Page 112 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

“I am eight thousand and eighty-nine cycles,” Lady Naelira says with a gentle smile. She looks to Lord Caelithen. “Though not as old as him.” Her eyes crinkle. “Lord Caelithen is the eldest here at nine thousand, two hundred and four cycles.”

I suddenly feel lightheaded. Eight thousand cycles. Nine thousand. The numbers aren't just digits—they are a weight that settles in the marrow of my bones. As a human-raised Princess, I thought a hundred years was a full life. Now, I’m standing before beings who have watched mountains crumble to dust. Who’ve seen the rise and fall of civilizations. Who’ve known many, many generations of human families.

My Elvisiah-tuned blood hums at the truth of it—the realization that Ryker and I won't be together for a lifetime, but for ages of the world. It makes the impending war feel both infinitely more dangerous and our Bond infinitely more precious. He once told me he’d love me for a human lifespan or an immortal one. I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy that it will be the latter.

“And how old are the Fae?” I ask.

Lady Naelira looks to Carys.

“Our eldest is currently twelve thousand, seven hundred and ninety-one cycles. Our lifespans are much the same. Though once you two complete your Aethermark, your lifespans will be tied to one another. You’ll pass into the aether within minutes of each other,” Carys answers.

Ryker doesn’t move beside me, but the air around him crackles. The weight of all this knowledge feels so heavy. I nod and look back at the council members. Lord Caelithen is the last to speak, telling us to go, that we need all the time we have to prepare for the finality of the war, which is on the horizon.

As one, the five council members stand, pulling their hoods up once more, and file out of the chamber on silent feet. The air thins, and I draw in a deep breath. Ryker pulls me to his chest, where I bury my face into his cloak, inhaling my favorite scent. His strong arms wrap around me, holding me close.

It’s only a heartbeat later before Carys says, “Well, time to go meet the king.”

Chapter 39

Ryker

Once we’re back on the mountainside, Carys is quick to open another gateway to get us all out of the pouring rain. Unlike Brynna’s, this gateway feels calm and controlled, as if it answers to the one who opened it. The familiar pull of magic hums over my skin as we step through, and when my boots hit solid ground, I know immediately we’re no longer in the same world.

The Fae capital unfolds before us like something torn from a dream. Where the Elven Council had been stone and stillness, rooted in nature and order, this place defies both gravity and reason. Spires of silver curve toward the heavens, rising in vast arcs that catch the dying light of the sun. Every surface shimmers as if it’s alive. The city doesn’t stand against the sky—it mirrors it.

Carys looks to Riven, something unnameable passing between them. Even Brynna stands taller, but colder. I take Raea’s hand in mine, following after them. Finn brings up the rear, silently.

We cross a bridge of glass, and for a moment, I can’t tell which is a reflection and which is real. The arches of the High Fae Palace, as Carys called it, loom ahead. Seven ribs of bright stone converge like petals of some ancient celestial flower not yet bloomed. Each is carved with glowing blue runes that pulse faintly with ancient power. I feel it before I understand it. My blood sings with the history here.

Beside me, Raea’s gaze lifts to the sky above. The glow reflects in her eyes—starlight caught in the pools of green—and for a heartbeat, I forget the heaviness of the council hall, the assessment of ancient eyes.

“It’s breathtaking,” Raea murmurs as a smile blooms across her face.

Carys looks back with a grin as she leads us with Brynna right on her heels.

Above us, the sky has turned a shade of navy with a bright lavender on the horizon as stars twinkle brighter with every heartbeat. The air feels light—like music drifting on a wind that only exists in holy places—where beauty demands reverence and the skies sing their song. If the Elven are the roots, the Fae are the sky.

The bridge carries us into the heart of the city, and the air shifts. It’s warmer here—alive somehow, like the city itself is breathing. Gardens hang suspended in the air, spilling violet flame-lilies and crystalline vines from terraces that float on an invisible breeze.

Tall, slender beings with pointed ears who carry themselves with the kind of grace that isn’t practiced, laugh in the streets. Children play games of tag. A mother carries an infant in her arms. Beside her, a Fae man says something that makes her laugh. They’re all dressed in finery, like wearing opulence for an evening stroll is a normal occurrence.

I keep my face a mask of bored indifference, but my eyes are cataloging every guard’s stance and every hidden archway. They look at us like curiosities—like lost humans, but they don't see the storm simmering behind my eyes. Let them think I’m a boy in a silver embroidered jacket. Courts are always more honest when they forget who could kill them.

Everyone here is happy, but not the fragile joy we knew back home. This is the ease of a people who have not lived under the shadow of war for thousands of years. It should comfort me. Instead, it makes something ugly coil in my chest.

Raea squeezes my hand like she understands. “I see you.”

She always has. She doesn’t flinch from the darkness in me or try to soften it. She meets it—and stays.

A procession waits at the gates of the High Palace. The guards stand motionless and unsettling. Their armor glows like the glass palace before us, the gleaming metal reflecting the evening light.

One of the guards steps forward. “Ryker of the Stormborne Line,” he says, his voice cool and precise. “And Soraea, Harbinger of Light. The High Court welcomes you to Sorynth.”

As if sensing my question, Riven mutters quietly, “Sorynth is the third planet in the Auralan system.”

Raea turns and, under her breath, asks, “And where were we before?”

“We never left Auralis. It’s where the Elven Council chamber resides and where your training will take place,” Finn says.