All Chapters of Thalia's Ashen Fate: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The last vestiges of daylight had long bled from the sky, leaving the city clad in the deep velvet of a moonless night. A familiar knot of anticipation and fear coiled in my gut. I ran a hand down the front of my dark tunic, the rough-spun fabric a poor disguise for the hammering of my heart. The heavy cloak came next, its weight a comforting burden on my shoulders. I fastened the silver clasp at my throat, the cold metal a stark contrast to my feverish skin.Silence was my ally tonight, my only shield. I knelt by my trunk, my fingers ghosting over rows of boots, seeking the pair with the softest, most worn leather soles. I found a pair i liked. I pulled them on, lacing them with practiced efficiency until they were a second skin, snug against my calves.I rose and faced my reflection in the polished silver of the mirror. A shadow stared back, all dark fabrics and sharp angles. All that remained was my hair, a wild mane that threatened betrayal. I gathered the thick mass of it, twisti

The pressure in my chest had been a constant companion since Cassius left. Two days. Only two days, and the world was already unraveling faster than I could stitch it back together. I balled my hands into fists on the tabletop, the strain turning my knuckles a bloodless white. I had nothing. No leads, no plan, just a hollow, gnawing helplessness.Amelia’s voice sliced through the fog of my thoughts, sharp with concern. "Thalia?"My gaze dragged upward to meet hers. Her brow, usually so smooth, was a knot of worry. "Are you alright?"I blinked, forcing the room back into focus. "Fine," I lied, the word feeling brittle on my tongue. "Sorry, Amelia. You were saying?"She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a low, urgent murmur. "The coin holders. They hit a snag in the underground last night."The haze vanished, replaced by ice-cold focus. "What happened?""Their companion, Liora—she’s a healer. Someone was badly burned, and she saved them." Amelia paused, her eyes dark with the implic

The ink on the page had dissolved into a meaningless script hours ago. My gaze drifted past the gilded edges of the book to the window, where the afternoon sun hung high and golden, a silent mockery of the gloom in my chambers. A restless tap from my fingertips against the polished oak of the desk was the only sound. How much longer?Then again, they had a city’s worth of witnesses to question. I was merely the last person my father wished to see. I dragged a hand through my hair, my head falling heavy into my palm. With eyes closed, I rehearsed the litany of lies, tasting each one on my tongue until it felt like truth.A sharp, brutal knock shattered the quiet. Not a summons, but a demand. My heart kicked against my ribs, a panicked, frantic rhythm. It was time.Before I could draw breath to answer, the knock came again, followed instantly by the deep groan of the door swinging inward. Two guards filled the frame, their hulking forms seeming to devour the light and air in the room."

The portal tore itself shut with the sound of ripping silk, leaving behind the scent of wildflowers and rain-soaked earth. Oakhaven. It stood as I remembered, a city sleeping under a blanket of time. Blossoms burst with such impossible vibrancy they seemed to bleed color into the air itself. On every stone and archway, the elegant script of the Old Tongue coiled like dormant vines, humming with a latent power.My gaze swept over the familiar, silent architecture. I needed a sanctuary for the scroll, a place of significance, but nothing felt right. It wasn’t until I crossed the ancient stone bridge, its surface worn smooth by the footsteps of ghosts, that I saw it. An immense, gnarled oak whose roots clawed at the earth as if to hold the city in place. It wasn't just a tree; it was an anchor. It called to me.I knelt, plunging my fingers into the cool, dark soil. The grit beneath my nails was a welcome, grounding sensation. Once the hole was deep enough, I summoned the scroll from its

The latch clicked shut behind Amelia, a sound as sharp and final as a guillotine’s fall. She hadn't knocked. In a woman who was the living embodiment of protocol, the omission was a blaring alarm.She moved into the room and the afternoon sun seemed to shrink from her, the light dimming as if she carried her own personal eclipse. A wave of exhaustion rolled off her, so potent I could almost smell it—the scent of stale air and antiseptic herbs clinging to her clothes. Her spine, usually a rod of iron, was bowed under a weight that had nothing to do with gravity."You've been back from Oakhaven for two days," she stated. Her voice, normally a clear, precise instrument, was a frayed thread pulled taut. Her eyes, shadowed and bruised with sleeplessness, darted around the room, unable to land, as if searching for a threat that was already inside her.I kept my own voice level, an anchor in her storm. "Amelia. Tell me what's wrong."The words seemed to sever the last string holding her up.