Page 30

CHAPTER 30

LYKOR

L ykor nearly collided with Jassyn’s back as he halted on the other side of the portal. Sunlight speared through the canopy in fractured beams of greens and golds, illuminating a scene that immediately curdled his mood.

The trio—whose very existence seemed designed to plague him—was already up with the dawn. Lurking too close to the portaling grounds, they were clearly lying in wait for him and Jassyn to return.

Fenn lounged back on his heels, brandishing a stick like a scepter as he thrust it at their campfire. He waved it theatrically while instructing the prince, as if stoking the embers was some sacred art. Perched on a log just beyond them, Serenna watched as a fiery orb flickered above her palm.

Lykor banished the rift, and three heads swiveled toward him and Jassyn.

“Good morning,” Fenn drawled, each syllable dragging like the slow curve of his smirk. His piercings glinted in the firelight as he nudged the prince with an elbow in some unspoken joke.

Vesryn’s lips thinned at the contact. But the faintest twitch betrayed him—a flicker of amusement.

Lykor’s eyes narrowed as their unwarranted suspicion coiled through the air like the fire’s smoke. Whatever discussions had transpired during his and Jassyn’s absence weren’t born of idle curiosity. It was worse. Their delay had been scrutinized, dissected, and greedily devoured by the insatiable maw of speculation.

Serenna’s probing gaze flitted between him and Jassyn. “Care to explain why you two spent the night in the Wastes with no supplies?” she demanded, the question teetering on the edge of accusation. “For some reason, I doubt that was Jassyn’s idea.”

Lykor’s jaw tightened, lip curling as he locked onto her cool stare. He felt no obligation to elaborate, despite her tilting her chin back in challenge.

“We were caught in a snowstorm before we could regenerate and portal back,” Jassyn offered as he settled beside Serenna. Though his attention pointedly shifted to Fenn, who was now stirring a pot suspended above the flames.

While the simple truth, Lykor knew that answer wouldn’t satisfy this insufferable lot.

Fenn’s grin stretched wider as he ladled a bowl of porridge for Jassyn, the scent of yesterday’s elk hunt drifting on the breeze. “Must’ve been quite the snows,” he mused, eyes flaring as he appraised Lykor. “I trust you two managed to stay warm. I know nights in the Wastes have a way of testing one’s…resourcefulness.”

The insinuation needled under Lykor’s skin, unraveling his fraying patience. He bared his fangs. “Lieutenant, I’ll wipe that smirk off your face if you don’t do it yourself.”

“I didn’t realize punishments were on our morning agenda,” Vesryn said, snatching up Fenn’s discarded stick like he’d been waiting to flourish it the entire time. “Do you take requests? Because I have a few ideas for—”

Metal shrieked as Lykor clenched his gauntlet, the sound slicing through the glade. “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” he growled, bludgeoning the group with his glare. “If the chain of command has broken down this much, I’ll find one to beat you with.”

Vesryn chuckled, twirling the stick in his hands. “Do you promise?”

Lykor snarled. This was a battle already lost. If they wanted to squander the morning with their petty games, then so be it. He had no intention of pandering to them.

Pivoting sharply, he turned his back on their smirks and barbs, seeking solitude in the jungle. Aesar, buried in his library, had remained blissfully silent, but Lykor knew it wouldn’t last. His other half would soon emerge, no doubt insisting that it was “his time.”

But there was work to be done— real work. Lykor’s thoughts shifted to the road ahead. Jassyn was right—supplies would extend their reach, free them from the nightly retreat to the jungle.

Them. The word lingered, branding itself into Lykor’s thoughts. Assuming Jassyn would remain at his side was foolish. Especially after what he’d put him through last night. Yet the idea of him absent, of facing the path ahead alone… Lykor crushed the notion before it could fully form.

“You should eat something.”

The concern in Jassyn’s voice drew Lykor to an embarrassingly abrupt halt before he’d even walked ten paces across the glade. He stiffened, shoulders twitching as he felt four gazes boring into his spine.

Lykor exhaled and dragged a hand down his face. No matter how much he loathed staying, order had to be maintained. Walking away would only surrender control.

He turned back around, steeling himself against whatever nonsense they would hurl his way next. His gaze glanced off Jassyn’s before a glint of prismatic light caught his eye—the prince tossing a Heart of Stars into the air and catching it.

“We had quite the adventure yesterday as well,” Vesryn said, idly bouncing the glowing relic in his palm before lobbing it at Lykor.

Snatching the Heart out of the air, Lykor’s attention immediately veered toward the girl. Undoubtedly, she had a hand in locating it.

Smirking triumphantly, Serenna leaned back on the log, the globe in her palm splitting into five tongues of flame, each flickering above a fingertip. “How many weeks did you say you searched here?”

Lykor’s grip tightened on the artifact, his scowl deepening as he shoved the Heart into a cloak pocket. The sting of losing a relic to that red-haired wench still burned, but he refused to nurse that failure. With two of the five Hearts in his possession, the balance tilted ever so slightly in his favor—even though he hungered for the advantage of more.

“And we found something else that’s…interesting,” Vesryn added, flashing a crystal shard half the size of his palm. Smoother than glass, its surface shimmered with an uncanny resemblance to the Heart of Stars, but it didn’t ignite with the colors of his talents.

The flames above Serenna’s hand nearly guttered out as she released a strangled squawk. “Be careful with that!”

“I am being careful,” Vesryn shot back, rolling the shard along his fingers.

Lykor’s interest sharpened, his attention locked onto the crystal. He strode toward the fire, shedding his cloak as he claimed the space opposite everyone else.

“What is it?” he demanded, already rifling through Aesar’s memories for any scrap of recognition. But the remnants offered nothing, leaving him with the vexing prospect of relying on this group’s haphazard explanations.

Serenna flicked her wrist, sending her burning orb back into the fire. “ It almost killed us,” she gritted out, her nostrils flaring. “And we have no idea what that shard does, so the prince shouldn’t keep messing with it.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” Vesryn said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice dropped, dark with amusement as he arched a brow at her. “You of all people should know I’m quite skilled with my hands.”

FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Lykor rolled his eyes as a flush raced to the tips of Serenna’s ears.

“Since you can’t resist touching things you shouldn’t,” she snapped, “why not try holding onto a shard of common sense for once?”

“Oh, leave your princeling alone, she-elf,” Fenn interjected. He leaned over to pat her knee, but his grin was aimed at Vesryn. “If he needs more practice with fondling, I’d be more than happy to lend my expertise.”

Vesryn pursed his lips but ignored him, spinning the crystal in his palm. “The shard has been inert since the tree released it. It’s no danger to us.”

“You don’t know that,” Serenna hissed. “It absorbed your magic and flung it right back at us. Tenfold, you said!” She glanced around the group, her gaze darting between Fenn, Jassyn, and finally Lykor, silently pleading for someone to back her up. “He used Essence too close to it, and then it attacked us.”

Lykor couldn’t help himself as his curiosity began thrashing. He leaned forward, his focus homing in on the shard as it glinted with potential in the firelight. If this was a device they could control…

“So it’s a magnifier of power?” he asked, absently accepting a bowl of Fenn’s dubious gruel, though his attention remained wholly riveted on the gem.

“That’s exactly what I thought—like a conduit for Essence!” Vesryn exclaimed, casting a pointed scowl at Serenna. “Last night, I prodded it with magic—”

“You what ?” she screeched.

“Nothing happened,” the prince mumbled, his fingers curling protectively around the crystal. “Maybe it’s a shard of a Heart of Stars—a Starshard? It could be attuned to whoever holds it.” Dismissive, he shrugged. “You said Ayla wore one. There was magic all around, yet nothing happened with hers.”

Serenna crossed her arms, her glare sharp enough to cleave stone. “That doesn’t mean you should experiment recklessly.”

“If I wanted a lecture, I’d go back to the academy,” Vesryn muttered, tucking the gem out of her sight.

“Do you think it’s an Aeflyn device?” Jassyn chimed in before Serenna could retort. “Or some kind of similar relic? It’s too much like the Heart to be a coincidence.”

Lykor’s gaze flicked to him, lingering longer than he intended. Jassyn absently twisted one of his curls, his expression thoughtful yet distant as he studied Fenn steeping leaves in a battered kettle. When Jassyn’s eyes lifted to meet his, the words poised on Lykor’s tongue dissolved, slipping away like smoke.

“Your fortress possessed mechanisms that we’ve never seen in the elven realms,” Jassyn continued, oblivious to Lykor’s distracted silence. “Maybe the druids somehow had a way to harness that crystal to negate or channel Essence.”

“But Fenn and I didn’t see any gems guarding the Heart beneath the magma,” Serenna countered, glancing at Fenn as he poured tea into a collection of mismatched mugs. “And why would Ayla have one?”

Lykor grumbled under his breath before taking a bite out of his bowl, not tasting the meal. This band of fools could prattle in circles all day, weaving endless theories around the unknown. All that mattered was how to wield it.

“Perhaps if we find ourselves in the company of druids, we can ask them,” Lykor bit out, interrupting their squabbling. The secrets of that extinct race had long since crumbled to dust. “Until then,” he continued, shifting his gaze toward the prince. “If that conduit or Starshard or whatever you insist on calling it can offer us an advantage, figure it out. Just don’t obliterate the jungle by fiddling with it.”

The fire crackled softly as his command lingered in the air. Lykor had little faith that it would be heeded with the way his other orders had been blatantly disregarded left and right. Vesryn’s arched brow only served as confirmation.

“There’s a different matter I want to address—one long overdue,” the prince said, presenting his grievance as though this motley assembly was an exalted council rather than exiles huddled in the wilderness.

With a nod in Serenna’s direction, Vesryn continued, “You’re going to return her portaling talent.”

Lykor stared at him, mechanically chewing through another bite of porridge as it turned to paste in his mouth. Firelight flickered across Vesryn’s face, carving shadows along the edge of his jaw. Lykor let the silence stretch, each passing moment a measured assertion of his control. Only after deliberately swallowing did he respond.

“No,” he clipped. “I need the ability augmented for portal jumping.”

Vesryn’s eyes flashed as he grabbed the flaming stick again to jab it in Lykor’s direction. “No, you don’t. Because we’re coming with you.”

Lykor barked a laugh. “More people will—”

“Be an advantage,” Vesryn finished, tone sharpening.

Lykor drummed his gauntlet against his knee, the metallic rhythm a futile attempt at quelling his irritation. The last thing he wanted was for this group to be trailing him in the Wastes. Fenn would follow his orders, but the girl was beyond insubordinate. And he had a feeling that Jassyn would side with the prince.

Unbidden, Lykor’s gaze slipped to Jassyn, who was quietly asking Fenn about the tea blend he’d steeped. Fenn, of course, immediately launched into an animated explanation, naming every branch and leaf he’d plucked in the jungle.

Lykor knew he should’ve looked away, focused on anything else—the prince’s combative glare, for one. But the way Jassyn leaned in, head tilted, listening like Fenn’s rambling actually mattered—it caught him. Snared him. A splinter of doubt drove itself deep.

What did Jassyn think of him?

It was absurd to care. Absolutely ridiculous. Leadership wasn’t about being liked—it was about making impossible decisions. Keeping everyone alive.

But no amount of reasoning silenced the nagging voice that wondered if Jassyn saw him as no better than the king, stealing power without hesitation.

It didn’t matter. The decision was slipping through his fingers anyway. Aesar was nearly on the cusp of interfering, ready to return Serenna’s ability behind his back.

Appearing on the verge of spouting a flurry of arguments, Vesryn opened his mouth, but Lykor silenced him with a raised hand. He’d relent without a fight. This debate wasn’t worth the air it would waste.

Wordlessly, Lykor lifted his gauntlet to his chest. Delving into his Well, he wrenched the augmented portion of his portaling talent free—the piece that had once belonged to the girl—leaving his own portion of the ability intact. He stared at the light flaring above his palm, grinding his molars, loath to relinquish strength in power.

Eventually, the collective weight of the expectant stares itched between his shoulders, driving him into action. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he hurled the ability across the campfire.

The light streaked through the air in a sharp arc before Serenna caught the orb mid-flight. Without so much as acknowledging him, she passed the talent off to Fenn.

Jewelry clinking, Fenn’s brows rose as he glanced between her and the ability now hovering above his claw.

“It makes more sense for you to have it,” she said with a shrug. “You’ve traveled farther across the realms and know more locations than I do. You can help portal the wraith around. And if I need to go anywhere…” She trailed off, her gaze sliding toward Vesryn, who was stoically staring at the main camp with his back half-turned. “I’m sure I’ll be with either you or the prince.”

Clusters of elven-blooded and wraith gathered around scattered campfires, but it was clear the prince wasn’t looking at them. The tightness in his shoulders betrayed his sour mood, though whether it stemmed from Serenna’s decision or some internal struggle, Lykor neither knew nor cared. He had no patience for this lovers’ quarrel.

Fenn’s gaze drifted to him, searching for guidance—or permission. Lykor offered a curt nod, tossing aside his empty bowl to seize a stick from the ground.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but the girl’s reasoning was strategic and practical. Fenn’s possession of the talent meant he could direct its use when needed. That made this ordeal more tolerable. Barely.

By the time Fenn absorbed the ability, Lykor’s attention had already shifted, drawn to movement at the edge of the glade. The rangers’ flight captain strode into view, her steps purposeful, like she belonged wherever her boots landed.

The scales in Zaeryn’s black leathers gleamed faintly in the morning sun, her sheathed weapons poking over her spine. She nodded to the group in greeting before taking a seat close to Jassyn on the log.

Too close.

The stick in Lykor’s hands snapped in half, the brittle crack cutting through the conversation. A few heads turned, but only briefly.

Lykor’s gaze burned, locked onto the intruding elf before he ripped his attention away, tossing the broken splinters into the fire.

His fangs elongated, digging into his gums. The sting was a welcome distraction from the maddening thought—if Zaeryn inched any closer, she might as well drape herself across Jassyn’s lap.

It didn’t matter. Jassyn could sit next to whoever he scorching well pleased.

“I have the report from that harbor you sent us to investigate in the southern realm,” Zaeryn relayed to the prince.

“A harbor? In Vaelyn?” Serenna asked, a frown forming. “My mother requisitioned supplies before I left for Centarya, but surely construction isn’t anywhere near complete.”

The words droned in Lykor’s ears as his frustration simmered. If Galaeryn had already begun building vessels, then they weren’t just behind, they were losing ground.

If there was time to slip away to those beaches while Aesar was resting… Lykor quickly severed that idea, slamming it behind his obsidian doors. Instead, he considered how many different ways he could make the flight captain disappear.

Fangs grinding, he cut off that thought just as quickly. He couldn’t care less. Obviously.

Jassyn’s voice broke through Lykor’s turbulent thoughts, yanking his attention back to the group. “In the stables…” He hesitated, fingers curling tightly around his mug. “I saw glimpses in Elashor’s mind. The king intends to tether Essence-wielders to conceal their magic from the Maelstrom. If the storm gets close, he’ll force those with shaman blood to control it. That’s how they’ll cross.” He shook his head, firelight casting shadows over the worry etched across his brow. “I didn’t gather much else.”

Lykor barely registered the words as Jassyn shifted away from Zaeryn, ever so slightly. He despised how that small motion extinguished the blaze of jealousy in his chest. It was absurd. Irrational. But still, relief cooled the heat in his veins.

Elbows on her knees, Zaeryn leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the prince. “Vaelyn’s shores are crawling with the capital’s soldiers, and bands of humans are camped beyond the castle walls.”

Vesryn released a disgusted scoff. Fenn wordlessly handed him a log and the prince shoved it into the flames with unnecessary force. Sparks scattered, flaring before fading.

“I’ll portal under the cover of darkness tonight,” Vesryn muttered, wrestling the wood deeper into the fire. “I’ll find out if the fleet has launched—or how close they are. I’ll question someone discreetly and figure out what else they know.”

Information.

Lykor grumbled under his breath, fists curling against his knees. They wanted to scavenge for scraps of knowledge while the king’s vessels likely sailed across the world with one goal—to seize the chained dragons.

Intelligence was useless without action. What they needed to do was destroy these ships, not waste time indulging the prince’s pathetic pursuit of purpose.

Lykor parted his lips, the argument razor-sharp on his tongue. But he bit it back. Let Vesryn cling to his illusion of control. For now.

“I’ll go with you,” Serenna blurted. “If my family is still trapped under Elashor’s influence…” She shook her head, drawing another flame from the fire. “I want to help.”

Vesryn’s expression softened and he gave her a nod before turning his attention to Fenn and Jassyn. “Gather supplies for our journey across the Wastes.” He then lifted his brows at Lykor in a subtle challenge, as if he sensed the rising protest. “I assume you’ll want to leave at dawn.”

Lykor’s shoulders twitched at the thought of being shackled to this unbearable cohort. “I still think it’s foolish for all of us to go. What if the elves invade this location too?”

“All the more reason for us to make haste,” Vesryn replied. Gesturing at Zaeryn, he added, “And besides, the rangers can manage without me.”

Lykor scowled at the flight captain, irritated by nothing more than her presence.

“And in our absence,” the prince continued, “I’ve already made arrangements with Kal, Thalaesyn, and my mother. They’re capable of protecting our people until we return.”

Sensing Aesar stirring back into his awareness, Lykor cracked his neck. No doubt, he was about to unleash a torrent of arguments and agreements, poised to beat Lykor into a pulp with his logic.

“Fine,” Lykor spat, the concession burning like acid in his mouth. He rose to his feet—because the alternative was staying and engaging in this pointless debate. “We depart with the rising sun. And I won’t hesitate to leave behind anyone who’s late,” he growled before stalking off into the jungle.

Lykor turned inward, bracing for Aesar to take over while he plotted his next move. After all, he had his own plans tonight under the cover of darkness.