THE ROAD TO THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

Elara Vance

The carriage wheels groaned against the gravel as we pulled away from the Vance estate. I didn't look back. I knew that if I did, I would see my father’s confused face, Beatrice’s silent fury, and Lyra standing by the well, her eyes promising a slow and painful revenge.

In my last life, I had left this house in a carriage filled with flowers and laughter, headed toward a marriage that would end in my murder. This time, I was leaving in a black-armored coach, sitting across from a man who looked like he was contemplating how best to use me as a shield.

The interior of the Duke’s carriage smelled of leather, cold steel, and woodsmoke. It was a masculine, suffocating space. Kaelen sat across from me, his long legs taking up most of the floor. He hadn't looked at me since we climbed inside. He was busy cleaning a small, wicked-looking dagger with a piece of silk.

"You’re staring," he said, not lifting his eyes from the blade.

"I’m observing," I corrected, pulling the furs closer around my shoulders. The air was already getting colder as we headed toward the mountains. "I’m trying to figure out if you regret our contract yet."

Kaelen stopped rubbing the blade. He looked up, his icy blue eyes catching the dim light of the carriage lantern. "I don't have the luxury of regret, Elara. I have a province that is starving and a King who is looking for any excuse to take my head. You offered me a way to fix both. If you lied to me, I’ll simply throw you out of the carriage while we’re moving."

I offered him a thin smile. "I didn't lie. But the road to the North is long. Are you always this charming on trips?"

"I’m even worse when I’m tired," he grumbled, returning to his knife.

The journey was supposed to take five days to reach the first major Northern fortress. But by late afternoon, the sky had turned the color of a bruise. A sudden, violent snowstorm—rare for this time of year—began to howl against the carriage walls.

The carriage lurched to a halt. One of the Duke’s guards, a man named Boris, opened the small window at the front.

"Your Grace! The pass is blocked by a fresh rockfall, and the wind is too high for the horses. There’s an inn about a mile back. It’s a rough place, but it’s the only shelter before the blizzard hits."

Kaelen cursed under his breath. "Fine. Turn back. We stay at the inn."

The "Inn of the Broken Wheel" was exactly what the guard had described: rough. It was a squat stone building with a sagging roof, sitting alone on the edge of a cliff. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap ale and unwashed bodies.

The innkeeper, a man with one eye and a permanent scowl, nearly fell over himself when he saw Kaelen’s black armor and my fine velvet dress.

"Rooms! Yes, yes, Your Grace! But... we’ve had a surge of travelers escaping the storm. I only have one room left with a working fireplace. The others are... well, they’re little more than sheds with straw."

Kaelen looked at me, then back at the innkeeper. "We’ll take the room. My men will sleep in the common hall."

As we climbed the creaking wooden stairs, my heart began to race. I had expected many things from this journey—assassins, cold, hunger—but I hadn't prepared for the intimacy of a shared room. In my past life, Caspian and I had shared a bed, but he had always felt distant, like a guest in my life. Kaelen Thorne, however, filled every corner of the room with his presence.

The room was small. There was a fireplace, a single wooden chair, and one bed.

A very small bed.

Kaelen closed the door and bolted it. He turned around, his gaze landing on the narrow mattress. He sighed, a long, weary sound.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said, beginning to unbuckle his heavy chest plate.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said, though my voice was a bit higher than usual. "The floor is stone, and you’re the one who has to lead the guards tomorrow. You need rest."

"And you’re a Lady of the House of Vance," he countered, pulling off a leather gauntlet. "If your father knew I shared a bed with you before the official ceremony, he’d have a heart attack."

"My father almost let me drown yesterday, Kaelen. I don't think he cares about my reputation as much as he cares about his gold."

Before he could argue, the room suddenly went dark. The fire in the hearth didn't go out—it turned a deep, ghostly purple.

“Ting.”

The Archivist was leaning against the window frame, his grey robes fluttering even though the window was closed. Kaelen was frozen in place, his hand halfway to his belt.

“Little Crow,” the Archivist whispered. “The serpent has sent a gift. It is hidden beneath the floorboards of this very room. If you do not find it before the clock strikes midnight, the Duke will not wake up tomorrow.”

My breath hitched. "What gift?" I whispered.

“Task Five: Prevent the 'Silent Sleeper.' If the Duke dies, your contract is void, and your life ends with his. You have two hours.”

The purple light vanished. Kaelen blinked, shaking his head as if clearing away a fog. "Did you say something?"

"Stay still," I said, my voice sharp. "Don't move, Kaelen."

"What is it? Did you see something?" He reached for his sword, his instincts instantly on alert.

"I told you I see things in my dreams," I said, kneeling on the cold floor. I began to crawl, pressing my ear to the wood, feeling for any loose boards. "Caspian wouldn't just let us walk away. He knows we’re staying here. The storm was too perfect."

Kaelen watched me, his brow furrowed. He didn't mock me. Instead, he knelt down too. "What are we looking for?"

"Something hidden. Something 'silent.'"

We searched for nearly an hour. The wind howled outside, shaking the inn to its foundations. Finally, near the corner of the bed, I felt a board that gave slightly under my weight. I pried it up with the tip of Kaelen's dagger.

Inside was a small, lead box. I opened it carefully.

Nested in black velvet was a single, dried flower. A jasmine blossom. But it wasn't just a flower. It was covered in a fine, shimmering dust—Ghost Lung Powder. It was a slow-acting poison that, when warmed by a fireplace, turned into an odorless gas that stopped a person’s breathing while they slept.

"Caspian," I hissed, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

Kaelen looked at the flower, then at me. His face was a mask of cold fury. "He tried to kill us both in our sleep. At a common roadside inn."

He took the box, closed it, and threw it out the window into the blizzard. He turned back to me, his eyes burning with a dark, intense fire.

"You saved my life, Elara. Again."

"It's part of the contract," I said, trying to stand up, but my legs were shaking from the adrenaline.

Kaelen reached out and caught my waist, steadying me. He didn't let go. We stood there in the dim light of the dying fire, our faces inches apart. I could feel the heat of his body, the strength in his arms.

"This isn't just a contract anymore, is it?" he whispered.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, right next to the red mark. "Tomorrow, we reach the border. Once we are on my land, Caspian cannot touch you. But tonight... tonight you are still in his world."

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. "Sleep in the bed, Elara. I’ll sit by the door with my sword. No one is getting into this room tonight."

I nodded, exhausted. I climbed into the small bed, pulling the rough blankets to my chin. Kaelen sat on the floor, his back against the door, his blade resting across his knees.

I thought I would be too afraid to sleep. But as I watched the silhouette of the Duke guarding me, I felt a strange, terrifying sense of peace.

But as I drifted off, I heard a sound from the hallway.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Like a finger against wood.

And then, a voice—soft, distorted, and sounding exactly like Lyra—whispered through the keyhole.

"I see you, sister. The Duke can't stay awake forever."