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The idea of walking into an unknown, magical cave was terrifying. What could be inside? Monsters? Traps? She couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unknown pressing against her. Anthea swallowed, nodding in understanding. She wouldn’t back down, not now. She knew eventually she would have to step up her part in the prophecy. But the fear was there, lurking just beneath the surface.

Fyralin, who was standing behind her, placed her hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for this?” she asked gently. “I would understand if you weren’t.”

For a split second, Anthea hesitated. But then, she saw the hope, the desperation in everyone’s eyes. They were really counting on her. Gathering herself, she nodded. “I am ready—It’s time to see this through.”

“It would be a risk. The cave is bound to be filled with traps. You will have to focus your training with Fyrlion on evading obstacles. We cannot be sure what you might encounter in there.” Elodir looked at the map in front of him.

“We won’t send you in there unprepared, Anthea,” Kaelan reassured her. His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to his normally reserved demeanor.

“It’s fine,” she said, though her voice wavered slightly. “It makes sense. I can walk through magical barriers, so . . . there’s no need to coddle me. I’ll train. I’ll prepare. I’ll see it through. Just as I said I would.”

Vaelor seemed pleased with her reaction, a slight smile playing on his thin lips. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “So, let’s get down to the plan: The cave is located in the far reaches of the Iron court’s territory. We can’t just stroll in there whenever we wish. Our only chance to access it unnoticed would be during the official gathering of the courts.” He continued, “In three weeks, the Iron court will be celebrating Rakúlien’s and Laleth’s unique celestial dance?—”

Anthea realized they had already discussed this before. They had come up with a plan, anticipating her agreement. It stung a little, this preemptive decision made about her life. But she pushed the feeling down. She had signed the agreement, after all. She had promised to help. But it still stung, the feeling of her destiny being controlled by others, without her say-so.

“—and that’s our best shot,” Kaelan’s voice, broke into her reverie. “Getting into that cave while the Iron court is preoccupied with the festivities.”

Fyralin squeezed her shoulder. “Anthea, do you know what that means?”

She looked up at the Queen, trying to read the hesitant glance she threw her way.

Iron court, the cave, festivities—they would have to sneak in. They would have to sneak her in?—

The pieces fell into place just as Fyralin voiced it.

“You will need to pose as Endreth’s slave again. It is the only way they would allow you to enter.”

40

The next two weeks, Fyrlion pressed Anthea to her physical and mental limits. He had his other trainees hurl various objects at her while she attempted to maintain her balance on narrow beams, dodge swinging ropes, and navigate tricky rope ladders. The goal was to prepare her for any possible traps in the cave, but the regimen was brutal.

Her body was littered with bruises, the purple and blue markings a constant reminder of her failures. She was exhausted, her muscles screaming in protest after each training session. But every morning, she woke up and did it all over again.

A week into the grueling pace, Anthea slipped from a rope ladder, her grip failing as she made an attempt to dodge an incoming object. She hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of her. The tears she had been holding back spilled over, hot and stinging as they ran down her dirt-streaked face.

“Get up!” Fyrlion demanded, his face a hard mask. The elf had an icy approach to her show of weakness.

She lay there, gasping for breath, her body throbbing in pain. Anthea looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. “I can’t . . .” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can’t . . . do this?—”

“If you cannot get up here, you will never get up there. So, get up and prove to yourself that you won’t go into that cave to die!” His voice was unyielding. Eyes as hard as granite. She missed Eldrion. He would understand, he would offer her the right words. “Do you give up so easily?” Fyrlion sneered.

Anthea didn’t want to die. Wasn’t going to?—

With a small groan, she pushed herself up and made herself try again.

She looked around the port, searching for a familiar head of black hair. She knew he wasn’t there, but she still found herself looking. Elodir had let slip that Eldrion had volunteered for a scouting mission, and Beldor had gone with him. This was after they had received news about the cave in the Iron court’s territory; Eldrion had volunteered to map out the safest way to take her there. They were supposed to meet at the Iron fortress. Despite knowing this, Anthea had still hoped he would be back by now, that they would have a chance to clear the air about the incident in the thermal pools?—

The ship they were going to board was inconspicuous, without any indication of the court it belonged to. Disguised as a simple merchant vessel, its main cargo was supposedly timber, its sails made of white linen that billowed in the wind.

Kaelan and Haldrian, clad in brown coats, boarded it before her.

Inside, Anthea’s accommodations were humble but comfortable. She was to share a cabin with the female elves of the crew, each of them having their own small cot lining the walls of the wooden space.

Anthea walked back to the deck after she had claimed her spot underneath the deck.

The two Virens at the front started moving, pulling the small vessel further away from Tharport.

It would take them five days to reach their next stop, to reach a small Crimson court’s village.