Chapter 34

  With each passing moment, the city seemed to tilt further into chaos. Norvil’s serene morning mask had cracked, revealing the unrest boiling beneath. The usual quiet was gone, swallowed by the clash of boots on obsidian streets and the barked orders of soldiers that bounced from wall to wall.

  Doors were flung open, voices rose in protest, and the air was thick with the scrape of armored hands dragging people from their homes. The rhythm of the city had shifted, every heartbeat quickening to match the drum of the hunt.

  Then it came, a thunderous bang that tore through the morning like a war drum. A bloom of black smoke unfurled at Norvil’s outer edge, curling skyward, laced with an essence signature River knew by heart.

  The signal. It had begun. William had set everything in motion.

  Soldiers scrambled to respond, and at that moment, the search would truly begin. “Calira. Let’s go.”

  They retraced the path they had walked only hours ago, now on foot, their disguises clinging to them like a second skin. This time, no curious glances followed—only the heavy stillness of a city holding its breath.

  The castle loomed ahead, its great doors yawning wide in eerie welcome. The King and his soldiers fled in haste, and even the servants had vanished. The emptiness was unsettling, as if the world had been stripped down to just two of them. And yet, River could still remember the chaos spilling through Norvil below—muffled shouts, the clatter of boots, the sharp ring of steel.

  They stepped inside. The echo of their footfalls filled the cavernous hall, too loud, too exposed. The air was cooler here, touched with the faint scent of burnt oil and cold stone.

  They began their descent, each step drawing them deeper into the castle’s belly. Shadows clung thick along the walls, broken only by the flicker of dying torchlight. The corridors narrowed, the air growing damp, carrying the faint tang of rust and something older, stale like the breath of the stones themselves.

  They passed the guard posts, empty and silent. Past the cramped servant quarters, where overturned chairs and scattered linens spoke of a hasty evacuation. The silence pressed closer, broken only by the faint hum of magic seeping up from below, a vibration more felt than heard.

  Near the final bend, River drew the golden aura around himself again, the shimmering threads coiling like a crown over his form. The warmth of it was a strange comfort against the chill.

  Then they saw the prison door. Dull gray, its surface rough and cold, it looked almost unremarkable. But River felt the weight of it in the air, the essence of coiled runes, the quiet, waiting hunger of the magic bound to it.

  River sighed inwardly and stepped forward, knowing this was the moment of truth. His pulse beat like a war drum in his ears. But before he even reached the door, it stirred, hinges shivering, metal groaning—and swung open at the brush of his golden aura.

  Relief surged through him, washing over his chest like a wave striking shore. He couldn’t help but flash a quick, tight grin.

  “See? No problem.”

  Calira’s soft chuckle followed. “Clearly. I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

  They stepped inside. The air was heavy, stale with years of confinement. Cells stretched in neat rows into the dim haze, the iron bars glinting faintly in the torchlight. But where he expected prisoners, there was only emptiness.

  A creeping unease began to coil in his stomach. His pace quickened, boots striking stone in sharp echoes as his eyes flared with essence, scanning each cell. Still nothing.

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  And then movement.

  A guard stepped into view from between the bars, his eyes wide as they locked on River. The space between them tightened into a taut wire of silence.

  River forced his mouth to move. “By order of the crown, we’re here to inspect the prisoners.”

  The lie came out stiff, brittle. He could feel the cracks in it. But the man’s shoulders loosened, his stance easing, as though the explanation was almost enough.

  River felt it then, the delicate threads of his golden disguise fraying. The essence dampeners in the room were pushing against his will. Like a mountain, they refused to move, even as he gritted his teeth. The aura flickered, gold bleeding into hints of earth, water, nature. Each pulse added to the risk, each shimmer a threat to undo everything.

  The guard’s eyes narrowed, flicking over River in a way that made the air feel suddenly thinner. His gaze lingered on the shimmer of gold, Beatrix’s borrowed aura—understanding dawned like a knife unsheathing. That wasn’t possible.

  His hand went for the dagger.

  River’s instincts flared, reaching for the familiar surge of earth to rise and fire to burn. Nothing answered. Silence pressed in around him, heavier than stone. The runes, of course. He’d known they would strip him bare, but somewhere, deep down, he’d hoped they wouldn’t work on him.

  The guard charged. His movements were sluggish to River’s sharpened perception, but there was no comfort in that. He stepped aside, hooked a foot behind the man’s, and heaved. The guard went over his shoulder in a clean arc.

  Then, everthing went wrong.

  A sharp, wet crack, then iron rasped on stone. River turned, and his stomach dropped. The man’s head had struck the edge of the step; a dark puddle had already begun to form.

  “No…”

  He moved on instinct, reaching for the life-giving threads of nature magic that had once flowed like breath through him. Nothing. Not even a whisper.

  The guard’s breath rattled once, twice… and stopped.

  With that, emotion took over and his aura flared once, flickering through familiar essences. It all collapsed; his body no longer had the strength to hold Beatrix’s image or the King’s aura. He stood as himself again. The clock had started; whatever alarm watched this place had registered their presence.

  Calira’s voice echoed in his mind as he stared at what he had done. “We have to go—the alarms have been triggered. We don’t have much time.”

  But his mind refused to wrap around it.

  Killing Beatrix and her husband had been his first time taking a human life, but this was different. This was his first innocent. A man who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The thought seared through him: had he become like Beatrix… or worse? How many lives had he just shattered? Had he just made orphans?

  A sharp tug at his linen shirt snapped him out of the spiral, dragging him back to the cold stone and iron of the prison. The only way to make this worth anything—to make the pain he’d caused matter—was to finish the mission.

  Then he saw her.

  Tessa.

  Relief loosened something tight in his chest. If she were here, then the others had to be close.

  Calira appeared at his side, silent, certain, holding a rusty key that caught the torchlight. Warm blood still clung to the grooves, a grim reminder of what it had cost to get here.

  The lock gave a reluctant click, and the cell swung open.

  Her true size hit him like a blow. She had at least doubled in stature since he’d last seen her. Her shoulder rose to his head, legs thick as tree trunks, her torso as broad as both his thighs together. Strength radiated from her every movement. She looked different; her tusks had begun coming in. Her big brown eyes stared at him as he moved.

  But the moment she stepped into the corridor, the disturbance rippled outward. Other prisoners stirred. Murmurs rose. Voices sharpened. Amalia and Albert were here—Nymeira, too. For a fleeting heartbeat, he dared to think the plan might have actually gone as planned.

  Then the world shifted.

  As though the night itself had devoured the light, darkness bled into the corridor. A crushing pressure rolled through the air, the King’s aura pressing against every nerve and every thought. River’s muscles locked. His breath caught. Even turning his head was a battle he was losing.

  The King’s lips curled as he leaned in, voice low and sharp.

  “Good to see you.”

  River’s expression cracked. The walls he’d built splintered under the weight of the moment, and the truth he’d buried clawed its way free.

  “Hello, brother,” he whispered.