Chapter 22
We push past the creaking sign of the Grail, our stomachs full but our spirits starved for adventure.
The edge of town gives way to a sprawling forest, its canopy casting dappled shadows across our path.
Excitement bubbles inside me like a well-shaken potion, yet caution weighs down my steps; we’re venturing into uncharted territory.
If we find the artifact from Harvest, the rest of this part of the tour will be a breeze.
“Stay sharp,” I murmur, more to myself than to the others, as we slip under the watchful gaze of ancient trees.
Revelin strides confidently at the forefront, his eyes lighting up with each Faerie delight revealed to us. “That’s a cluster of whisper willows,” he points out, his finger tracing the air toward the ethereal blue leaves. “If you listen closely, they say you can hear them sing on moonlit nights.”
Our witchling trails her fingers along the rough bark of a tree, her dark eyes reflecting a touch of melancholy.
“Feray would spend hours here, communing with every bloom and blade of grass,” she whispers, her voice laced with a longing that tugs at my heartstrings.
“She’s been even more into nature since the wolf emerged. ”
“Khal would love it, too,” Khol chimes in, his deep voice resonating with a homesick note. “He could find joy in every single leaf and flower in this place.”
A shared sigh ripples through them, homesickness weaving an invisible thread that momentarily binds us together amid this foreign magic. I’m less attached to anyone outside of these people and my closest children, so I’m not as affected. It’s up to me to lift their spirits a little; it seems.
“Diaval and Dr. Easton would probably curse every bug and bramble by now,” I quip, attempting to lift the mood. Laughter flutters among us like a released bird, lightening our load.
Tiernan chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “They’re likely at their wits’ end with Khal, Fer, and Torben. I can’t imagine the chaos they’re causing.”
Fiadh glances sideways, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. “I miss being invisible sometimes,” she confesses, her gaze flickering to Revelin. “It was easier than being watched because you’re ‘with’ the Daybreak Prince.”
“Ah, you’ll get used to it,” Revelin replies, his laugh a melody that seems to make the very air shimmer.
She snorts, clearly unconvinced, and for a moment, her guard drops—a warrior weary of the spotlight. But then she squares her shoulders, the familiar mask of the fierce Fiadh slipping back into place.
That’s our girl.
“Let’s keep moving,” I suggest, steering us onward. “The heart of the forest won’t reveal itself if we stand around baring our souls.”
We delve deeper into the embrace of the woods, the strange and beautiful Fae world unfolding before us, each step a dance between wonder and wariness.
The trail we follow narrows, swallowing us into a silence that’s as heavy as the undergrowth.
My steps are light, but the weight of the unknown presses down on me.
Tiernan’s gaze flickers to mine, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
I weigh the pros and cons of telling the others more, but we promised not to hide things from Fiadh, so I give in as we walk.
“It troubles me that we still haven’t found the source of the leak,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper as if the trees themselves might be eavesdropping. “It could be anyone spilling all the tea for any of a million reasons.”
Tiernan’s eyes scan the canopy, obviously as frustrated as I about our failure. He looks at the flashlight beam from his phone in irritation before he mutters, “If they’re cursed or spelled, they might not even know they’re doing it.”
“Exactly.” I sigh, the burden of responsibility tightening like a noose. “And with a staff list longer than the royal decree, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Thankfully, my bandmates are clean,” Revelin says, though his usual jovial tone is edged with concern.
“But Amethyst... If she’s not just stirring trouble for sport, we have a bigger problem.
” He kicks at a fallen branch, sending it skittering across the mossy floor.
“Since she’s bound to the tour by the promise of my idiot father, she’s woven herself into us more tightly than I thought. ”
Hushed by our grim thoughts, we continue on until a sudden crackling from the underbrush draws our attention. Instinctively, we halt, forming a tight circle back-to-back. A satyr, all smiles and mischief, emerges, his hooves crunching on dried leaves.
“Friends of the forest, welcome,” he calls out, his voice lilting with an unnatural cheer.
Trust nothing that pops out of the shadows, even if it’s gleeful.
Revelin doesn’t tense, but Fiadh’s reaction is immediate and fierce. She unsheathes her blades, their metal singing a chilling duet. “I’ve heard tales of your kind. Not all of you are as friendly as you pretend,” she hisses, poised and ready.
“Your burned friend,” I murmur, recalling her connection to the satyr at home. “He must have told you stories about satyrs in the wild.”
“If our witch says not to trust you, we don’t,” Tiernan adds, his own hand dropping to his weapon. “Stay back.”
“Oh, but let us converse, travelers. What harm can words do?” the satyr proposes, grinning widely, yet his eyes dart about, seeking something unseen.
That shiftiness gets my attention and I let my vampiric senses stretch outward as my eyes turn red. There’s nothing here that can escape my notice if I’m not putting on the facade of a human.
“Words can be poison,” Revelin counters, stepping forward. His hand goes to the hilt of his sword, and there’s a shift in the air, a charge that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
The Prince senses danger, too.
“Whoa, whoa, no need for—” the satyr starts, but it’s too late to talk any of us down.
“Enough,” I say sharply, cutting him off as I notice shadows shifting among the trees—watchers hidden in the dappled light.
Revelin reacts with the swiftness of legend, his blade drawn in a flash. Magic spills forth, radiant and blinding, cascading like a sunrise through the forest. The Daybreak Prince stands illuminated, a beacon against the dark.
I have to fight off the smirk as our girl stares in amazement.
Her ridiculous school really did both girls an enormous disservice in their education and I plan to bring that up with the Night District and vampire reps when we get home.
Mages, witches, and their ilk are woefully unprepared for the world outside of Briarvale and it’s dangerous.
As a business owner, I won’t stand for it.
Suddenly, a yelp shatters the Prince’s enchantment. The satyr turns tail and flees, vanishing into the thick brush from which he came. I watch carefully as he goes, making certain all the eyes and shadows I sense recede with him.
“Damn,” Fiadh curses under her breath, lowering her weapons. Beside her, Khol’s scowl mirrors her disappointment. “We could’ve handled that.”
“Perhaps,” Revelin replies, sheathing his sword with a flourish. “But now they know not to trifle with us.”
We exchange glances, a silent agreement passing through the group: stay alert, trust no one, and be ready for anything.
With our path cleared and hearts racing, we press on, deeper into the unknowable heart of the forest. The canopy thickens above us, and the air grows heavy with the scent of moss and ancient earth.
We tread lightly over a carpet of fallen leaves, our steps muffled by nature’s hush.
The underbrush gives way to an unexpected clearing, where a large pool reflects the sky like a mirror, disturbed only by the cascade of a waterfall.
The mist dances in the sunlight, casting rainbows that seem almost otherworldly.
This place holds power—ancient power, if my instincts are correct.
“Look.” Fiadh’s voice slices through the tranquility as she points towards the veil of water. Shadowed by its shimmering curtain lies the outline of a cave. “We can’t pass this by. It might as well have a sign saying ‘old magic shit here.’ Which also means it could be a trap, I suppose.”
I catch the flicker of hesitation in the others’ eyes; the same unease ripples through me, too.
But Fiadh is resolute, her weapons sliding into their sheaths with a definitive click. She stands with her shoulders squared, a silent challenge that none of us can ignore. “We have to go in.”
“As you wish, witchling,” I agree, my curiosity piqued despite the flutter of warning in my gut. “Let us see what secrets it holds.”
We navigate around the pool, the sound of the waterfall growing thunderous as we approach.
Each step feels like a commitment, a pact sealed with the unknown.
We reach the cave’s mouth, a gaping maw beckoning us into darkness, and I look out at the water behind us.
Hopefully, we don’t have to get soaked to find whatever is hidden here.
I’m neither in the mood to be dripping wet, nor to tangle with any mer-folk.
Fiadh extends her hand, her fingers weaving through the air. A soft glow emanates from her palm, casting light upon the jagged walls as we enter the cave. The coolness wraps around us like a cloak, the damp stone floor slick beneath our boots.
“Stay close,” she murmurs, leading the way with her spellbound luminescence.
Revelin beams, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles. “You’re getting good at that, lass.”
The cave narrows before opening into a wider chamber.
My ears tune to the steady drip of water, the quiet whispers of the forest locked away beyond the stone.
I haven’t let go of the vampire yet; no, my inner demon is needed for occasions like this.
I’d prefer not to showcase parts of it in front of the witchling yet, but if I have to, I will.
“Look at these,” Revelin breathes, his fingers grazing symbols etched deep into the rock. His touch seems reverent, understanding. “These are not just carvings. They’re an ode to ancient Fae magic—like a story told in swirls and runes.”
“Protective wards,” I murmur, recognizing the patterns among the arcane script. “Someone wanted to keep something out... or in.”
A clatter echoes behind us, and we spin to find Khol standing over a pile of bones, bleached white by time. His expression is grim, lips pulled back in a hiss. “This place is a grave,” he says, and I can hear the truth in his voice.
“Or a warning,” Tiernan adds quietly, his eyes scanning the dim recesses of the cave.
There’s no going back now; we simply have to accept that whatever is here might seek to harm us.
We’ve ventured too deep, drawn by the lure of the unknown. With each step forward, we bind ourselves to the cave’s history—its magic, its mysteries, and its dead. I shoot looks at each of the other men, warning them to keep their guard up so we can protect our mate.
“Let’s press on,” Fiadh decides, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Whatever lies ahead, we face it together.”
So, deeper into the heart of the earth we go, where secrets wait entombed in shadow. We edge around a bend, and I almost collide with Khol as he halts abruptly. Before us, a natural archway looms, veiled in a verdant cascade of vines.
“What do you make of this?” I ask, my voice hushed against the cave’s silence.
“An entrance,” Khol grunts, his muscles flexing as he tears away the stubborn greenery. The vines give way with a series of snaps and rustles, revealing a chamber that swallows the dim light. “Though to what, who the fuck knows?”
Stepping over the threshold, we’re greeted by an air of solemnity. An altar stands sentinel in the center, bathed in a halo of soft luminescence. Atop it rests a book, its cover dulled by dust, yet from within its pages emanates a faint glow.
Now this is very Temple of Doom.
“Careful,” Fiadh murmurs, her hand raised in silent warning.
We all sense it—power, ancient and undisturbed, woven into the very fabric of the room.
The two magic users walk up to the tome, studying as they circle the stone altar it rests on.
Both are silent as they look, and I assume they’re checking for booby traps or malevolent spells.
Once they clear it, the Prince approaches first, opening the dusty old book carefully.
When nothing happens, he gestures for all of us to come closer.
Revelin leans in close as he turns pages slowly, his expression a mix of awe and reverence.
“These maps...” His finger traces the intricate lines and symbols.
“They chart the courts of Faerie with precision I’ve never seen.
But this one...” He taps on a page bearing a map none of us recognize, its edges frayed with age.
“It’s unfamiliar, lost to time, perhaps. ”
“Or hidden for a reason,” I suggest, eyeing the cryptic pathways and markers. “Your people love a good mystery.”
“Either way, it’s ours now,” Fiadh says decisively, snapping the book shut. Its glow wanes, as if sealing its secrets once more. “These maps may help us figure out exactly where the damn artifact thingy is in each Court. I’m not leaving it behind.”
A rumbling sound echoes in the cave around us as she tucks the book in a bag that appears out of nowhere. We all look around warily, afraid of what that might mean.
“Let’s not overstay our welcome,” Tiernan says, glancing warily at the shadows clinging to the corners of the chamber.
Before we turn to leave, Fiadh and Revelin exchange a wordless nod, their hands moving in synchronized gestures. A shimmering veil of magic cascades over the altar, an invisible shield locking away what we’ve found.
“Done,” Revelin confirms, though his gaze lingers on the enchanted barrier. “No one will disturb this place again—not easily.”
With the book secured in Fiadh’s bag, we retrace our steps through the cavern, the weight of discovery settling in with each footfall. The cave releases us reluctantly, the outside air feeling suddenly fresh and full of possibility.
“Home stretch,” Khol says, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Now we just head back to the Sex Machine and we’re golden.”
The moon is high as we approach the bus, exhaustion weighing on our shoulders like cloaks. But beneath it thrums excitement; soon, we’ll unravel the book’s mysteries together.
“Unscathed, for now,” I think aloud, earning nods of agreement from the group.
Whatever lies ahead, this moment of victory binds us tighter than any spell could.