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The elven warrior released her wrist, cradling her neck instead, titling her head back.
“Eldrion . . .” she whispered.
Then, as if awakening from a dream, he released her as though she burned him. Taking several steps back, he cleared his throat, adjusting his towel with his hands.
A quick glance down revealed a slight tent underneath the fabric.
“You should rest tomorrow. No training,” the elf said in a formal, cold tone.
And before she could say anything, gather her own thoughts, or process any of it, he turned and fled the chamber.
A day later, Anthea approached the familiar training grounds. A whisper of anxiety threaded through her veins, her mind still entangled in the events at the thermal pools, unsure of what to expect now. How was she going to face him?
As she arrived, Fyrlion stood waiting. His brown hair, brushed back, and his posture, rigid and unwavering.
“Where’s Eldrion?” Anthea asked, her eyes scanning the vicinity, hoping to find the missing elf. She was nervous, but the thought of not seeing him—she didn’t want that too. She had stayed up most of the night, thinking of what she would say to him?—
Fyrlion’s hazel eyes met hers, betraying no emotion, revealing no secret. “He won’t be here for a while. I will be taking over your training.”
“Why? Where is he?” Anthea pressed. Did he opt out of training her now? Was it because of what happened?
The elf’s demeanor remained unyielding; a single brow arched in mild response. “Your training with me,” he began, unclasping his hands from behind his back, “will focus on improving your throwing skills.”
Anthea crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “I asked you a question.”
A faint trace of a smirk whispered upon Fyrlion’s lips. “You did, one that I don’t intend to answer.” He extended his hand, offering her a small, sharp dagger.
Eldrion had been away for two weeks now, Beldor too had been absent. Fyrlion refused to give her any information about the whereabouts of the two warriors. Anthea didn’t want to admit it, but she had started to miss them. It was almost comical. As soon as she formed any sort of connection with a male in this world—they disappeared from her life.
Her gaze swept across the room, noting the familiar figures of the Nephrite court. They were all here: Galodir and Fyralin were talking underneath the canopy of the silver leaves. Vaelor was gazing out of the large window, his hands clasped on his back.
She made her way to the table, taking a seat beside Elodir.
“What’s going on?” she asked under her breath, glancing at Kaelan. He was talking to the familiar figure of Haldrian. Anthea remembered him from the Crimson court.
“I don’t know, Anthea. Even I was caught off-guard.” Elodir smirked.
“Liar,” she said, her eyes narrowing.
“Patience. You’ll find out soon enough.”
As if on cue, Galodir started the meeting.
The Nephrite king moved to stand at the head of the table, commanding the attention of everyone present.
“We have had a breakthrough,” he said, the evident relief in his voice clear. “We believe that we have located another piece of the prophecy—A cave, warded by ancient magic, in the borderlands of the Iron court.”
Vaelor unrolled a large map on the table. “Here.” He pointed to a mountainous region, halfway between the Scorched lands and the Iron fortress.
Haldrian looked straight at Anthea. “The Crimson court’s scouts found it. They couldn’t enter. It seems it is impossible for any elf to breach—blood magic.” Anthea held her breath. Whatever it was that she expected from today’s meeting—this wasn’t it. “They found ancient writings on the cave,” Haldrian continued, showing a parchment with a neat script on top.
Anthea didn’t need him to translate it. Her mind already did the job faster.
Enter, you who come from the stars.
She felt the eyes of the entire room on her. “What’s inside there?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“We do not know,” Galodir admitted. His eyes met hers, as if trying to gauge her reaction. “It is believed that during the War of the Races, the humans used these caves as shelters. It is possible they have left some clues in there on how they controlled their dragons . . .” Galodir trailed off, stroking his chin.
