Page 13

Chapter

Thirteen

Sapphire nuzzles me with her giant nose as I give her one last pat before we head into the crumbling city. I’m growing increasingly attached to these larger than life beasts, and I feel bad leaving them out here on their own despite knowing they can handle themselves.

“They’ll be fine.” Einar gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s us you should be worried about.”

Harek puts an arm around me. He seems to be doing more of that now. “How bad do you think it’ll be in there?”

“Hard to say for certain, but it won’t be anything like Mirendel.” My father adjusts his metal vest then checks ours. He insisted we all have them—not that they’ll do any good against dark magic, but we’ll be glad to have them should anyone shoot arrows at us.

Once we’re all set, we head toward Courtsview’s walls. I give another glance toward the dragons, who both stand alert, watching us.

The path winds deeper into the ruins, where ash clings to everything like forgotten breath. Walls lean inward. Looming arches bow beneath creeping shadows.

When we reach the nearest part of the wall, Einar stops.

There isn’t any gate or door, so I’m not sure what his plan is. Does he expect us to crawl over it? Dig underneath?

He murmurs a word in old fae.

A sigil glows under his palm. The wall ripples like water.

Then it opens.

My breath hitches. And I thought Skoro’s hidden doors were impressive.

Harek’s fingers lace through mine. I squeeze his hand, and he gives me a wary smile. I suddenly realize how glad I am he’s here.

A narrow hall yawns before us, its edges carved with runes worn by time and fire.

When we step through, the air changes. It’s heavier, feels alive.

Rife with the kind of magic that remembers everything it’s seen.

At the end of the corridor, the hall widens into what must’ve once been a reading chamber. Now it’s something else entirely.

Scrolls and fractured relics line every available surface. Crystalline lamps hang from iron chains, casting amber light over ancient parchment. There are at least a dozen people here—mostly fae, some clearly halflings—all sharp-eyed and weary.

Every one of them looks up the moment we enter. A murmur spreads.

As my father steps fully into the light, a ripple of recognition passes through the group.

A woman scholar with silver tattoos coiling down her neck rises slowly. “The hunter.”

“Yes.” He steps protectively next to me, checking his palm. No glow.

Mine doesn’t react to these people, either.

Her gaze shifts to me next, from my eyes to my jaw. Her expression tightens. “It’s true. You have a daughter . Is she the huntress, as people claim?”

I lift my chin. “Yes. My name is Eira.”

Another whisper rolls through the room, a pulse of suspicion. Not outright fear, but the attention makes my skin tight and my breath sharp.

Einar steps forward. “We’re not here to make enemies.”

“We have enough of those.” The silver-tattooed woman gestures toward a cleared stone bench. “Rest. You’ve found us. Let’s see if you understand us.”

We barely sit before a high and clear magical chime rings through the chamber. The scholars rise as one, parting like a tide drawn by unseen gravity.

Lysandros steps through the same ripple we used moments ago, though it bends more gently around him, as if familiar with him. His cloak shifts from storm-gray to violet-black as he moves. He doesn’t smile exactly, but there’s a knowing gleam in his eyes when they land on me.

“Huntress,” he says, voice smooth and steady. “You’ve made good time.”

“You knew we were coming. How?”

He steps fully into the circle. “The wind here is talkative.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that.

The others settle as if he’s part of the group. A few scholars defer instantly, sliding notes across the table toward him. He glances at each with the ease of someone who’s read more than they speak.

Harek tenses beside me.

Einar, to his credit, offers only a curt nod. “You know the city well.”

“I should,” Lys says, unbothered. “I spent most of my life here before it fell. Though I’d appreciate you not telling my mother.”

My father jolts and blinks rapidly before quickly recovering. “Clearly.”

I give him a questioning look, which he returns with a confused expression.

He doesn’t know who Lysandros’s mother is, though it sounds like he should.

I return my focus to the noble fae. “And you stayed here instead of going somewhere better?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you do anything to restore your home to its former glory if it crumbled?”

The question hits deep because I don’t have a home. Einar’s place is growing more like home, but it’s still just a place I’m staying at this point. I clear my throat and change the subject. “Where were you from before living here?”

“Your father can tell you.”

That answer doesn’t satisfy, but it quiets the room. It’s clear Einar won’t be able to tell me anything.

Lys turns his attention to the center table where a map lies splayed between glowing stones. Burn marks and ink stains obscure key routes, but the main arteries into Courtsview’s core are visible.

“This is where the pressure builds,” one of the scholars says, tapping a mark near the west wall. “We’ve lost four scouts in two weeks.”

Lys doesn’t look up. “Because you keep approaching it like it’s a city.”

A beat of silence.

He lifts his head, studies the room. “Courtsview isn’t a place anymore. It’s become a memory trying to rewrite itself. It won’t open to force.”

“And what will it open to?” I ask.

His gaze is direct, searching. “You.”

My mouth falls open. “Me?”

“You’re the new hunter. Excuse me, huntress. Your father is weakening, and his power is flowing into you. There’s never been a female born to your line before. It’s obvious you’ll do things no one before you has dreamed of. After you gain your full power, of course.” Lysandros eyes Einar.

I grit my teeth. “I’m not killing him.”

“Pity. Then you’ll die instead. Our entire existence could falter with the loss of the world’s only huntress.”

My father starts to say something, but one of the scholars cuts him off.

“We’ve studied the corruption patterns.” She gestures to the map. “Nothing we’ve thrown at it holds. Wards break, talismans fade. It’s not natural magic.”

“It’s emotional.” I move closer, taking a better look.

All heads turn to me.

“It feeds on fear,” I continue. “Like a curse that doesn’t just want to spread. It wants to be felt, to unravel hope. Think about it—that explains everything that’s happened here.”

The silver-tattooed woman frowns. “That’s theory, but you can’t forget this all started when the hunter began weakening.”

“Let’s test the theory,” Einar says. “We walk the streets and face what’s festering.”

A ripple of dissent moves through the chamber.

But it isn’t like we need their permission. We’re the hunters, after all. Nobody controls us.

“You’ll be hunted,” one scholar argues. “The fae who’ve succumbed will remember you.”

“All the more reason.” I square my shoulders. “The sword pulses near the edges. Something’s calling it. We can’t learn more by standing still.”

Another scholar shakes his head. “You’re asking to poke the rot with a stick and hope it doesn’t eat the arm.”

“She’s asking to do what no one else dares,” Lys interjects, his voice smooth as honey. “If that scares you, perhaps she’s exactly what this city needs. With two hunters, they could potentially undo the damage done. And we all know we won’t have two hunters for long. One must die soon.”

My breath catches.

He turns to me, measured and calm. “You see what others fear to name. A mind sharp enough to unmake prophecy and bold enough to test it.”

Harek shifts slightly toward me. Heat rolls off him in angry waves. “Eira isn’t a symbol. She’s a person . One who feels and bleeds.”

Lys doesn’t blink. “So did every warrior worth remembering.”

Silence ripples again, uneasy and taut.

Harek turns to me. There’s concern in his eyes, but also something harder to face.

Doubt. Or maybe fear for what I’m becoming.

I look away.

Thankfully, the council disperses, offering a distraction. Voices trail into side halls and shadowed alcoves as the room slowly empties.

I linger near a case of preserved relics—twisted arrows, a faded blood charm, half a shattered mirror shard.

Lys stands next to me. “You draw a sharp line.”

I don’t turn. “Sometimes lines are all that keep things from falling apart.”

“Intelligent observation for one so inexperienced.” He steps closer, his voice quieter. “And yet this city is built on broken ones.” His expression is unreadable, the torchlight carving gold into the edges of his cheekbones, his eyes molten and still.

“What do you know about my experience?” I demand.

“Your father still lives. The nature of the hunter line won’t stand for two experienced hunters to coexist.”

That’s a point I can’t argue. “Why defend me back there?”

Lys lifts a cracked hunter insignia from the shelf, cradling it with surprising gentleness. “Because they see your name, your sword, and your fate. I see your choice.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know what it’s like to stand between what you were born into and what you’re becoming.”

Tension in my chest, and I exhale slowly. “The scholars won’t all follow.”

“No,” he agrees. “But some will. The ones who matter.”

My heart pounds, louder than I want it to. “What about you?”

Lys tilts his head. “I follow potential. And you, huntress, are a living paradox. Half-wolf, half-blade. All edge.”

His words coil tightly around something I haven’t let myself feel in weeks—possibility.

“Do you always talk in riddles?” I step back.

He smiles faintly. “Only when truths are too dangerous to say aloud.”

Before I can reply, he walks away, leaving in his wake the scent of stone and rain and the echo of something I can’t quite name.

It takes me a moment to shake off the unease, then I find Harek seated near the edge of the hall’s inner chamber, where shadows stretch long and firelight doesn’t quite reach. His sword rests across his lap, fingers moving over the hilt like he’s memorizing every groove.

He doesn’t look up as I approach.

“You didn’t say much back there,” I offer.

“I said enough,” he replies, voice even.

I sink down across from him. “You think I’m wrong?”

Now he looks at me. His eyes are dark and unreadable. “I think you were heard.”

It’s not a compliment. But it’s not anger, either.

Still, it stings. “I didn’t ask Lys to speak for me.”

“You didn’t stop him.”

I frown. “He makes good points, and he could be useful.”

“So am I. But I don’t try to impress you with stupid riddles.”

Silence hangs between us, heavier than any curse. I shift, trying to lighten the mood. “You always said I was stubborn.”

“Because you are.”

“You’re not exactly the most flexible yourself.”

At that, a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth, but it’s fleeting. “Just don’t forget who held your hand when the fire came.”

The words are soft, and they land deeper than I expect.

I study him, heart tugging somewhere between guilt and warmth. Yet my mind echoes with Lys’s words, and I turn the mirrored crest over in my thoughts.

There’s nothing more to say, so I just nod.

Harek’s eyes darken slightly before he looks away.

I should try to comfort him, but I can’t stop thinking about what Lys said to me.