Chapter 62

The fire still lingered in Serenya’s veins. Every step out of the dragon’s cavern left her trembling as though her blood had turned molten, yet she forced herself to walk with her head high. Kaelen shadowed her, steady but watchful, as though one wrong step might cause her to collapse.

Above the cliffs, dawn spilled across the sea, but its beauty carried no comfort. The horizon glowed red, and red always meant blood.

Waiting at the ridge was Maelis Rowan. Her long white hair caught the wind like threads of frost, and her eyes—clouded with visions—looked past Serenya, past Kaelen, into places neither could follow. She leaned heavily on her staff, as though age had finally caught her all at once.

“You carry the fire,” Maelis whispered. “The Pact burns in your heart.”

Serenya nodded. “The dragon chose me.” She paused, the memory of Cyrion’s scream echoing in her mind. “But it nearly consumed us both.”

Maelis smiled faintly, though her lips quivered. “That is the way of fire. It never gives without demanding in return.”

Her hand, brittle and veined, reached for Serenya’s. When their fingers touched, a shudder ran through the seer. She gasped as though struck, and her knees buckled. Kaelen rushed forward, catching her before she fell.

“Maelis!” Serenya dropped beside her, panic gripping her chest.

The seer’s breathing came shallow, ragged, yet her gaze burned sharp, focused entirely on Serenya. “My time wanes,” she whispered. “I have seen the threads unravel. The Pact was only the first key. The second…must be bought with breath.”

Serenya’s throat tightened. “No. Don’t speak like that. You’ve guided me since the beginning. You’re not leaving me now.”

Maelis’s thin fingers gripped hers with surprising strength. “Listen, child of shadows. The veil grows thin. One betrayal will cut deeper than all the others. Trust the knight at your side, but beware the crown offered in silence.”

Kaelen stiffened, his jaw clenching, though his arm still supported the seer. “What does that mean?” he demanded.

Maelis’s eyes softened as they turned on him. “You will know, shadow-bearer. And when you do…choose love over duty.”

Her words dissolved into coughing. A trickle of crimson stained her lips. Serenya pressed her hand against the seer’s back, fighting tears.

“You don’t have to do this,” Serenya whispered. “You can still—”

But Maelis shook her head. “Prophecy is not mercy. I have given all I can.” Her gaze fixed once more on Serenya, fierce despite the weakening breath. “Do not fear the fire. Fear the silence. It will come for you when your heart wavers.”

Her body convulsed once, twice—and then her chest stilled. The wind caught her cloak, lifting it gently, as though even the air itself mourned her departure.

Silence settled over the ridge.

Serenya bowed her head, tears spilling freely. This loss cut differently than the others—sharper, deeper. Maelis had been more than a guide. She had been the one steady thread binding their fractured path. And now, that thread had snapped.

Kaelen laid a hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle, grounding. “She gave her life for this,” he said quietly. “Don’t let her sacrifice be for nothing.”

Serenya nodded, but her heart ached. “Then we carry her words with us.” She glanced at him, eyes wet but determined. “Choose love over duty, she said. Remember that, Kaelen. Whatever comes.”

He looked at her for a long moment, something unspoken flickering in his eyes—longing, maybe, or fear. Then he lowered his gaze. “I will.”

They buried Maelis at the edge of the cliffs, beneath a cairn of stone overlooking the sea. Serenya laid her staff across the stones, whispering the seer’s name like a prayer.

When they rose again, a figure waited by the path.

Lyra Esthaven. Her dark hair whipped in the salt wind, and the cursed brand on her arm glowed faintly beneath her sleeve. She carried her spear strapped across her back, and her eyes were restless—always searching, as though hunted by something unseen.

“You felt it too,” she said softly, her gaze drifting to the cairn. “The seer’s last breath.”

Serenya nodded, voice hoarse. “You knew her well?”

Lyra’s jaw tightened. “Well enough to know her visions rarely spared kindness. If she gave you her final words, they were not for comfort.”

Serenya’s hand clenched at her side. “They were a warning. But she also gave me faith.”

Lyra studied her, then inclined her head with rare respect. “Then hold it tightly. You’ll need it. Thalric moves faster than any of us imagined. His armies are at Dawnspire already. The walls will not last a fortnight.”

Kaelen’s expression darkened. “Then we must ride tonight. If Dawnspire falls, the rebellion dies with it.”

Lyra hesitated, then added, “There is more. Cyrion has vanished from his camps. Some say he fled after losing the Pact. Others whisper he struck a bargain in shadows darker than dragons.”

Serenya’s pulse quickened. She remembered the look in his eyes as the fire abandoned him—rage mixed with desperation. “If he seeks another power…” She trailed off, the thought too dangerous to finish.

Kaelen drew his cloak tighter. “We prepare for both. Thalric at the gates, and Cyrion in the dark.”

That night, as their campfires flickered weakly against the vast forest beyond, Serenya sat alone by the flames. The others slept—Kaelen at the edge of the clearing, hand always near his sword, Lyra with her back to the fire as though daring danger to come.

Serenya stared into the fire, her thoughts unraveling like threads. Maelis’s final words haunted her. Beware the crown offered in silence.

What crown? What silence?

She lifted her hand, watching the faint shimmer of dragonfire still tracing her veins. Power pulsed within her, fierce and alive. She should have felt unstoppable. Instead, she felt…afraid.

Afraid of herself.

A shadow stirred beside her. Kaelen lowered himself onto the log, close enough that the warmth of his presence mingled with the flames. He said nothing at first, just watched the fire with her.

Finally, he murmured, “I should have been the one to carry Maelis’s body to the cairn. Not you.”

Serenya shook her head. “She would have wanted me to. It was my burden to lay her to rest.”

Silence stretched, heavy but not cold. Then Kaelen turned, his eyes catching hers. In their depths she saw the same weariness, the same fire, the same unspoken words they had both buried since that first forbidden dance.

“Serenya,” he said softly, “when Maelis told me to choose love over duty…do you think she knew?”

Her heart skipped. “Knew what?”

“That I already have.”

Her breath caught. The world tilted, and for a moment, she forgot the weight of crowns, armies, and prophecy. It was only his eyes, his voice, and the truth breaking through their silence.

But before she could speak, a scream echoed from the forest. Lyra’s.

They leapt to their feet. Kaelen drew his sword, Serenya clutching the fire now burning in her palms. Together they rushed through the trees, branches tearing at their cloaks.

In the clearing beyond, Lyra knelt on the ground, clutching her cursed arm as it blazed with searing light. Around her, shadows swirled—shapes not quite human, eyes glowing red in the dark.

Serenya froze. She knew those creatures. She had seen them in Maelis’s visions.

Whisper-born.

The seer’s prophecy was unfolding faster than she had feared.

Kaelen raised his blade. “Stay behind me.”

Serenya shook her head, fire flaring at her fingertips. “Not anymore. The Pact chose me. And if these shadows want to silence us—”

Her voice trembled, but her resolve held.

“—then they’ll learn what fire means.”