Freed from the memory, Lykor shuddered a rough exhale. The storm of his heartbeat vibrated with a charge, his entire being poised to protect Aesar from the king. Stifling the wild urge provoked by the vision, Lykor detached his mind from the buried past.
Focusing on the chambers in front of him, Lykor watched Kal tense, eyeing the rending billowing through the room. Dispelling Aesar’s lingering fear, Lykor cracked his neck and surrendered the hold on his magic. Feeling flooded back into his limbs in a prickling rush as he comprehended the significance of possessing a Heart of Stars.
They were the key to freeing the dragons the Aelfyn had chained in the war. Galaeryn had one Heart in his possession, and it was possible he’d already located more.
There was a reason the king had targeted Aesar during that first staged “wraith attack.” Aesar had learned too much of what Galaeryn and Elashor attempted to conceal—though Lykor had yet to discover what the dragons could offer.
WHAT WOULD IT MEAN FOR THE WRAITH IF WE COULD FREE THOSE BEASTS FIRST? Lykor nearly shook Aesar out of sleep to question him, but realized the answers didn’t matter.
If the king’s reaction to Aesar’s curiosity of the dragons was any sign, then the creatures and the relics were important. With loathing engraved in his bones, Lykor would retaliate and snatch away anything that Galaeryn desired—just as the king had ruthlessly stolen everything from the wraith.
If his people could somehow ally themselves with the dragons—if any were still alive—they might have a chance at survival. First, they’d have to collect the Hearts if the king didn’t already possess them all and uncover wherever the Aelfyn had chained those beasts.
Lykor had no doubts that any remaining dragons were somewhere on the other side of the world. Surely they would’ve been discovered long ago if they dwelled in the mortal realms.
Lykor veered his attention back to Kal. He’d never voice it, but he grudgingly acknowledged the benefits of Aesar’s intervention—at least Kal was still present to manage the trivialities.
“Set Mara on organizing the search for the Heart that Aesar thinks we might be sitting on,” Lykor ordered, rolling his shoulders to banish Aesar’s lingering wave of dread. “Have her double the crews excavating the collapsed chambers around the Slag.”
Trapped in a whirlpool of responsibilities, Lykor considered what to do if the restless generation discovered his plans. He didn’t have time to sacrifice by addressing the various factions sowing seeds of dissent.
“I don’t want those ‘reavers’ on the Heart’s trail,” he told Kal, clenching his claw like he could prevent the wraith’s former unity from slipping through his fingers. “Busy them with patrols and keep knowledge of the Hearts between us. If the warriors are losing respect for me, perhaps they’ll be more inclined to listen to you.”
Kal grunted, turning to leave without a parting word.
“Wait,” Lykor said, seized by an impulse.
Stalking to his captain, Lykor flared Essence and began ripping talents out of his own chest, severing abilities from his Well. Unlike the king siphoning magic against his will, offering power freely had no agonizing effects. Pooling his magic, Lykor started to assemble a globe containing illumination, telepathy, and illusion—those talents he could live without. He couldn’t conceive why having all eight talents mattered—he’d never been an arch elf like Aesar.
So drained from shouldering the burden of caring for his people alone, Lykor hardly cared if his physical form balanced between elf and wraith as he shifted from his arch elf appearance. Galaeryn had broken and remade him too many times to count. Even after becoming whole again, his wraith claw had still persisted. Lykor accepted the irreparable damage to his body.
Kal’s jaw went slack, eyes widening in alarm. He scrambled backward toward the door when a radiant orb of light hovered above Lykor’s palm.
Kal held his claws up as if to fend Lykor off. “I already told Aesar I didn’t want—”
Ignoring his protest, Lykor shoved the abilities into his captain’s chest. Kal collapsed to his hands and knees as the invasion of light fractured through his veins like fissures cracking through ice.
“Stars scorch you,” Kal swore, lurching back to his feet. He swayed, his hair shifting to a bronze hue. “You never should’ve stolen Essence from that elf. I’ve come to terms with the loss.” Igniting his magic, Kal clutched his chest, wresting the power from his Well.
Snatching his wrist, Lykor yanked away Kal’s arm, halting his efforts at withdrawing the talents.
“You will keep those abilities and make yourself useful,” Lykor growled, his claw tightening around Kal’s now-elven hand, all traces of the wraith talons eradicated. “Surely you see the advantages of both of us having Essence.”
Kal’s crimson eyes blazed into his from a face reminiscent of the elf that Aesar remembered—his body like Lykor’s now, in the middle of the transformation between elf and wraith.
Skin crawling where they touched, Lykor flung Kal’s arm away. “Do I need to spell out the benefits for you?” Frustration gnawed on his nerves. Everything he did for the wraith was met by Kal’s combativeness and scorn. “You can communicate with the warriors telepathically and illusions can conceal us in daylight if the humans continue pushing closer to our patrols. And then there’s whatever fucking use you can find for illumination.”
“Fine.” Kal’s glare burned a hole through him as he yanked on his boots and crouched to lace the leather ties.
“I’ll leave a portal open near the surface lifts for today’s rotation,” Lykor said, catching his reflection in a dressing mirror. Familiar scarlet eyes framed by midnight hair scowled back at him before he turned his attention to his captain. “I’m taking the wraithlings out to forage their goats. It might be the final time we can do it safely with those humans encroaching. I want Fenn’s squadron with us patrolling our mountain pastures. Have him organize the scouts to hunt on the outskirts. There should still be migrating elk.”
Ignoring him, Kal strapped knives next to the crossbow on his back. Sheathing his longsword at his hip, he pivoted, leaving Lykor alone in the silent room.
CHAPTER 13
SERENNA
Serenna entered her dim sleeping chamber after spending the fourth afternoon in a row with the prince, forced to fend off the mindless wraith in the dungeons. She wandered through the room to open a curtain. I need to manifest illumination since Velinya isn’t here to brighten our apartment with magic.
Her friend’s extended absence reminded her that Jassyn had planned to escort her to Kyansari’s healing district. Now that a week had passed since the attack, he wasn’t the only mender who found it unusual that the injured hadn’t returned from the capital. Worried whispers had begun to circulate around campus, settling into a layer of unease.
As Serenna reached for a drape, her door slammed shut. Before she could spin around, a hand wrapped over her mouth. Panic consumed her in a wildfire. Serenna’s mind exploded in terror, every nerve blazing to fight for her life.
Flailing, she sent her fists and feet striking out at the sudden restriction. Palm suffocating her scream, Serenna went wild, shrieking and kicking to free herself. Stronger than steel, her assailant’s arm clamped over her middle, yanking her back into their chest.
“Stars, relax. It’s me,” Vesryn said, close enough that the air from his words skittered over the edge of her ear.
Serenna stilled, panting through her nose. Vesryn’s iron-clad muscles slackened in response but he kept her spine locked against him. Serenna considered blasting the prince away with her power or biting his hand if he continued to smother her face.
Why don’t I sense him? There was only that faint silver cord—what she assumed to be the unformed part of the bond—that drifted alongside the bright light she’d come to recognize as Vesryn's presence. But it was gone, like he wasn’t even there—like when Jassyn had tethered him earlier in the week.
Vesryn released her. Serenna whirled to face him, racing heartbeat slowing to a dull thunder in her ears. Speechless from fright, her mind teetered between confusion and alarm.
Grinning, the prince wiggled his fingers in front of her face. A ring flashed in a shard of sunlight slipping in through the curtains. “I masked my presence using Jassyn’s trick with gold.” Vesryn’s triumphant smirk only proved he lacked any remorse for nearly arresting her heart.
“Maybe I should whip a blade from my leathers and use one of ‘Jassyn’s tricks’ on you too,” Serenna seethed. “No wonder he stabs you.” She’d watch the pair spar more than once in the evenings. And not because Vesryn went shirtless in the late spring’s warmth.
“That was only once.” Vesryn’s glee slipped. “And it wasn’t my fault. A lucky breeze unbalanced me. That was completely unnatural.”
