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I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed, forced to swallow my rage. I had secured passage. I had Dax. But the inclusion of Manem, Mal, and Caspian—and the forced separation from Soren and Rhea—turned the expedition into a volatile pressure cooker.
The King plays a subtle game, little ember, Nyx’s deep, smooth voice rumbled suddenly in the marrow of my sternum, carrying a dry thread of ancient amusement. He gives you the key, but surrounds you with swords. I suggest we cut his leash the moment we find your seven-foot spear.
Focus, Nyx, I thought back, locking my eyes onto Fjörn’s stone face.
“We leave at dusk,” I said, my voice tight and unforgiving.
King Fjörn gave a single nod, leaning back onto his obsidian throne as if he had just moved a pawn across a war board—unaware that the piece he was sending away was preparing to set his kingdom on fire.
The Archway sat at the apex of the throne room—a circular ring of ancient, star-carved basalt that jutted out over the cloud-draped abyss below.
Dusk had fallen over Nymeria, painting the sky in violent shades of bruised purple and crimson.
I stood twenty paces from the archway, my heavy travel cloak wrapped tight against the freezing mountain breeze, my daggers strapped to my thighs, and Lorian’s journal secured in my pack. Beside me stood Dax, his left hand still tightly bound, a tight smirk splitting his face despite the nervous twitch in his jaw.
“Reckless mortal realm trip with the High Commander, a calculating High Captain, and a male who wants to use you for rank?” Dax murmured, throwing a glance toward the small squad assembled behind us. “Sounds like a standard Tuesday, Princess.”
“Keep your blade ready, Dax,” I warned low. “Fjörn didn’t grant this leave out of kindness.”
Fjörn not father, not my king.
Just Fjörn.
I will pretend to be on a leash a little longer.
A few paces away, Soren and Rhea stood watching us. Rhea’s posture was stiff, her hands resting tightly on her belt, her sharp eyes filled with an unspoken anxiety. Soren stepped up to me, his silver armor catching the dim crimson twilight.
“Be careful, Tauriel,” Soren whispered, his dark eyes searching my face with a quiet earnestness that bypassed his guard training.
“Watch your back in the keep, Soren,” I replied raspy, glancing toward the lower solar where Fjörn’s windows gleamed with candlelight. “He kept you here for a reason. Do not trust the council.”
“I trust only my steel,” Soren assured me, giving my arm a firm squeeze. “Find your spear. Come back alive.”
A heavy, dark presence stepped up to my right flank, cutting off the conversation.
Caspian.
The High Captain looked towering, lethal, and profoundly dangerous. His sleek, dark-scaled Umbrax was roosted on the lower tower wall behind him, letting out a low, vibrating click that echoed Nyx’s presence in my own chest.
To my left, Mal stood checking the buckles of his broadsword harness, while Commander Manem stood before the control altar, holding the King’s heavy iron seal.
“Stand clear of the threshold!” Manem barked, his voice cutting through the wind like a whip.
Manem stepped up to the central stone altar before the archway, slamming the King’s iron seal into a deep recess at the base of the basalt ring.
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
A sharp, acoustic hum exploded from the ancient stone, vibrating straight through the floor of the chamber. The engraved runes along the inner edge of the massive archway flared to life, burning with a celestial silver light that illuminated the throne room. A violent, howling vortex of wind erupted within the ring, tearing at our cloaks as the air inside the archway shattered.
The ring dissolved, replaced by a churning, mirror of midnight blue and swirling, starry void.
The portal was open.
An unstable thread, Nyx’s deep voice observed in my chest, unbothered by the cosmic anomaly before us. Watch your footing, little ember. Dimensional transit is terrible for the stomach.
“Form up!” Manem ordered, drawing his broadsword as he stepped toward the churning silver vortex. “Maintain tight formation! We step through together!”
Caspian stepped directly beside me, his large, calloused hand coming down to rest firmly against the small of my back—a heavy, protective anchor that radiated a staggering heat in the freezing gale. His royal blue eyes met mine through the swirling mist, holding a silent, unyielding promise: I am right behind you.
