Seren clears her throat. “Veilborn.”
Lara nods curtly.
“That’s what they called me in Cindralis. A keeper of the liminal. Protector of the ancient. A World Walker,” Seren murmurs wistfully, echoing the words Tvira said to her, as if remembering something from another lifetime.
Cindralis. It wasn’t long ago that Elyssara was sitting in a cave just like this with Nehvara in Cindralis. Hearing secrets long held, lost verses uncovered, choosing the Starbound tether.
And now? She seems to be on the verge of even more secrets this godsforsaken realm has buried.
“You’d do well to remember that you are able to do so much, little witch. The Dreaded will teach you endless uses for your skills—golden nooses are only your beginning,” Larapromises, the words sounding more like a dark promise than a commitment to growth.
She looks away from Seren, like her words are nothing more than idle conversation.
Daphinia sips at her brask, a scowl on her face that seems permanent, but otherwise unmoving. Caev does the same, beholden to Lara’s every instruction.The Marrow.
Lara’s eyes bore into her, one warrior sizing up another. Elyssara stares back, and then leans in, unafraid.
For a moment, the world stills.
Two predators acknowledging each other.
Two leaders refusing to back down.
Two women who have lost everything, refusing to lose again.
“Tell me what you know,” Elyssara demands, voice even but firm.
Lara leans back, the golden glow washing her midnight skin in hints of caramel. Her braided hair falling in knots and tangles, metal clasps spaced along the threads. She is beautiful. Alarmingly so. The kind of beauty that draws you in, only to slide a blade home as her smile distracts you.
Terrifyingly beautiful, that’s what she is.
“I detest politics, Elyssara,” Lara begins, her voice a bored drawl. “Witches are not puppets for kings and queens. We do not simply swing where you point. We are cunning. And we are loyal to only two things.”
But before Elyssara can ask, Seren exhales the words. “Coin and coven.”
Lara nods.
Seren leans in. “Whose coin were you earning the night you exiled the gods?”
The perfect question.
Lara, Daphinia, and Caev share a glance.
Lara’s expression does not falter. “Not Thalmyr’s.”
Fuck.
Elyssara slams her tankard down, tin scraping against the cave’s floor.
But Daphinia doesn’t balk—she leans in, face twisted in a flare of rage.
“If you think Thalmyr won that night, you’re wrong,” Daphinia snaps, her voice haughty and arrogant, like the thought of her failing is ridiculous. “He didn’t even understand the spell he was casting,” she scoffs.
Frustration builds in Elyssara’s veins. She wants fucking answers!
“Daphinia didn’t fail him. She did exactly what she was paid to do,” Lara explains.
Seren sucks in a sharp breath, like she’s remembered something.
