“By a shift, it will stir, and the rightful heir shall burn away the veil. In the Keeper’s grasp, the Lantern will reveal what was lost and what must befound. When the hour is near and the crimson moon calls, cries of agony shall echo, but the light will rise to cleanse them all.
“A soul bound to a lineage unseen.A soul. A rightful heir,” she mumbled to herself. “It’s Cillian.” Her breath shuddered as she lifted her gaze. “Cillian’s soul. Why else would Vaelora put so much effort into targeting him? She knows. She knows he is the subject of the prophecy.Oh, gods.”
She pushed away from the table and began pacing.
“This book was meant for him. It was guiding him to figure out that he is the key.” Though her face had gone pale, she kept moving, clearly trying to piece it all together. “This is why she’s been corrupting him, brainwashing him.”
Alaric’s whole body tensed as realization and truth clawed its way in. He swallowed hard. “And the sigil, the warnings. She’s trying to stop us from uncovering this.”
Evelyne nodded. “I think she’s been trying to keep us from reaching him, so he never learns the truth. Or maybe she’s trying to control him to stop the prophecy from coming true. I… I’m not sure.”
Her words lingered, heavy with a fear that neither Alaric nor Kaldrek dared voice. But beneath that fear, something else stirred—hope.
If Cillian was the key, if he truly was the light, then there was still a chance.
“Sit with us, please,” Kaldrek said, his hand finding the small of Evelyne’s back, the touch both protective and intimate. Alaric noticed it, and couldn’t help but wonder if something more had passed between them. His eyes followed the slow drag of Kaldrek’s fingers along Evelyne’s spine, and a sudden protective instinct rose in him. He clenched his jaw, trying to tamp it down.
Kaldrek must have sensed it, because he turned, meeting Alaric’s stare with a look that held a silent warning. A challenge. As if to say,Don’t.
That touch was a claim, an unspoken declaration, and Alaric hated it. But he bit his tongue, forcing a tight smile just as Garek arrived, setting down food and drinks, breaking the tension that thickened the air.
***
They departed at dawn the next day, the golden light spilling across Cindermoor like a quiet farewell. The packs gathered silently, exchanging soft goodbyes with the townsfolk, their voices heavy with grief. Eda and Garek lingered the longest, embracing the wolves like their own kin, and in many ways, they were. They had guided them, protected them. The thought made Evelyne’s chest ache. Her father was gone, murdered before her eyes. And her mother, Aurelia, Cillian—they didn’t even know. Still, she had to leave her father behind, buried in unfamiliar soil among the graves of so many others lost to the same nightmare.
She might be the one who had to tell her family. She wasn’t even sure she would survive the journey home. But she had to try. She needed to find Cillian and do everything she could to understand what was happening. Somehow, he was the key; she could feel it. How it all connected still escaped her, but there was no turning back now. All she could do was keep going and hold on to the hope that he was still alive.
Kaldrek had given her space. More than that, he must have ordered the entire pack to leave her alone, because no one dared mention her father. Alaric had spoken to her, though, and she hadn’t minded. He had been close with her father and had witnessed his brutal death as she had. And in some dark, morbid way, she was grateful for his presence.
She felt numb, incapable of processing the storm of emotions within her. Even thoughts of Kaldrek and what had happened between them felt distant. She longed to touch him, to kiss him, but the idea of feelinghappiness or pleasure at a time like this seemed wrong. He understood, though. Vaelora had stolen his parents, just as she had stolen Evelyne’s father. They were bound together by loss.
The first week of travel passed in near silence. Everyone moved quickly, following Alaric’s lead toward the abandoned trade route he swore he had seen on an old map. A supposed trade route, anyway.
No one in either pack had heard of it before, and Evelyne couldn’t shake her doubts. But they had no other choice. They had to take the risk if they wanted to avoid the Noskari.
They traveled by day, moving through the eastern lands, the alphas of both Glaciermaw and Ironwolf scouting ahead for shelter. Each night, they found whatever cover they could. Sometimes, luck was on their side, and they came across fallen trees that curved over them like sheltering caves. On other nights, they had to rely on tall grasses and the shadows of hills and rocks. There were always scouts keeping watch, always weapons within reach. No tents, no fires. Only the cold, hard ground beneath them.
Kaldrek never failed to check on her, and his presence was a constant reassurance. More often than not, he lay beside her, his warmth seeping into her bones. She felt safe with him, comforted. But she also knew Alaric watched him whenever he came near, his protective instincts evident. She hadn’t told him how far things had gone between her and Kaldrek. And maybe it shouldn’t matter. But back home, in the world of polished ballrooms and whispered judgments, a woman who gave herself to a man before marriage was branded. There was no undoing it now. She had crossed a line and knew exactly what they would call her.
Ruined.
Unfit to marry.
She didn’t regret it. Not for a moment. That night had meant something. It had been real, and it had changed everything. Kaldrek felt it too; she saw it in how he moved around her now, protective and always watching. The pack had noticed as well. Even if they weren’t mates, they could still smell him on her, a silent claim no one dared to question. Not even Obren.
He kept his distance, whether out of respect or because the horrors of Cindermoor had shaken something in him. Maybe chasing her no longer felt worth the effort. But through it all, Heidara remained by her side.
With each passing day, as they drew closer to Nerathar, the grief and guilt that had weighed Evelyne down began to shift. Sorrow hardened into rage, and heartache turned to resolve. She was no longer a noble lady from the south, no longer a delicate thing meant for ballrooms and courtly whispers.
She was not the girl she’d once been. She was stronger now—a warrior in her own right. And she would fight for her father, for her brother, until her very last breath. No matter how dangerous this path became, she would not give up.
Chapter 42
The second week of travel brought them closer to their destination. The air grew colder. Each mile forward felt heavier, the unknown pressing in on all sides. The rolling hills flattened into long stretches of dry grass, the occasional cluster of trees breaking the monotony of the landscape.
Alaric rode in front, scanning the horizon. Kaldrek stayed in his human form, sharing the saddle with Evelyne so he could talk with Alaric as they neared their destination. She leaned into him, comforted by his steady presence. The journey had been long, but she felt more at ease with him behind her.
Alaric had been waiting for some sign, something undeniable to prove they were headed in the right direction. While the rest of the pack questioned whether the path even existed, he held on to a quiet conviction, insisting he could feel it was still out there and urging them to trust him. Evelyne chose to believe him. Kaldrek hadn’t argued; it was their only real option. All she could do now was hope Alaric would find what he’d been searching for.
