Chapter 6
Keir
I survive the gauntlet,emerging into the afternoon sunlight with scraped knuckles and a few new bruises that will fade by evening. The moment I’m clear, I send a gentle caress down the bond to Raven, letting her know I’m okay—a warm pulse ofI’m alive, I’m safe, I’m thinking of you.Her answer comes immediately, wrapping around my consciousness like a comforting embrace. It feels like her way of sayingI love you, stay safewithout needing words.
I rejoin the others clustered around the tracking display, and even her father stands among the crowd—Thauglor’s massive form impossible to miss, his sapphire eyes fixed on the magical screen with laser focus that makes everyone give him space.
“What is she waiting for?” Thauglor asks, his voice carrying the edge of parental concern he usually hides so well. We all stare at Raven’s dot, just blinking steadily in place, unmoving for longer than seems normal.
“Not sure.” I tilt my head, studying the pulsing light that represents my mate somewhere in that death trap. “Nothing feels off through the bond.” The connection between us humswith her usual presence—alert, calculating, very much alive and in control.
“Thauglor, if you have a moment.” Finlay’s voice cuts through our observation, and I turn to see the royal protocol teacher walking onto the grounds between Shadowcarve and Ranthor Keep, where the gauntlet sits like a wooden monster. His flame-colored hair catches the sunlight, creating an almost supernatural glow.
“Yeah, sure...” Thauglor’s eyes remain glued to his daughter’s dot on the tracker, just like the rest of us. His claws have extended slightly—a subtle tell that he’s more worried than he’s letting on.
“Your daughter is in my class this afternoon, and she hasn’t picked up the books yet from the commissary.” Finlay sounds frustrated and distracted, which is unusual for someone usually so composed. I look over at him more carefully and notice his honey-colored eyes are also glued to Raven’s dot, tracking its position with an intensity that seems oddly personal.
Within seconds, Raven’s dot simply vanishes—not moving off screen, not fading gradually, butgonelike someone flipped a switch. The tracking display shows only empty space where she should be.
“Is that a malfunction?” I ask, already moving toward the gauntlet entrance. Ice forms in my stomach, sharp and cold as winter.
“Can you feel her?” Thauglor’s voice cracks slightly as he looks between Corvus and me, his usual composure fracturing.
“I can still feel her, but...” Corvus pauses, and his silver eyes lock with mine. His hand rests over his heart, touching the scalethey exchanged. The look we share speaks volumes—something is very, very wrong. Icy dread flows down my spine like freezing water, making my skin prickle with alarm.
“I can’t feel her...” The words stick in my throat like broken glass. “She’s not dead, but I can’t feel her. The bond is there, but it’s like she’s been wrapped in something that blocks the connection.” We turn at the same time to face Thauglor, our synchronized movement speaking to shared panic.
“Investigate the gauntlet—make sure nothing was tampered with!” Thauglor practically roars, his voice carrying enough force to make the ground vibrate. His dragon is very close to the surface, barely contained by his human form.
Abraxis, Vaughn, and Leander charge into the gauntlet entrance without hesitation, disappearing into shadows like warriors heading into battle. We watch their three dots appear on the tracking display, hurrying through the pathways before stopping at the exact spot where Raven’s dot disappeared.
After almost thirty agonizing minutes—each second feeling like an hour—they emerge carrying four crystals that pulse with a sickly purple light. The stones seem to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating small pockets of darkness around them.
“This wasn’t put in there by any of us,” Leander says grimly, showing the crystals to Finlay and Thauglor. His scarred hands hold them carefully, as if they might explode. Balor leans in to examine them more closely and shakes his head with obvious concern.
“Definitely not something we would use in the gauntlet’s design,” Balor confirms, his voice carrying the weight ofsomeone recognizing danger. “These are foreign objects, placed deliberately.”
Finlay looks white as a sheet, all color draining from his face until even his lips are pale. “They are dimensional crystals. Elves and drow use them to open dimensional doors. They can transport someone leagues away from the point of origin—sometimes even to other planes of existence.” His honey eyes suddenly transform into burning orbs of fire, and I can see him physically fighting his shift as flames lick at the edges of his form.
Thauglor moves with desperate speed, grabbing Finlay by his shoulders and shaking him several times. “If you can find her, if you can save her, I will grant you any boon you ask of me.” His voice cracks with emotion I’ve never heard from him—raw fear mixed with desperate hope. In all the time I’ve known Thauglor, I have never heard him sound this way—vulnerable, afraid, willing to promise anything.
Finlay nods once, sharp and determined, and starts backing up. He strips off his jacket with quick movements, then his tie, his watch—each item falling to the ground without care. He looks at us one last time, his burning eyes meeting each of ours, and then he literally ignites.
His body bursts into flames so bright I have to shield my eyes. The heat washes over us in waves, making the air shimmer and dance. The most beautiful phoenix I’ve ever seen explodes into existence where Finlay stood moments before—a creature of living fire with wings that span twenty feet, feathers that shift between orange, red, and white-hot gold. He takes to the sky with a cry that sounds like singing and screaming combined, heading north with single-minded purpose.
I stand in stunned silence, watching him become a burning star against the blue sky, heading toward something the rest of us can’t sense. The smell of smoke and cinnamon lingers in the air where he transformed.
“How is he going to find her?” Corvus asks, his voice rough with confusion and residual shock as he looks between me and Thauglor.
“I believe he’s her mate,” Thauglor says simply, stating it like an undeniable fact. The words hang in the air for a moment before he walks off, already pulling out his phone to make calls—mobilizing resources, calling in favors, preparing for war if necessary.
“Let’s go find Hemlocke,” I say to Corvus, my mind already racing ahead to what needs to happen next. Before he can respond, I grab his arm and blink us through space—that familiar sensation of reality folding and unfolding—transporting us back to Blackhaven to find our bond brother.
We materialize in Hemlocke’s workshop, where he’s helping coordinate the family relocations, and he takes one look at our faces before his expression hardens.
“What happened to Raven?” he demands, already moving toward the door.
“Kidnapped,” I say flatly. “Dimensional crystals in the gauntlet. She’s gone, and we need to move. Now.”
