Page 9

Chapter Nine

A roar split the silence of the forest.

It tore through the trees like thunder, a sound soaked in pain and fury, and Ceryn froze—one foot lifted, breath locked in her throat. The ground seemed to vibrate with it, the cry of something not merely wounded, but lost. Not Auren.

Not anymore.

Vael’Zhur had risen.

The part of her that still clung to hope crumbled beneath the weight of that sound. The man she loved was gone, drowned beneath the curse and rage, and what remained would kill anything it touched. Even her.

She turned away from the castle.

From him.

She had a plan to finish. An end she’d chosen, whether she was ready or not.

A ripple of frost brushed the air beside her, and then—Elodia appeared, her form coalescing from light and fog like a memory given shape.

“You betrayed him,” the ghost said calmly.

Not accusatory. Just fact.

Ceryn swallowed, voice rasping. “We always knew I would.”

Elodia studied her, head tilted like a curious owl. Then, with a wave of her hand, a dagger materialized in the space between them, hovering midair, gleaming bone handle carved in runes too old for memory.

“You forgot this,” she said.

Ceryn stepped back instinctively. “That was meant for Vael’Zhur. I can’t use it now—not on him.”

Elodia’s smile was faint. “Then perhaps you should see the whole truth.”

The dagger floated toward her, slowly rotating.

With reluctant fingers, Ceryn caught the hilt.

Her breath caught.

Carved into the opposite side of the handle, barely visible in the dim light, was another name.

Aladar.

A sharp chill raced up her spine. “What... what does this mean?”

Elodia’s hands folded like a scholar delivering a lesson. “You may only use the blade once. No wound will miss its mark. One strike—fatal. But it will only kill the one whose name is carved into its hilt.”

“So who is Aladar?” she asked, heart thudding.

Elodia only stepped back, beginning to fade again. “You must discover that for yourself.”

“Is it Auren? Aldaric? Someone else?” Her voice shook now.

Elodia’s reply was solemn, gentle, damning.

“You must decide who your true enemy is, Ceryn. Who will you save?”

Then she vanished, her final words lingering like smoke.

“Who will you choose?”

Ceryn stood alone beneath the trees, the dawn pale and sickly at the horizon, the dagger cold in her hand. Somewhere far off, the roaring continued—closer now.

She spun toward the sound of footsteps and voices. Leaves rustled. Shadows emerged through the mist.

Aldaric.

Clad in full armor that shimmered like oil-slicked steel, he stepped into the clearing like he owned the world. His presence devoured the space—tall, imposing, radiating cruel confidence. Beside him, Rorik loomed, impassive, unreadable beneath his helm.

“Do you have what I want?” Aldaric’s voice was sharp, cold, the calm before a killing blow.

Ceryn’s fingers closed around the dagger, and she forced herself to slip it into her waistband, covering it with her cloak.

“I brought it,” she said, lifting the satchel over her shoulder but not offering it. “Not until I see my mother and sister.”

Aldaric’s smile was thin and hungry. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

He took a step forward, eyes gleaming. “I’m dressed for battle, girl. Do you know why?”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because I don’t need you anymore.” He gestured, and two soldiers flanked her. One gripped her arm like iron. The other seized the satchel and handed it to the warlord.

Aldaric peered inside but barely glanced at the contents.

“You couldn’t break the curse,” he said flatly. “You found no cure. No true path forward.”

Ceryn said nothing. Her silence was its own truth.

“I also asked for a supply of the fruit,” he continued, holding the bag as though it were beneath him. “And as I suspected, it can only grow there. In that cursed orchard. This”—he sneered—“is a handful. Not a harvest.”

He turned to face the distant castle, where smoke now curled above the treetops.

“I will take it myself. My army surrounds the grounds as we speak. The beast—your beast—is enraged beyond reason. Mindless. Vulnerable. You’ve served your purpose well.”

Her chest tightened. “So this was all a trap.”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “Never enter a bargain if you don’t already know the ending.”

“You said they’d be freed—my family.”

His eyes turned to ice. “You failed me.”

His hand struck her across the face, so hard that stars exploded behind her eyes. Only the soldier’s grip kept her upright. Before she could speak, another roar—deeper, louder, furious—shook the air.

It came from the direction of the castle.

Auren had heard.

Aldaric chuckled darkly. “How fitting. The monster still thinks you’re his salvation.”

“You’ll never survive him,” Ceryn spat, blood on her lip. “He will rip you apart.”

“I’ll never need to fight him. My soldiers will burn that place to ash. And if he comes for me...” He leaned in close, his voice a hiss. “I’ll bury you first.”

“Coward,” she hissed.

He smirked. “I’m a king in waiting.”

Then he nodded at Rorik. “Take her. Dispose of the mother and girl. Let the forest have them.”

The words shattered something in her. She lunged, struggling against her captors.

“You promised! I did everything you asked!”

He walked away, armor gleaming in the morning light.

“Curse you, Aldaric!” she screamed after him. “May your blood soak the orchard! May the fruit grow from your rot!”

He paused once, turning back just long enough to deliver his final cruelty.

“No, girl. It will be your blood feeding that soil. Yours... and theirs.”

Then he vanished into the forest, striding toward the castle.

Toward the Beast.

Toward the end.

* * *

R orik wasted no time.

He led Ceryn through the fog-thick woods, boots crunching over damp leaves, until the trees gave way to a clearing shrouded in mist and silence. A half-collapsed barn stood hunched in the corner, a makeshift holding cell guarded by two stone-faced soldiers. He opened the door with a grunt and motioned her inside.

Ceryn’s breath hitched.

Her sister and mother were huddled in the straw-strewn corner, thin, filthy, and trembling with exhaustion. Maeva looked smaller than she remembered—sunken-cheeked, her skin pale as milk. Her cough, wet and raw, echoed in the stone like a death knell.

But they were alive.

“Ceryn!” Maeva flung herself into her sister’s arms, sobbing, voice rasping from overuse and sickness.

“Oh gods, you’re here—you're really here?—”

Saraid followed, her embrace tighter than Ceryn had ever known. The three of them collapsed together, tears spilling as desperate, tangled words tumbled between sobs.

“I thought you were dead?—”

“They said you’d failed?—”

“He told us we’d be next?—”

They clung together, grief and relief knotting in their throats, the taste of survival still too bitter to feel like victory.

Rorik stood watch near the door, silent and still.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat. “I am ordered to bring you all to the front lines.”

Ceryn pulled away from her mother, studying Rorik through the haze of tears. But her eyes were sharp now. Knowing.

“He’ll kill us there,” she said quietly. “In front of Vael’Zhur. He wants the beast to see it. To finish breaking him.”

Maeva whimpered, and Saraid gathered her close, whispering useless comforts.

Rorik’s jaw tightened. “No. Not kill you. He wants the beast to do it. Blood spilled in grief… it will complete the descent into madness.”

“You’ve seen what he becomes,” Ceryn said. “Aldaric wants to unleash that—to destroy him, or worse, become him.”

A flicker of pain crossed Rorik’s face. He looked toward Saraid—just for a moment—and Ceryn saw something raw in his eyes.

“How does he even know Vael’Zhur?” she pressed.

“He doesn’t,” Rorik said. “Not truly. He’s pieced together half-truths. His mother was a witch of the old blood—her line traces back to Sylaine, the one who cursed the beast. She filled his head with dreams of legacy, of power. He’s been searching for decades.”

Ceryn’s voice turned sharp. “He thinks the orchard is a gift. It’s a curse, Rorik. He’ll feed it to his men—to you—and it will twist you all into monsters.”

Rorik’s expression hardened. “I don’t have the luxury of choice. My life is bound to his will, whether I like it or not.”

He stepped back, expression grim. “Say your goodbyes. Time is short.”

He moved to the soldiers, murmuring low orders to give them a moment of privacy, though the illusion was thin and fraying.

Ceryn’s mind spun. The dagger was still tucked against her side, pressed close beneath her waistband. She could feel the handle through the fabric, the familiar ridges of Auren’s name etched into one side.

But the other side…

“Ouch, Ceryn!” Maeva yelped as she leaned in again. “What do you have in your trousers? Is it sharp?”

Ceryn’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her hand flew to the weapon. No one had searched her. She still had it. She turned the hilt in her palm.

The name. Not Auren. The other.

“Who is Aladar?” she whispered aloud.

The name wasn’t meant for anyone’s ears. But Rorik froze. Slowly, he turned. The blood drained from his face.

“Where did you hear that name?”

Ceryn straightened. “It’s carved on the other side of the dagger’s hilt.”

“Say it again,” he hissed, dragging her away from the others with shocking force. His voice dropped to a near growl. “Say that name aloud again and you’ll sign your own death sentence.”

“Why?” she demanded. “It’s just a name.”

Rorik looked over his shoulder, then leaned close, voice like broken stone.

“Because that is Aldaric’s true name.”

The air fled her lungs.

“His true name?” she echoed, stunned.

Rorik nodded, slow and bleak. “The name he was born with. The one he buried so no one could ever use it against him.”

The dagger. The enchantment. The binding power of names. And now… she knew it.

“Can you get me to him?” she asked, voice shaking with realization. “Protect my mother and sister. I think I can end this.”

He stared at her like a man torn in two.

“I’ve tried,” he said. “Gods know I’ve tried to stop him. There’s no way out.”

She tightened her grip on the dagger. “There might be. But I need to get close. I need to be at the front.”

A long silence.

Then Rorik sighed—bone-deep and soul-worn.

“The beast or the warlord. Either could kill you. But I’ll get you there.” His gaze flicked to Saraid, to Maeva. “And I’ll guard them with my life.”

Ceryn nodded once, fierce and full of purpose.

“Then it’s time.”