CHAPTER TEN

SKYE'S POV

The silver flame in the forest didn't just burn; it seemed to pulse with a rhythmic, organic life. Each flash of light sent a corresponding shiver through the mark on my shoulder, a searing, rhythmic ache that felt less like a permanent brand and more like a second heartbeat I had forgotten I possessed. Outside the sprawling glass wall, the world was a void of black, jagged pines and frozen peaks, yet that singular, unnatural glow cut through the darkness like a beacon of ancient, forgotten power.

*It’s calling me,* the thought surfaced, unbidden and terrifyingly clear. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an imperative, a command issued from the soil and stone of the mountains themselves.

I turned away from the window, my legs feeling like they were carved from lead. I had to stay put. Eryx had commanded it with the absolute authority of a King, and Kael was stationed just outside the heavy, iron-bound oak doors—I could hear the steady, rhythmic scrape of his boots against the polished stone floor. But the room felt small, suddenly, the air pressurized by the knowledge that something ancient was stirring beneath the foundations of Nighthaven.

I began to pace, the fabric of my velvet gown swishing against my ankles. The room, which only hours ago had felt like an ostentatiously gilded prison, now felt like a stage. My fingers brushed the dark velvet of the gown I still wore. I looked at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror—the girl who was supposed to be a servant, a bargaining chip, a footnote in someone else’s history. The girl in the mirror looked back, her eyes wide, her bronze irises catching the moonlight. She didn't look like a victim anymore. She looked like a catalyst, a dormant force finally beginning to wake.

The door clicked open with a sharp, metallic sound, and Kael stepped inside, his posture alert and predatory. He didn't look at me at first, his gaze fixed on the balcony, his hand resting habitually on the hilt of his sword. He was the picture of military precision, but beneath that, there was a visible unease I’d never seen in him before.

"The perimeter is secure for now," he said, his voice clipped and dry. "But the King is preoccupied. He told me to keep you safe, Skye. That means staying away from the glass. The valley is not what it seems tonight."

"What was that light, Kael?" I asked, moving toward him, my voice urgent. "I can see it from here. It’s not a torch, and it’s certainly not a lantern."

He finally looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction, though his eyes remained guarded, scanning the room as if he expected the shadows themselves to attack. "I don’t know. The scouts haven’t reported anything concrete, but the energy... the very air in the valley feels heavy. It’s been years since I felt the mountain shift like this. It’s as if the earth itself is restless."

"Shift?" I repeated, my brow furrowed. "What do you mean by shift?"

"Nighthaven isn't just a fortress," he said, echoing Eryx’s words, though with a different, more chilling gravity. "It’s an anchor. It was designed to hold back the wild, untamed magic that lives in these peaks. When the King is stressed, when his blood is up, the mountain reacts. But this is different. This feels like an invitation. An awakening."

I thought of the crescent moon mark on my shoulder, of the way the castle seemed to pulse in time with my own skin. "An invitation for whom, Kael?"

Kael didn't answer. He looked at the floor, his jaw set. Instead, he stepped between me and the window, his presence massive and immovable, creating a wall between me and the sight of the silver flame. "It’s late, Skye. You’ve had a trial by fire at that dinner table. You should try to rest. The King will be back once the threat is neutralized."

"I can't rest," I said, a sudden, sharp frustration rising in my chest, hot and uncontrollable. "I’m not a child you can tuck into bed while the monsters come out to play. I’m the Queen. If this mountain is waking up because of me, I have a right to see it. I have a right to understand what I am."

Kael looked at me for a long, silent moment. The skepticism that had defined our early interactions was gone, replaced by a weary, begrudging respect. "You have your mate’s stubbornness. It will be the death of you, or the salvation of this Kingdom. There is no middle ground with your bloodline."

He sighed, stepped aside, and bowed slightly, a gesture that felt oddly final. "I cannot let you leave the room, but I cannot stop you from looking. Just know that if that flame reaches the gate, the wards will fall. And if the wards fall... nothing in this fortress is safe. Not even the King."

I nodded, moving back to the window, my heart racing against my ribs. The silver flame was moving now, drifting upward through the trees like a ghost caught in an updraft. It was beautiful, in a haunting, mournful way that pulled at the very center of my chest. As I watched it, the sounds of the castle began to change. The wind against the glass didn't sound like a whistle anymore; it sounded like voices—thousands of them, whispering in a tongue that was half-hiss, half-song. It was the language of the earth, the language of the ancestors.

I reached out, my hand hovering just inches from the cool, vibrating glass. The mark on my shoulder flared, a sudden, blinding heat that sent a jolt of pure, raw energy down my arm and into my fingertips.

The glass didn't break, but it rippled. It warped like liquid water, the reflection of the room distorting into something ancient and unrecognizable. For a heartbeat, I didn't see the dark mountains. I saw a temple, gold-leafed and vibrant, filled with wolves who stood on their hind legs and spoke with the voices of the stars. I saw a throne, and a woman—a woman with my own eyes—sitting upon it, her hand raised, a silver flame dancing between her fingers. She looked powerful, serene, and terrifyingly lonely.

I gasped and jerked my hand back, the vision shattering like a falling star. The glass was solid again. The mountain was just a cold, dark mountain.

But my hand was still trembling, and the scent of ozone and ancient rain filled the room.

"Skye?" Kael was at my side in an instant, his hand on my elbow, his eyes searching mine. "What did you see? You went pale as death."

I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt full of mountain air and ancient, centuries-old dust. "I saw... I saw what this place used to be. It wasn't just a fortress. It was a cathedral of power. And I saw... someone who looked like me."

Kael’s eyes went dark, his hand tightening on my arm until it bordered on painful. He didn't ask for details; he looked as if he already knew exactly what I was talking about. "You're starting to remember," he whispered, more to himself than to me. "The Elders said the bloodline was thin, that the power had been buried for centuries, but they were wrong. It wasn't buried. It was waiting for a host strong enough to carry it."

He looked at me, and for the first time, he didn't look at me like I was a servant, or even a Queen. He looked at me with something close to awe—and, beneath that, a deep, abiding fear that chilled me more than the mountain wind.

"We need to get you to the King," Kael said, his voice urgent and commanding. "If the fortress is showing you its history, the boundary between the past and the present is wearing thin. If you don't anchor yourself to him, the mountain might try to claim you for itself. It doesn't care about your soul, Skye; it only cares about the power you possess."

The silver flame in the forest suddenly extinguished, leaving the valley in a total, terrifying darkness. The silence that followed was louder than the tolling bell. It was the silence of a held breath.

"Kael," I said, my voice barely a thread in the dark. "What happens if I’m not just his mate? What if I’m the reason he had to wait eighty years? What if this wasn't an accident?"

Kael didn't answer. He simply opened the door, his hand on his sword, and led me into the dark, whispering halls of Nighthaven. The torches in the hallway seemed to flicker out as we passed, as if the castle were trying to shroud us in darkness.

We moved through the labyrinthine corridors. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward us. I could feel the stone beneath my feet pulsing, a slow, deep heartbeat that matched the one on my shoulder. I wasn't just a person moving through a building; I was part of a ritual.

"Stay close," Kael ordered, his eyes darting into every alcove. "The breach isn't just external. The castle is confused. It doesn't know if you are a guest or a returning god."

"Is there a difference to a castle?" I asked, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

"To a sentient fortress? No," he replied.

As we rounded a corner, the air grew even colder. We were approaching the lower levels, the area closest to the bedrock. The whispers had stopped, replaced by a low, rhythmic chanting that seemed to rise from the very floor.

I looked down at my hands. They were glowing. Faintly, at first, but with every step I took, the light grew brighter—a soft, silver luminescence that seemed to bleed from my veins.

"The mark," I whispered.

"It's not just a mark," Kael said, his voice strained. "It's a key. And something down here wants you to turn it."

I stopped in my tracks. Ahead of us, a set of massive, ancient doors—older than any I had seen—stood slightly ajar. A sliver of blinding silver light leaked from the gap. The air smelled of ozone, crushed jasmine, and blood.

I knew, with a certainty that transcended logic, that Eryx was on the other side of those doors. And he was not alone. The power radiating from the room felt like a physical wall, pushing back against us, testing our resolve.

"He's in there," I said.

"Then we go in," Kael replied, drawing his sword. "But whatever happens, do not let go of your own mind. The fortress will try to rewrite your memories to fit its own history. Don't let it."

I took a deep breath, the silver light from my hands reflecting in Kael's eyes. I was no longer the servant girl from Silvercrest. I was the bridge between a forgotten past and a volatile future.

I pushed the doors open.

The room was vast, a circular chamber carved from pure quartz. Eryx stood in the center, his back to us, his body tense as he faced a swirling vortex of silver mist that occupied the center of the floor. He was drawing the power into himself, his hands held high, his veins glowing with that same, impossible light.

"Eryx!" I shouted.

He spun around, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, ethereal brilliance. "Skye! Get back!"

But it was too late. The silver light from the vortex surged outward, a tidal wave of energy that slammed into me. I felt my feet leave the ground. I felt the fortress—the very stones, the walls, the history—rushing into me, filling the void where my memories had been.

I wasn't just Skye anymore. I was the history of the mountain. I was the Queen of the lost temple. And as the light consumed me, I saw the face of the enemy waiting in the shadows.

It wasn't Asterin. It wasn't the Elders.

It was a face I had seen in my dreams every night since the masquerade. A face that looked exactly like mine.

The spider wasn't waiting. The spider was me.

And then, the world went white.