Chapter 37
“We’ve got a problem.” Jace throws a scroll down on the desk. The study is silent, slowly waking from a dreamless sleep. “Samkiel sent a message.”
Across from me, Isra’s nostrils flare. “What did that fucker say?”
“Besides his usual cryptic bullshit, he included this.” Jace taps the parchment, handwritten and burnt around the edges. “It’s some sort of correspondence from House Ceti to the high priestess of Astora’s servants.”
I fight the sudden urge to plow toward the desk. What the fuck did Jace just say? “That has to be a forgery. Sovereign’s archives were decimated during the war. There couldn’t possibly be anything left of their records. A surviving scroll no less.”
“That was my thought, too, but look at the seal in the corner.” Jace draws an index finger to the corner of the page. Inked there is House Ceti’s signet. Sovereign’s noble house prided themselves on the complexity of the design, making it next to impossible to forge.
“What does it say?” I ask, though I’m not sure I’m truly prepared to hear the answer.
“It discusses House Ceti’s late heir. A list of punishments set forth for various indiscretions, but the excerpt cuts off before going into depth,” Jace explains. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sits back in his chair.
“Why would Ashar send this to us?” Roe asks, seated on Jace’s desk beside him. “To taunt us? That conniving little weasel is always up to something.”
“Perhaps. Or he wants us to know he has the upper hand, maybe to make us sweat, maybe to draw us out of Shadow. Regardless, it’s imperative we find the rider before he does,” Jace replies.
“Well then, we need to find a way into Sea.” Isra shifts over his knees.
My heart thunders in my throat with a pent up rage, begging for release. I’ll be damned if I let Samkiel take any other Sovereign survivors before we reach them. He and I have a date with Morvayne.
“There might be something we can offer Mercora enticing enough to authorize a crossing,” Jace says.
Dawn’s light trickles in from the windows, coating his skin in gilded shades. The stifled yawn in my throat is desperate to go back to bed, but with the egg stoning, and now Samkiel’s threat, there’s no delaying any possible forward movement in our plans.
“And what’s that?” Roe asks, flicking the dirt from her nails. She kicks a booted foot against the desk leg with an impatience reflected in all of us, but gods does the woman ever sit in an actual seat?
“My mother’s circlet. Mercora’s been trying to get his paws on it for years.” Jace pulls a tome from one of the many over-stuffed shelves. Everyone’s stills, but me.
“A piece of jewelry? I’ll admit I don’t know much about Sea, but they can’t possibly be struggling that much for stipen,” I say.
“The center gem on the circlet is a rare kind of dragonstone, starling, from your home faction. It’s one of a kind and a stone that size could please the gods enough for the highest of blessings.
” Jace turns the page of the tome resting open before him like my question bores him.
I grit my teeth, watching a lazy curl fall over his brow.
Asshole.
“The dragonstone is from Sovereign? How in Astora’s name did Shadow’s late consort come into possession of it?” My fingers grip the armrest at my side. “A war prize, perhaps?”
Jace’s eyes land on me like a blow to the cheek. “No. It was a gift. From the servants of Astora themselves.”
I scoff, clicking my heels against the floor. “Somehow I doubt that. Astora’s servants wouldn’t simply offer a dragonstone of that stature to anyone.”
“Doubt all you want, starling, but I only speak the truth.”
“That’s unlike you,” I retort.
A growl rumbles in Jace’s throat, but Roe throws up a palm.
“Before you two claw each other’s throats out again, and the courier here locks herself in her bedchamber, I have a question.
” She hops from her seat. “You’ve known about the circlet this whole time and just now mention it?
Wouldn’t that have saved us all the headache of bickering? ”
“It’s not that simple.” Jace wets his thumb before turning another page. Gods, this man is…insufferable, miserable, entirely consuming. Isra coughs beside me, drawing my attention from the thumb now stroking the page’s corner.
“You’ve gone mad, I think.” He approaches Jace, leaning a palm against the King of Shadow’s shoulder. “But your plan just might work.”
“Gods be good, this continent was forged from greedy houses and slimy bastards.” Roe sighs and pushes off the desk. “Where is the circlet?”
“Well, that’s the other problem. My mother was buried with it.”
Isra’s lips thin. “Fuck, okay.”
“Why is that a problem?” I risk the question, even if the thought of exhuming a long since departed Ashborne has my stomach churning.
“The Ashborne tomb is carved into Shadevale’s peak.
Just as every fallen rider is, my mother was buried alongside her dragon, and the Blightfangs don’t particularly enjoy unsealing their graves.
Especially not during a blood moon,” Jace replies.
“If we are to retrieve the circlet, it could piss off a lot of already enraged dragons and potentially tear a way through the veil that separates us from the damned.”
“Hold on a second…” I rise from my seat. “What do you mean tear the veil?”
“Gods be good, the blood moon, starling. Didn’t any of those books you claim to read tell you about our lunar cycle?
” Jace strolls to the cabinette, pouring himself a heavy glass of whiskey.
The sun hasn’t fully risen, and I’ve already driven him to drink.
If not for the lingering memory of that horrific hangover, I’d pour myself a glass too.
“Just that it occurs once a month, when our sun eclipses the moon and turns the sky red.”
“Right, but during that time, the continent is drained of its magic, the bond between rider and dragon is suppressed, and the veil between our world and Morvayne’s thins.”
“Okay, but why is unsealing the Ashborne tomb such a risk?” I ask. Either I’m an idiot or these three are withholding something big. After the last two days, I’m learning either are probable options.
“When we die, our souls pass into Morvayne’s court to face final judgement—either an eternity of peace in Solara or of agony in the ten hells of Nulith.
Yet some refuse it. They linger in our world, bound to the blood moon’s cycle, waiting for a chance to return.
” Jace brings the glass to his lips. “The Ashborne tomb stands as their purgatory, there are runes etched in its stones that seal the only gateway between us and them.”
My shoulders tense. “Oh.”
“Between us and blood-ravenous dead riders, you mean.” Roe scoffs, picking her nails.
“Now you see the problem, starling.” Jace takes another sip of his whiskey. “If we unseal it, we risk letting the worst of the dead cross back over.”
“We don’t have another choice. Either we unseal the tomb and risk a few wraiths coming back or we lose our chance at the guardian rising again. The decision is clear,” Isra says. Jace sighs like an exhausted parent.
“You still haven’t told me what it is Sea really wants. You know, the secret plan A?” My gaze jumps between Isra and Jace, now exchanging silent glances.
“Plan A is a non-option and not up for discussion,” Jace says.
“Then plan B it is.” Isra claps his hands together and paces to the windows.
“The Blightfangs won’t ever agree to this,” Jace snarls. “They’d rather the continent burn than unleash those soulless riders.”
“Surely, they’d understand. Tenebris can explain the stakes of the matter.” I scrutinize every little crease of Jace’s features.
“I cannot ask that of him. There’s more at stake than the circlet. If he were to go to the other Blightfangs, suggesting we defy Morvayne’s will, they could exile him. He risks not raising his hatchlings with Niaxa, and they’ve waited so long for a clutch of eggs,” Jace says.
Isra tips his chin to the doorway, now ajar. A gentle breeze rustles through the study that sends a cold chill up my arms. “There’s no harm in trying.”
“Tenebris wouldn’t ever agree.” Jace slings his merciless tone of command toward us.
“Tenebris doesn’t answer to any human, nor does he appreciate being spoken for in his absence.” A slim figure appears in the open doorway. Tenebris saunters in, claws curled at his sides and fangs bared. “A meeting in the war room without me, rider?”
“Bris, I—”
The dragon raises a slender index finger, silencing the once mighty king with a simple gesture. “I’ll speak with the others. If they agree, we will retrieve the circlet.”
A satisfied smirk curls on my lip before I can suppress it. With only a finger, the dragon commands Jace like he’s a child. Fuck, if only I had the same ability maybe I wouldn’t have found my way into this mess.
Jace’s jaw ticks.
“Do not be foolish enough to make assumptions. If you seek my help, all you have to do is ask for it, rider,” Tenebris says.
The dragon takes a seat beside me, his thigh mere inches from mine.
“The Blightfangs will agree this is of the utmost importance. Pack for your mission, I’ll give you their answer in a few hours. ”
By noon, we’ve packed and received a response from the Blightfangs. While the proposition was met with some grumbles of apprehension, Tenebris assured us their decision was unanimous. Retrieve the circlet, offer it to King Mercora, and secure a crossing authorization.
Now the flying armor, freshly delivered from Jace’s tailor, holds my waist a bit too tightly, the fabric a bit too rough against my skin. A quick glance at my reflection staring back at me from the fountain, is one I barely recognize.
Midnight leather molds to every curve. My hair, now plaited down my back, gleams pure silver in the daylight. I’ve never allowed the color to be this vibrant, this free of dye. A part of me relishes in the straight strands following the curve of my jaw, but another part hates them.