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CHAPTER TWENTY

“W E CAN’T ABANDON HIM !” Riven shouted, his hood slipping as he paced along the wall. “Nik has done too much for the rebellion for us to leave him with Damien. What if he kills him?”

“Or tortures him,” Vrail added, her leg bouncing in her chair.

Dynara bit her lip. “Or worse.”

I rubbed my brow. “I am not saying that we should abandon him. We know he’s in Koratha. Now we have better options—”

“It seems the surest way to get my nephew back is to give Damien what he wants most.” Syrra’s knuckles bulged over the end of her armrest. “And that is the pendant.”

I shook my head. “Riven, you saw what that pendant can do. We can’t relinquish something so powerful to save one life. This could keep the Elverin safe from the shirak for the rest of their cycle. Hundreds—no, thousands of lives are at stake.”

Riven jutted his chin from under the shadow of his hood. “None of them are locked in Damien’s dungeons.”

Feron stood. “We have been talking in circles for hours and it helps no one.” His head made a slow turn about the room as he addressed us all. “We must act. I propose a vote.”

Syrra’s lip twitched. “A true Elverin would never vote to leave a soul behind.”

“A true warrior would never sacrifice a shield that can protect save cities for one life,” Gerarda retorted from behind me.

I tugged at the roots of my braid. This was senseless. “Why is this one way or another. We can offer Damien the pendant but not give it to him.”

“So he can kill my nephew in front of us for deceiving him?” Syrra’s jaw hardened.

I drummed my fingers on the round table. “We could make a forgery. Give him a lookalike in exchange for Nikolai.” I turned to Riven. “Then you can get him out of there before Damien learns the truth.”

Elaran shook her head. “He would suspect that. He would test the pendant immediately and then none of us can be sure what he would do.”

“That’s why we need to give him the pendant. The real one.” Riven crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I won’t abandon my friend.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” I stood, leaning on the table. “This is what Damien wants. This is why he had Kairn take Nikolai in the first place. He wants us squabbling over one life while he makes moves to take thousands. We can’t lose focus. I won’t allow it.”

“Nik would come for you.” Riven seethed. “If it was you in Damien’s keep.”

My head hung between my shoulder blades. “I would hope he wouldn’t. I would hope that if I were captured and my friends had something that could protect the Elverin I have spent my entire life fighting for, they would know that I would never want them to sacrifice it for me.” My nostrils flared. I pointed to Gerarda and Myrrah. “We are the only ones in this room who have been prisoners in the kingdom, and I know they would share that same hope.”

Gerarda and Myrrah nodded.

“Damien made a grave mistake letting us get a hold of this,” Myrrah said, eyeing the pendant at the middle of the table. “We can’t afford not to exploit it.”

Darythir shook her head as Feron interpreted the conversation for her. “This is just another circle. Let us vote,” she signed.

Feron nodded. “I don’t think we need faelights to cast this vote. We can raise our hands.” He tucked a loose twist behind his ear. “Who believes that we should trade this pendant in exchange for Nikolai?”

My chest tightened. Riven and Vrail’s hands shot into the air. Syrra was slower but just as adamant, her jaw set as she stared down the table at me. Dynara swallowed, her eyes glued to the table as she raised her hand.

Rheih gasped as Feron raised his own hand. “I did not expect that, old friend.”

“It is not an easy choice.” Feron placed both hands on the top of his cane. “But I am not convinced these pendants are great protection. Damien’s Arsenal already struggles to use them to control the waateyshirak and they are still young. As they grow, they will only become harder to control. I am not willing to sacrifice an opportunity to return Nikolai to us on a tool I am convinced will fail.”

I looked around the room to see if anyone else would raise their hand after Feron’s speech but no one did.

Feron cleared his throat. “And who believes that we should offer a trade but not forfeit the pendant?”

Gerarda and Elaran raised theirs together, followed swiftly by Myrrah. Rheih waved her hand over her shoulder, her eagle-like eyes narrowing on me. My breath hitched as Darythir also raised her hand.

The vote was split. Five to five.

“It seems the niinokwenar is to be the tiebreaker,” Rheih mused.

I raised my hand and Riven sank to the floor.

Syrra stood. “Very well, the niinokwenar has spoken.” She walked out the door, back to her sister’s crypt.

My throat tightened, but I knew I could not leave this conversation here. I looked to Vrail and Riven. “I expect you both want to join us on the trade.”

They nodded.

“And can I trust that you will follow the plan even though you voted against it?” I flexed my fingers against the tabletop.

Vrail’s brow wrinkled over her reddening cheeks. “No. I don’t think I could.” Tears welled in her eyes.

My heart broke at her honesty. “Then you will stay here. Help Rheih prepare the infirmary for when we get Nikolai home.”

I turned to Riven. My stomach swelled like a raging sea. We had been through so much in our short time together, but always from the same front. Now that we stood on opposing sides, I didn’t know what choice Riven would make. I trusted him with my life, but I didn’t know if I could trust him to choose me over his friend—over his guilt.

Riven’s jaw flexed and he stood. When he spoke, there was no malice in his tone, not even defeat. It was gentle and sincere. “I will do whatever you say, diizra .”

I found Gwyn in her burl. She’d claimed one in our grove when she first arrived in Myrelinth, but Gwyn had never moved in, preferring the lower city to keep as far away from me as possible. I was glad that storm had passed. I liked having Gwyn close by, in the same grove that held everyone I considered family.

“I need your help,” I said, knocking on her open door.

She was twisted on the floor like a braided loaf. I raised my brow—I couldn’t imagine a mission where she would end up in such a position. The exercise was definitely one she’d learned from Gerarda. Gwyn’s head popped up from between her legs. “With what?”

“Magic.”

Her amber eyes glowed as she unknotted herself and stood. “Lead the way.”

We crept through the groves, which were quiet in the early morning now that most had gone to bed. We turned into the Dark Wood and Gwyn’s walk transformed into a skip. “Where are we going? Volcar?” Her eyes went wide and she licked her lips.

Gwyn had been wanting to visit Volcar ever since the magic had been restored. Before then, really. Ever since I gave her that perfume and described the snow and smoke to her on our makeshift beach. My stomach clenched. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

I shook my head. “Aralinth.”

The excitement faded from Gwyn’s face and three little lines appeared between her brow.

I crossed my arms. “If it’s too dull, you needn’t come.”

Gwyn shook her head like a sheet blowing in the wind. “I’m coming.”

“Good.” In truth, I couldn’t do it without her. But Gwyn had already shown how inflated her self-confidence had become. I didn’t want to add to it until I knew she could humble herself on the field of battle.

I grabbed a vial of pressed flowers from my bag and dropped two blue lilies into the small pool tucked into the branches of the portal. The color reminded me of Gwyn’s eyes. Or what her eyes used to be.

We stepped out into the gardens of Aralinth. Magic had only intensified the eternal spring in the city. The canopies that hung over every part of the city were thicker and held blooms I had never seen before.

Even the grasses in the garden sprung blooms as far as we could see. Darythir had said that the moment the seal broke, they could feel the magic surge beneath their feet like a wave and the gardens became a meadow, restored to their former beauty.

Gwyn leaned her head on my shoulder and looped her arm through mine. “It’s the city your mother would have known.”

My jaw went slack, unsure what to say to that. Until now I had only caught glimpses of what the Elverath of old had been, what Aemon had destroyed. I was determined to restore its glory fully before fate claimed me. Even if it was the last thing I did.

And to do that we needed a weapon that could kill the waateyshirak once and for all.

The large split in Sil’abar opened as we walked through the entrance. A gentle breeze blew through the giant trunk of the Elder birch, carrying the scent of sap and freshwater from where the liquids pulsed in the live grain walls.

I led us to the display room without trouble. Cereliath had been a success, but I was not foolish enough to know that luck had been on our side. As much as I wanted to fight this war alone, I could not. But I wanted to give those who fought alongside me something stronger than faith or luck to fight with. I wanted to give them something that had been chipped away with each loss we bore.

Hope.

Gwyn’s jaw went slack as she stared up at the shattered sword hanging on the wall. “It’s Faelin’s.” She pressed her hand against the glass case, tracing the outline of the largest pieces of the blade. “I recognize it from your book.”

I nodded. “The only other blood-bound blade we have.” I grabbed the frame and yanked it off the wall.

“Are you allowed to do that?”

I shrugged. “I’d rather ask for forgiveness.”

A mischievous smirk sprouted on Gwyn’s lips. “We could fit the smaller pieces as arrowheads. The larger may work as throwing knives.”

I grabbed an axe from the wall and wedged the blade behind the frame. The snap echoed down the hall as I wrenched the case open. I paused, expecting a rush of footsteps, but there was just silence.

“We’re not making arrows and knives.” I lifted the glass top from the case. “We’re making one weapon.”

“What kind?” Gwyn’s gaze never left the golden steel.

I fanned my hand above the pieces. They had sat, undisturbed, for millennia, but now they were to be reforged. I picked up the smallest piece and held it up to the faelight. “The one it was always meant to be.”

The glass creaked against the wood floor as Gwyn leaned it against one of the other display cases. I caressed the hilt of the sword. It hummed under my touch, the magic of the weapon recognizing the magic in me.

“I can feel it,” Gwyn whispered, touching one of the shattered pieces of blade. “It’s almost like it’s quivering very very fast.”

I grabbed my own dagger and cut my hand. The amber blood glinted with gold as I wrapped my fingers around the hilt. “I need you to cast a binding spell.”

Gwyn ran a hand through her red curls. “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do.” There was no doubt in my voice as I nodded to Gwyn’s chest. “You pore over those books every spare moment you have. You know the runes. Trust yourself.”

Gwyn’s cheeks flushed. “Memorizing runes isn’t the same as spell casting. Feron says that art will take me decades to master.”

My stomach clenched. We didn’t have years. No one did while the threat of Damien and the shirak loomed overhead. I tighten my grip around the hilt and it warmed under my touch. This was the right path. I knew it and so did my magic. “The Elverin believe that blood carries memories.” I set the hilt back into the case. “That magic lives through every living thing and passes through the generations—an endless cycle.”

“ Giiwithara’biizan kwenar ,” Gwyn interjected with an unconvinced nod. “Darythir and Rheih explained it to me.”

“The Fae of old are your ancestors as much as they are mine. So are the Elves who wrote the first spells.” I grabbed her hand. “Trust yourself. Let your instincts guide you, and you will carve the right path. Give the ancestors a chance to answer your call.”

“And if they don’t?” Gwyn’s eyes lined with tears. I didn’t know if she was worried that the ancestors would ignore her or that they didn’t exist.

My chest tightened. I had struggled with that question for so long. Life had been too hard to believe that those of the past watched over us. But after seeing my mother’s sacrifice—the Light Fae and what they had done for their kin—I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Our ancestors were not only watching over us, but they shared in our pain. They hadn’t wanted any of this to happen either.

It only served Aemon and his son to forget that.

“They’ve always been with you, Gwyn.” I tightened my grip on her hand. “Just as they’ve always been with me. And they haven’t failed either of us yet.”

Her lips disappeared as she inhaled deeply through her nose. She let out the breath and her fingertips glowed with amber light. Gwyn closed her eyes and started carving a circle into the air. There was no pattern to her movement, but it flowed like a river cutting through a mountain.

Suddenly Gwyn’s fingertips pulsed brighter. Her face relaxed as she let the rush of the river carry her and painted the air with her magic. She combined four runes, layering them over top of one another until the circle encasing them shifted from amber to gold.

Gwyn opened her eyes and pushed the spell onto the shattered pieces with her palm. Her voice echoed as she spoke, like all her foremothers were speaking with her. “ Ozithir .”

The blade responded immediately. My arm lifted with the hilt, pulled upward by some unseeable force. The magic gripped my hand, keeping me in its hold just as the seals had done each time I’d planted my dagger into the ground. One by one, the shattered pieces rose into the air too—rearranging themselves into their original order, the space between them growing closer and closer until not even a hair could fit. The spell folded around the pieces like a blanket, fusing the blade together with a flash of amber light.

There was a final pulse of magic, and the hilt burned my skin. I cursed, letting go of the blade. The metal clanked against the empty case. Gwyn gasped as I stepped back.

The gold color of the blade had faded to a common silver.

Gwyn’s brows furrowed. “Did I do something wrong?”

I shook my head, touching the hilt with just my fingertips. It was hot but no longer burned. “Blood-bound blades choose their wielder. This blade has not chosen me.”

My stomach twisted into knots. I didn’t want any more responsibility in this war, but I had assumed the sword would recognize the similarities between me and Faelin, its previous wielder. Now someone else would have to claim the blade and the responsibility that such a weapon carried.

Gwyn took a deep breath and reached for the hilt herself. She closed her eyes as her fingers wrapped around it, head turned away as if that would keep her hand from burning. After several long moments, she opened a single eye. The blade was still silver.

I burst into a fit of laughter. Gwyn shoved my shoulder. “It could have been me!” Her offense gave way to her own hearty laugh.

I sheathed the sword in its case and strapped it to my back.

Gwyn’s gaze still lingered on the hilt. “Who do you think it will choose?”

We walked out of the room together, ready to head back through the portal to Myrelinth. “Fyrel,” I answered only because I knew it would annoy her most.

Gwyn’s eyes stormed with envy. “I would never hear the end of it.”

I laughed but its aftertaste was sour. Whoever the sword chose would have the only other weapon against the shirak . The moment the blade turned gold, they would be a target. For the shadow beasts and Damien’s Arsenal.

I just hoped whoever Faelin’s sword chose didn’t have to die.