Stone, Thorne shook his head, his hand curling away.
She held the Stone out to him. “Take it,” she insisted.
His fingers closed slowly around it.
“I trust you,” Gisela said.
He turned away.
She let the familiar frost flood her veins, tightening her grip on the Ice Stone. A shiver crept up her arm as its surface cooled against her skin. Around her, the others—Marina, Silas, Eva, and Adrian—followed suit, focusing their energy into their Stones.
Eva hesitated, tilting her head, inspecting hers. It glowed bright in her hands before she had done anything.
Gisela turned to Thorne.
He stood with the Stone in his hand, nostrils flaring.
“You can do this,” she urged, taking his hand.
Pain crossed his face, then something steadier took hold beneath it. He exhaled and let the fire go. The Stone pulsed in his grasp, its dull glow brightening.
Around them, the other Stones flared to life, beaming with renewed energy.
Only Gisela noticed the faint black fissure running through Sunhold’s Stone.