Page 32

To Meet You

“ I ’m leaving.”

“Wait. Stop!” Kathraanis extends her hands, releasing her grip on the dagger’s hilt. “Obviously, you can’t just leave.”

“So I’m your prisoner?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what in the blazing fires am I?”

“Please, sit.” She moves toward me, slow and measured. Bare feet against the metallic floor. One step at a time. As if I were a wild creature she doesn’t want to startle.

“So now you have time to talk?”

“Not in the way we should be. But we’ll have to improvise. Please, sit.”

“Why?”

She meets my gaze, eyes red as an open wound. “Sit.”

I sigh and reluctantly step into the room. My gaze sweeps over the chairs, none of which are empty. I pick one, lifting the stack of books piled on it and setting them on the table beside me. They land with a heavy thud.

A cloud of dust bursts into the air, rising like scorching embers. I hiss, blinking rapidly. Waving a hand before my face, I clear the worst before lowering myself onto the hard, rickety wooden chair. Its legs scrape against the floor, letting out a grating, ear-splitting screech.

Kathraanis’s room is large, easily the size of three combined.

It’s cluttered with furniture and scattered objects, papers strewn across tables, spilled ink staining the surfaces, and stacks of worn books teetering in every corner.

Sheets of parchment and intricate sketches cover the walls, with mysterious symbols painted on any available space.

Necklaces strung with teeth and bone fragments dangle from nearly every surface.

And then there’s the scent, thick, unplaceable. Incense or melted wax, although no candles are burning. The air is dim, shrouded in shadow.

Kathraanis settles into the chair across me without moving the books piled on it, and I can see why: her legs are long.

“So, Iszaelda. Where were we?”

“You said I died.”

“Ah, now I remember.”

She turns toward the window, her gaze shifting, scanning the outside as if searching for someone. Not that there’s much to see: the glass is fogged and weathered, blurring the world beyond. The only thing visible is the fading light, the sun sinking toward the treetops as eredusk creeps in.

“So?” I ask.

She blinks, refocusing on me. “You see, you couldn’t withstand Nildúr, the antidote, and Ahn’Dar had already begun to infect your heart. We told Daeroal that you had died. After that, he left and rejoined his group.”

“But? Clearly, I’m alive.”

“Obviously. The day after, your heart started beating again, and you slipped into a coma. Nildúr worked, and your body finally accepted it.”

“I was dead for… a day?”

“These things happen.”

“Only star elves can be dead for a day and come back, right?”

“That’s what we assumed. However, it appears that statement isn’t entirely accurate.”

“Did you inform my kin that I was alive again?”

“Of course not. That would’ve been too costly. Besides, we didn’t believe you would survive. Curing someone of Ahn’Dar is a long and complex process. We didn’t want to give them false hope.”

“But—”

“You’d been in a coma for lunar cycles, Iszaelda, teetering on the edge of death. We had no way to contact them.”

“So everyone thinks I’m dead?”

“Most likely. It’s?—”

“Then they’re probably not even in the area anymore.”

“That’s the price you paid for survival.

But you’re alive. Do you understand what a miracle that is?

As far as I know, you’re the first sun elf ever recorded to have survived Ahn’Dar, a feat in itself.

Granted, few have access to the antidote, but still.

And to make matters worse, you were in stage three.

The final phase. Even for star elves, survival at that point is rare. ”

I close my eyes, trying to make sense of everything. “But you got rid of it? Am I cured?”

“More or less.”

“Yes or no?” My fists clench as I shift, the chair groaning against the floor.

“You’re as cured as you can be. Nildúr did its job. Now only… the final step remains.”

“And that is?”

“Ahn’Dar doesn’t just fade away. It only fully disappears if the afflicted—in this case, you—kill the elf who poisoned them.”

Her fingers glide over the dagger’s smooth, glass handle as her gaze flickers to the window. The sun hangs low, its light fading as it sinks behind the trees.

“You mean I have to kill Akares?”

She blinks. “If he was the one who inflicted the wound.”

“And Nildúr?”

“It delays the disease, causing the tendrils to wither and eventually disappear.”

“For how long?”

“It varies, but typically lasts about one sun cycle. Then the symptoms return, stronger than before, and by that point, the antidote no longer works. The only cure left is to kill the elf who caused it.”

I shrug. “Then it’s not a problem.”

“How do you figure?” She narrows her eyes, studying me like a riddle she’s determined to solve. Her fingers toy with the necklace draped over the chair’s back, a string of teeth in all shapes and sizes.

“I was already planning to kill Akares. Now I’m even more motivated.”

“Divine.” She nods slowly. “Not many would react that way.”

“So what now? Are you finally going to explain why you’re keeping me here?”

She tilts her head. “Do you have any idea where this is going?”

“Should I?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

I tilt my head.

“You see”—she leans forward—“we want to train you.”

“Oh?”

“To become a shadow warrior.”

“You want to what?”

“We want to train?—”

I raise a hand. “I heard you. Relax.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled about it.”

“How perceptive of you.”

Netharu’el was wrong. Just as I thought, and that pleases me.

“Even making this offer goes against all our values and principles,” she continues. “We have a ten-year waiting list, no master is available, and the cost is?—”

“High. I know. And you need Baraatic dulems.”

“Netharu’el told you?”

“He mentioned you don’t train sun elves.”

“You’d be an exception.”

“I’m not becoming anything.” I shake my head, hair slipping off my shoulder. I draw a sharp breath. “As I’ve already said, I’m not staying.”

“You have to.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline it. This isn’t the right time.”

“You don’t understand. You can’t just?—”

“What’s the nearest city? Is it Gosk?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just answer.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s right. Gosk is the closest, followed by the human city of Apastlor.”

“What kind of city is Gosk?”

“Dwarven. But you won’t be reaching either Gosk or Apastlor anytime soon.”

“Why in the fires not?”

“Because you’re one of the last remaining sun elves in Sarador. Mesmigli and his sympathizers won’t let you live if they find you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I grip the chair, my nails pressing so hard into the wood that splinters pierce my fingertips. “I have to find my sister. She’s been taken.”

“By Akares’s armies?”

I nod.

She shakes her head. “No one knows where he takes them. She’s been dead for a long time.”

“She’s alive! I know it. Is there anyone else who might have information?”

“No one knows more than that.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because if they did, they’d be in league with Akares. And I sincerely hope no one here is.”

“Then I’ll go to Gosk and ask there.” I rise, the chair groaning as it’s freed, necklaces rattling in protest.

“Haven’t you been listening? You can’t just leave.”

“You don’t control me. You can’t force me to be a fiery apprentice if I don’t want to.”

She pushes to her feet abruptly, her chair teetering before settling. “If you leave now, you risk everything! We need you safe until… until the situation stabilizes.”

“Why? Answer me!”

She crouches, hand gripping the dagger, ready to lunge if I try to run. “It’s not my place to say. But if you let Mesmigli kill you, you’ll endanger all of Sarador. And he wants you dead.”

“He doesn’t want to kill me any more than he wants to kill anyone else. It was me who jumped onto?—”

“He needs you.”

“Excuse me?” My mind blanks. I stare into her piercing eyes.

“He needs you dead. And if he succeeds, it’ll affect us all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you train as a shadow warrior, you can defend yourself. You’ll become a worthy opponent. Then there’ll be hope.”

“Hope? Please.”

I march toward the door. Kathraanis grips my wrist, but I wrench free and rush out. Sprinting through corridors, halls, and chambers, I push forward, my bare feet light but relentless against the floor.

Elves are spread out along the way, their gazes fixed on me. They stare.

I slam into someone. And not just anyone.

“Watch where you’re going, pale elf!” the man barks.

“Shut it!”

A wave of laughter and murmurs spreads through the onlookers.

“Did you hear that?”

“She can’t talk to him like that!”

“Oh, what’s he going to do now?”

“The sun elf should be careful.”

“She’s not very polite, is she?”

I push forward, footsteps trailing behind me. The door. My door is just within reach. I stretch out my arm, fingers grazing the air before the handle…

But I never make it.

A cold hand locks around my upper arm, holding me firmly and keeping me out of reach.

I stand beneath his chin, trapped in the warmth of his breath.

“When you run into someone, you say ‘sorry,’ not ‘shut it.’”

I roll my eyes and twist against his grip, but he holds me firm, unyielding, relentless. “Usually, people don’t yell ‘watch where you’re going.’”

“So are you going to apologize or not?”

“Not a chance. Now let me go!”

“Of course not.”

“Get off me, you vile black elf!”

Netharu’el lets go, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture is straight, his brows arched, and his full lips are pressed together. Dark, unreadable.

I shoot him a searing glare.

What’s his problem?

“You’re only here for a few days,” he says, his voice measured. “Days. And yet, you still can’t behave.”

“Oh, but you can?” I snap. “Because you hold a high position, you get to do whatever you want, right?”

I push open the door and step into the impersonal room. The air is stale and thick with dust. I yank open the dresser drawer, rummaging until my fingers close around Voenriel. They returned all my belongings, my weapon, and the pouch with Naeva’s medicines.

I pull everything onto the bed and begin fastening it to my body.

“What are you doing?”

“Can you stop following me? It’s fiery rude, isn’t it?”

“So you’re leaving? Without saying goodbye to Kathraanis, Merediath, Yesira, and everyone else who cared for you while you were in a coma?”

“How do you know I haven’t already?”

He falls silent.

Good.

With every buckle secured and every item in place, I turn to him, offering a smile as insincere as a spider’s grin. “Farewell, Netharu’el. An absolute pleasure meeting you.” I push past him.

His hand catches mine. “Likewise, Iszaelda.” The weight in his voice lingers. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

“Or not.” I tear my hand free, step forward, and leave him behind.