Page 37

CHAPTER 37

‘Get up.’

Elva jolted awake as she heard Fyn unsheathe a knife beside her.

A small amount of moonlight shone through the open flap of Fyn’s tent, and in the seconds it took her eyes to focus, the bliss she had been cocooned in disappeared.

Mystic Agnes stood in the doorway, her white hair luminescent in the moonlight.

She looked between Fyn and Elva, her lips curving in wry amusement.

‘The third ceremony is upon us. Follow me.’ She withdrew from the tent, and Elva looked at Fyn.

His eyes were flecks of the night sky, and they were staring at her in wide-eyed concern.

‘Did you know she was coming?’ Elva asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

‘No.’

They stared at each other and her stomach flipped with longing, before the nerves of the situation crashed back in.

She’d almost forgotten they were here to perform the third ceremony.

A ceremony that, if they failed, would mean.

.

.

Fyn must have sensed her thoughts, because he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and brought his lips to her brow.

He stayed there for a moment, the warmth of his touch radiating.

She took a deep breath to steady herself – she didn’t have the luxury of time to panic or overthink.

Not when Mystic Agnes was waiting for them, and not when they would soon know for sure if their lives would be forfeited.

Neve’s motto rang in her mind: panic only when you have all the information; until then you’re wasting energy.

It was easier said than done, but she tucked her friend’s words into her heart as Fyn pulled away.

They dressed and exited the tent quickly, scanning the area for signs of the ceremony.

The camp was quiet, broken only by the snores of soldiers sleeping, and the light of the moon that seeped through the cloud-muddled sky.

‘Should we wake Avi and Lonn?’ she whispered to Fyn, all too aware that a demigod had Everted into the middle of the camp without alerting any of the guards.

‘There is no time,’ Mystic Agnes said, suddenly right in front of them.

‘Advisor Gudren was meant to begin the ceremony earlier, but he has been taken with urgent business. He’s sent me in his stead, and we must hurry.

The final ceremony must take place during the night of the full moon.

’

‘What’s more important than the third ceremony?

’ Fyn asked.

Elva winced at his words, shocked he had the gall to question a demigod.

‘Divulging the Seacht’s workings is not appropriate.

’ Mystic Agnes turned to walk towards the former town.

‘Hurry up, or we’ll lose our window to perform the ceremony and that will result in forfeiture.

’

The sick feeling in Elva’s stomach grew and she glanced at Fyn.

A million thoughts raged across his face, but he said nothing.

Just took her hand as they followed Mystic Agnes.

Elva rolled her neck, diverting her nerves into movement to try and calm down.

Was Advisor Gudren intentionally trying to get them to forfeit their lives?

Was this part of their plan?

But it was Clochain who had pushed for the treaty in the first place – and there was no way the king would relinquish his bloodline, or the trade routes he desperately wanted, right?

‘Keep up. We don’t have much time,’ Mystic Agnes called over her shoulder as they marched through the ashy remains of the village.

Smoke still curled from the ruins, creating a wall of fog they disturbed with their movement.

‘Do you know where we’re going?

’ she asked Fyn, making sure to keep her voice low.

‘We’re about ten minutes from the site where Caius killed Tassos,’ he said, eyes never leaving Mystic Agnes.

Elva swallowed.

She hadn’t realised they’d been this close to the venerated landmark.

It was considered a place of worship, but a small part of her was irked at the thought of the ceremony occurring at a place of true Ending.

The danann had lost the war; was that not enough?

She clutched Fyn’s hand tighter, forcing herself to tunnel into battle calm as they exited a dense forest trail and entered a small, round clearing.

In the middle sat a gnarled rowan tree.

It was bare and looked completely dead, but as she moved closer she saw the trunk had been inscribed with rough markings she didn’t recognise.

‘Here,’ Mystic Agnes said, handing them two objects she brought out from the depths of her cloak.

Elva looked down to see the milky yellow gemstone she had chosen in the previous ceremonies.

Fyn held the glittering blue stone.

‘Stand in front of the tree,’ Mystic Agnes said, ushering them forwards.

‘And we shall begin.’

‘What about the priests?’ Fyn asked, refusing to move.

Mystic Agnes frowned.

‘I do not possess the same Everting prowess as Advisor Gudren and could not bring them with me. Now, please, we need to hurry.’

Still Fyn didn’t move.

‘Do we not need witnesses?’

‘Witnesses? What do you think I am, Fynton? Enough with your questioning, we do not have time and I am here trying to help you.’

Elva looked between the two and her knowing pulsed in a way she couldn’t read – was she meant to do this, or run?

‘Why are you trying to help us?’

Mystic Agnes threw her hands up, any facade of the nice librarian now gone.

‘Because the Ever has shown me many memories, but it has been difficult to discern the fragments. The answer lies somewhere in your lines. They have been mapped before, yet the foresight is foggy.’ She crept closer, eyes flicking from Fyn to Elva and back again.

‘We must complete the third ceremony before daybreak, or your lives will be forfeited. Think carefully whether you want that for your betrothed, Prince Fynton.’

Fyn’s chest was rising and falling quickly, and Elva could see the flecks in his eyes sparking.

Clarity pulsed through her: faced with the possibility of failure, she wasn’t willing to forfeit their lives without trying.

Not when she finally felt like she might have a semblance of a life here.

The alternative was not an option.

She ripped her hand from Fyn’s.

‘What do we need to do?’

Mystic Agnes looked at her and smiled, then she pushed them to stand right in front of the tree trunk.

Fear spiked, but Elva bit down on its bile taste and took a breath, forcing herself to do as the demigod ordered.

When they were a foot away from the tree, Mystic Agnes threw her head back in supplication and began talking.

‘It is with the blessing of the Ever that I welcome you to the site of Ending and Beginning, the very place where Tassos, the last danann, met his Ending. For centuries we have sought to find an adequate vessel to shepherd a new beginning, and as the stars have aligned, so has our one true leader. Step forwards and place the gemstone at the foot of the tree in offering.’

Elva didn’t move.

She didn’t need the pulse of knowing to recognise what Mystic Agnes had said was a deviation from the other ceremonies.

‘I said, step forwards and place the gemstone at the foot of the tree.’

Her hand itched at her side, but she hadn’t brought her axe, and a sinking feeling was roiling in her guts.

She glanced at Fyn.

Mystic Agnes snarled, ‘You must complete the third ceremony. Your essences are tied, and without the ritual you shall be at his behest.’

Fyn stood a head taller than Mystic Agnes, yet she seemed to tower over him, tower over them both as she swept behind them and shoved, pushing them both forwards until their hands hit the tree and a lightning bolt shot into the air at their contact.

Elva yelled, dropping her gemstone as she scrambled away.

The tug felt like it was shredding her insides, but the demigod wasn’t looking at her.

Instead, she was enraptured by the light travelling between Fyn and the rowan tree.

Veins of silver emanated from the runes of the Old Language, now visible on the trunk.

Mystic Agnes peered into Fyn’s face and pushed a long strand of his hair out of the way.

His eyes blazed with lightning, and Mystic Agnes sighed happily, a giggle bursting forth from her feral expression.

‘Hello, Tassos.’