He’s mine.
Still, he fastened his sword to his hip.
“Not taking any chances,” he said at her raised brow.
But his eyes were softer now. His posture lighter. When she reached for his hand, he took it without hesitation. They stepped outside together. Black volcanic stone lined the path on either side, and the air smelled of ash and rosemary. Veyra Fatàn stood at the end of the path, waiting. As if she’d known the exact moment they’d emerge.
Of course she did.
Her face was as calm and serene as ever, her hands folded neatly before her.
“Ah,” she said, with a satisfied smile. “So you’re ready.”
Sebastian’s grip tightened on her hand as they stopped before Veyra. “This is not your victory,” he said shortly.
Veyra’s smile didn’t falter. “Maybe not. But it is yours, Warrior. And perhaps Vallenna’s.”
“I don’t like your methods,” Sebastian said flatly.
“I know.”
His jaw clenched. “And I won’t forgive what you let Kara go through.”
Veyra’s violet eyes held his steadily. “I know that as well.” There was no defensiveness in her tone, nor any apology. Just acknowledgment.
Sebastian exhaled slowly. “But thank you,” he said begrudgingly. “For the roof. For the food. The clothes. It’s the first peace we’ve had in weeks.”
Veyra bowed her head. “You’ll need your strength.”
“What you told us about the prophecy. Before the winter frost? Is that all we have? Weeks?” Kara asked.
Veyra’s gaze shifted to her. “As I said – it could be days, or weeks. The prophecy was not more precise. The Sight can be... imperfect. Even for me. But until then, you will stay. Recoup your strength. My people know you are here, under my protection. They understand.”
“Thank you,” Kara said.
“Come with me,” Veyra said. “We have much to discuss.”
They followed Veyra silently into the keep beyond the library, through low-lit corridors of black stone, until she led them into a circular chamber that was unmistakably hers. The walls were adorned with colourful crystals and lined with shelves containing parchments, scrolls and leather-bound books of Veyra’s own writings, including symbols Kara had never seen before. Prophecies, she assumed, dreams Veyra had interpreted. Charts of Arcanthys’s constellations were pinned to the wall, alongside a large map of Vallenna, marked with dates in flowing script. Evidently, it was where Veyra studied, where she’d spent a lifetime watching the threads of fate. It gave Kara a distinctly eerie feeling, like the walls themselves were watching her. The door clicked shut behind them and Veyra settled herself at her desk, completely at ease.
“You are ready to hear it, I think, the prophecy in full. The part that the others did not,” Veyra said.
“In full?” Kara asked cautiously.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean there’s more than what the Council heard?”
“There is what we showed them,” Veyra said calmly, “and what we did not. The Written Future gives us many verses. Not all are meant for every ear.”
“No more riddles,” Sebastian growled. “Say it plainly.”
Veyra raised a brow at his fit of temper. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and carried the rhythm of prophecy:
Before autumn dies, Draknor will rise,
With a power Vallenna yet knows not.
As Vallenna’s magic grows weak and fails,
Our enemy sets their blackened sail.
