Page 33

But the Meaning Is Unmistakable

I move swiftly toward Gorgoroth and the jungle’s shadow, cutting across the fields, across Nimuala. Behind me, the sun sinks, setting the sky aflame in vivid hues of amber, searing red, and deep sinopia gold.

Maybe I can convince a beast to carry me. But which one? What creatures roam Baraatien? Are they gentle, or will they try to kill me? Can I speak to them as I did in Aarilion? Can I?—

“Iszaelda!”

I keep walking, my hand resting on Voenriel’s sheath, the grass warm beneath my feet. The sounds of Gorgoroth’s wild heart surround me, all the chatter, the rustling, and the layered calls of nameless birds.

“Iszaelda!”

Don’t turn around.

“Isz… Iszaelda!”

I don’t want to be here. More than anything, I need to put distance between myself and Netharu’el and his unbearable arrogance. No one understands how vital it is that I go after Akares and Naeva. No one knows how?—

I fall forward, hands clawing at empty air like featherless wings, legs stiff, caught.

I hit the ground hard. Gasping and crying out.

The impact barely registers. Pain drowns everything, leaving only numbness.

Grass fills my mouth, my nose, my eyes. Thick. Stifling.

A lone ant wanders into view, pausing before me, its tiny eyes wide, unblinking.

I try to push myself up. But I’m stuck.

Grass presses against my cheek, damp earth fills my lungs with its heavy scent, and roots snaking around my calves hold me down.

I’m bound to the ground.

What’s happening?

I must get up. Up. Now.

I can’t stay here. Pain pulses through my cheek. I need to move.

Stay calm. Breathe. Think.

A stranger approaches. A star elf with hair as white as frost against deep obsidian skin, horns rising in elegant arcs.

She moves with measured ease, unhurried as if the entire forest waits on her command.

Behind her, Kathraanis follows, accompanied by three unfamiliar figures. And then—him.

They remain in the background, allowing the unknown star elf to lead.

Once she’s close enough for us to speak, the stranger asks, “Why do you flee?”

Her voice makes me shudder, a chill racing through my body.

Her eyes. Empty. Milky. Blind.

No pupils. No irises.

Yet she stares straight into mine.

“I won’t be your fiery prisoner!” I scream.

The woman halts half an elf’s length away, making no effort to free me from nature’s grasp.

Her face is angled downward, rigid and expressionless, like a doll’s.

Fingers tap against her chin.

“Oh ep. You’re, in truth, no prisoner.”

“Then what in fiery Saxx am I?”

“It’s a matter of giving. And taking.”

“Is that so?”

“We healed you.”

Her voice is bottomless and strangely commanding despite its softness. It’s more of a whisper than a spoken word, forcing me to strain my ears to catch every syllable.

She doesn’t remain still for long. Slowly and deliberately, she moves around me in half-circles. I can’t turn to follow. Most of the time, she’s beyond my sight.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“And all we received, Ipjelebez, was your necklace.”

Ipjelebez?

“That’s right! My necklace. Can you give it back?”

“Ro? For what reason?” She watches me, still and calm. Her dull gray eyes are enigmatic as a forest pond veiled in mist.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s mine?”

“Then, child of the sun, I assume you truly wish to have Ahn’Dar back? We can offer an exchange. If that’s your desire.”

She taps her fingers against her forehead, tilting her head from side to side.

“There is a time. On the day of dawn. If you wish to be… injected.”

“No.” I writhe against the grass, but every movement only makes it worse. The roots burrow deeper, slicing through flesh and sinking into bone.

“Then the necklace stays where it is. For today.” She tilts her head toward the twilight sky, fingers gliding through her hair, clawed nails catching in the strands.

“What in the fires do you even want it for?”

She hisses like an animal. “It’s valuable. Leq welji newl. But it doesn’t cover the cost of Nildúr. Ieb eeyo. You’re in our debt, child of the sun.”

“You were the ones who chose to heal me, weren’t you?”

“You!” She jabs a finger at my chest, her nail sharp as a blade, tension coiled in every movement. “Oh ep. You’re in debt. To us. And star elves always. Demand their payment.”

She lifts her chin, stepping closer, looking down at me as if she can see me. As if she can see straight through me.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?”

“This is how it’ll be, Ipjelebez.”

“Nothing will?—”

“For the remaining lunar cycles of this period. You will be an apprentice. After that, you will become. A shadow warrior. Then. Hr lej. Child of the sun. You will be free. To leave whenever you wish.”

The sun dips behind the trees, casting shadows that extinguish her form, making her blend seamlessly into the background.

Her skin is as black as the deepest shade imaginable. Black as iron ore.

“And if I refuse?”

“You. Are. Stuck.” She hisses the words, low and cutting, her voice slithering down my spine like a blade of ice. “Ihep ses.”

I wrench my arms, twist my shoulders, and push with my legs—no doubt about it. I’m trapped.

“You’ll have to let me go eventually. Won’t you?”

“Indeed.” Her fingers drum lightly against the flowing fabric of her robes. Slow. Almost hypnotic.

“Then I can escape, can’t I?”

“Not if I place a spell. On you.”

“You’d do what?”

“I can make it so that you can’t leave Gorgoroth.”

As if that were even possible.

I jut my chin forward. “Then, black elf ?—”

She flinches as if I’ve struck her.

“Go on, then. Do it. Because I won’t stay willingly.”

“Es. As you wish, child of the sun.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, gently shifting it to her other shoulder, then starts circling me.

“Who even are you?” I spit out a few blades of grass, straining to keep my head lifted, my neck protests with pain.

She closes her eyes and parts her lips, chanting in a language I don’t understand.

“Ihmo veg veg ehr. Her gebay aejheri.”

“What did you just do?”

Her eyes snap open so suddenly a rush of heat surges through me.

“What you asked me to. Now you can’t leave. Not until the final trials. Lej di.” She drags a hand down her cheek. “Are done.”

I struggle, fingers digging into the grass beneath me. “You’re going to regret this! So fiery much! Who even are you?”

She looks down at me with those empty, sightless eyes, then comes to a halt.

“Un ma Merediath. I am… Merediath.”

Maevux, too.

“Merediath Veth of Otesk. Ise gej nebay. Leader of the Resistance. Founder of the Academy.” She scrapes her nails against one another with each word, slow and deliberate. “The Defender. The rightful Scourgeness. The Nightscythe.”

Her voice drops lower, roughens, as if speaking from the depths of her being.

“Algeldenmehr. Mehrdandamahr. Naatranax.”

The darkness behind her is impenetrable; every trace of the sunset has been erased. The jungle’s sounds fade, spark by spark, growing quieter with each passing moment.

Day creatures retreat into hiding, making way for something bigger and quieter. Predators.

“Oh.”

“If I zegay. Free you from the roots. Oh ep ihmo. Will you stay?”

“It’s not like I can leave the forest anyway, can I?”

She presses her lips together, murmuring something under her breath. The roots split apart, unraveling from my legs.

I stumble to my feet, knees stained green, and calves scraped raw.

Merediath steps closer, her gaze locking onto mine. Unwavering. Searching. Too close. A shiver runs down my spine. I shrink beneath her searing stare.

“Yes, they’re different colors,” I snap. “So what? How can you even see them?”

She keeps looking at me. Through me.

So close that her violet dress brushes against me, the fabric clinging to her like flowing water. So close that the silver jewelry on her arms hums with static, sending jolts through my skin.

The soft, pale cloth drapes over my calves, tickling my skin. I can feel her scent, sharp and tangy, floral but unfamiliar.

“Un ibay,” she hisses, her jaw twitching with each word. “I see. It.” Her fingers trail through the air, hovering just above my skin as if she wants to touch me. Up close, her nails are even more disturbing. Immaculately kept, yet menacing. So long they scrape against each other.

I hold her dull gaze, steady and unflinching. “If you plan to keep me here, I’d like my necklace back. Is that too fiery much to ask?”

Like a cobra, she jerks her head from side to side. “How did you get it?”

“The necklace?”

A slow nod. “Your mother?”

“How do you know that?”

“She gave it. To you?”

“When she died.”

“Her name?” Her fingers slip from my face, now absently toying with the fabric of her clothing.

I glare but decide to answer. “Noveniel Vínnoel of Insisriel.”

“Ah.”

Kathraanis steps out from behind Merediath and whispers, “She does look like her, doesn’t she?”

Merediath nods, the jewelry on her forehead rattling. “Indeed. Remarkably so.”

“Have you met her?”

“No,” Kathraanis says. “I never had the pleasure.”

“Then who do you mean? Who do I look like?”

“Don’t trouble yourself with that,” Merediath murmurs, her voice low and rich. “Ney ihl met, I have an offer. For you.”

I don’t answer, meeting her gaze with a measured stare instead.

Netharu’el lingers in the background, surrounded by a few unfamiliar faces. They make a show of looking busy, but it’s clear they are stealing glances. Whether they can hear or not, I don’t know. I doubt star elves have hearing as keen as sun elves.

Can’t you just go, Netharu’el? Do you have to stand there?

“We accept. The necklace will be returned. Mez hlg. After the final trials. When you are. A fully trained shadow warrior.”

“And as a bonus,” Kathraanis adds, “we’ll help you find your sister.”

“What if I fail? What if you train me for nothing, and I turn out to be a disappointment?”

Kathraanis looks to Merediath, who shakes her head. “I doubt that.”

So, if I do this, I’ll have my necklace back and get help finding Naeva? Not that I have much of a choice. I can’t leave Gorgoroth. I must do this. They’re forcing me.

“And who will be my teacher? Or, as you call it, master. You didn’t have any available, did you?”

Merediath turns. “Netharu’el, would you be so kind as to step forward?”

No. No, no, no. It can’t be him. He isn’t a master. He’s part of the leadership, not even connected to the Academy.

I exhale, easing the tension from my shoulders. It can’t be him.

Netharu’el strides over, his gaze carefully avoiding mine as he takes his place between Kathraanis and Merediath.

I step back, closer to the jungle, unwilling to linger near his dark presence. My fingers tighten around Voenriel’s hilt, a sharp tingling prickling through them.

What do they need him for?

It must be something else. But what?

“You’ve had time to get acquainted,” Merediath says, her unseeing eyes shifting between Netharu’el and me. Slowly, deliberately, as if seeing more than I can. “Or so I’ve heard.”

I wonder what’s going through her mind.

“It was a fleeting meeting,” I mutter, not even trying to feign indifference.

“In passing,” Netharu’el adds.

“Noteworthy.” Her tone is measured. “I have a task. For you. Jemhermegnelb.”

“For me?” Netharu’el asks.

She nods briefly. “Didn’t you claim that you wanted to prove yourself? To gain true insight into our work? Bin selpe. As we do?”

“That’s correct.”

“You understand the foundation. Trust must be built. Zeg oh ep. In you.” Her nails cut through the air, aimed at Netharu’el, her face blank, unreadable.

He nods.

“You must prove that you’re one of us. Ez pe. These times breed deceivers. And spies.” She gestures toward the jungle, toward the deep black expanse. “Iwn li. Many star elves stand with Mesmiglis.”

“Naturally.”

“Before you can earn our trust. You must commit your time. Your energy. To the Resistance. And to the Academy. Which is our zep hep gel.”

“Can we discuss this privately, or must we stand here, surrounded by everyone, and dissect my future in front of them?” His words are sharp like glacier ice, cold enough to smother a wildfire.

Merediath scoffs, dragging her nails along his jaw and throat. “It’s highly relevant. Both for Semhergemjni. And Nixlabadem. For the coming lunar cycles, Semhergemjni will be your direct leader.”

“Excuse me?” Netharu’el steps back, just enough to slip free from her touch.

“And Nixlabadem. Your apprentice.”

I press a hand over my eyes, shutting them tight. My heartbeat hammers in my ears.

The words are foreign, but the meaning is unmistakable.