Page 112 of Soul Forge

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” Sypher asked, breaking through the miasma in her head. She nodded slowly. “Hmm. Alright then.” Another grin crossed his face. “You can figure it out for yourself.”

“That’s not fair!” she complained, disappointed and relieved at the same time.

“I told you not to goad Vel, and you did. Call this payback.” Her black glare did nothing to intimidate him. “You need tolearn to decipher the bond at some point. It helps when the information you’re after is something youreallywant to know.”

“You’re evil.”

He flashed a smile. “We should go to dinner. Falmyr will be wondering where we’ve gone.”

“He’ll understand the delay when he sees you burning a hole in your robes with your eyes,” she grumbled.

“I could actually do that, you know.” For a moment, she imagined how startled Falmyr would be if Sypher used his fire to destroy the obscenely expensive outfit.

“Moron,” she retorted, rolling her eyes and leaving the room. She didn’t look back to see if Sypher was following her, but she did allow herself a small smile at his antics when she was sure he couldn’t see her face.

The winding hallways kept going until they brought her to the pastel-haired steward waiting at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. Her eyes were torn from the oil paintings adorning the walls and the crown mouldings spattering every ceiling when she caught sight of his sharp nose.

“Greetings, future monarchs of Eden. Prince Runiel is waiting for you in the dining room. This way.” He turned on his heel and disappeared through a doorway that led through another hall, turning at an intersection to glide beneath a huge archway. A grand dining room lay beyond, a vast oak table at its centre.

“Wow,” Elda murmured, staring up at the glass dome she’d seen from outside. A giant crystal chandelier hung from the highest point, secured by the sturdy golden frame intersecting the glass panels. Silver beams pooled in the room below, glancing off the finest porcelain and settling on the petals of a centrepiece constructed from dozens of perfect lilies.

“Greetings,” Falmyr called, rising from his seat at the head of the table. He’d changed into even grander robes of silver and white, his hair decorated with silver clasps and arranged in amultitude of thin braids that hung down his back. Small silver bells tinkled when they swished around behind him, secured in the ends of his braids by the finest strands of hair.

“Your home is beautiful, Prince Falmyr,” Elda complimented, dipping into another curtsey. She elbowed Sypher discreetly when he stopped beside her, encouraging him to bow.

“Please, we’re all royals here. No need for the formality. Call me Runiel, and if you’ll allow it, I’d like to use your names too. My father is away at our villa in Falkryn right now. I don’t hold my guests to the same ridiculous standards he favours. Come, sit.” He gestured to the empty spaces on either side of him.

“Thank you, Runiel.” Elda took the seat on his left, placing herself opposite Sypher. As soon as her back touched the chair, a dozen stewards emerged from two small side doors, each one carrying a polished silver platter laden with enough food to feed a small village. She saw Sypher frown at the wasteful nature of the prince, but he said nothing.

“Please, eat something. Your journey must have been long and tiresome.” Runiel smiled demurely, but Sypher shot Elda a look that stopped her reaching for the nearest platter. The prince chuckled. “I understand. You think the food is tainted with something that will help me get what I want.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone in your family has tried to cross me,” Sypher answered, levelling an even stare at the royal. Falmyr didn’t wilt under the intensity of it. Instead, he leaned forwards eagerly.

“I don’t wish to repeat my father’s misdeeds, Sypher. I can get what I want without need of potions and trickery.” He reached out and grabbed a piece of meat from a nearby platter, bringing it to his lips and chewing to show nothing was wrong with the food. “I will eat from the same plates as both of you all evening if you wish.”

“Alright.” Sypher nodded almost imperceptibly, and Elda reached for a bread roll. It was still warm when she bit into it, the texture so fluffy and light that she sighed when it hit her tongue. “What is it you want in exchange for access to the mountain?”

“Straight to the point, I see,” Runiel chuckled. “I like you, Sypher. Contrary to popular belief, I prefer those who speak plainly. I simply want information.”

“What information?” Elda asked when she’d swallowed her mouthful.

“I want to know what waits for you at the top of the Weeping Mountain. Go there, find what you’re looking for, and come back here to tell me about it. If you agree to that, I’ll remove the wards to grant you passage.” Runiel steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the table.

“Why do you need to know what’s up there?” Sypher asked, cocking his head. “There might not be anything there.”

“That mountain has frightened the wits out of everyone who dared to enter the mines beneath it,” the prince admitted. “They talk of rivers of blood and screams of the dead. Some of them have even gone so far as to call it the gateway to the Void. My father tried to find out its secrets many years ago, and it drove him mad.”

Falmyr’s words brought back the phantom echo of the wails from Elda’s premonition, drawing her attention back to the tugging in her chest, the one that always pulled her towards the mountain. She resisted the urge to shudder.

“The king went into the mountain?” Sypher asked, dark brows rising.

“He did,” the fae nodded, grasping a goblet in his long fingers and taking a sip. “He was gone for four days. By the time he found his way back out, the man I knew was changed. He never told me what he saw. He paid an enormous sum to have the wards placed and the mine shut down for good.”

“And yet you’re able to dismantle them easily?” Elda countered.

“Anything is easy if you have enough wealth.” Falmyr shrugged. “Moonstone is common here, but across the rest of Valerus, it’s an almost priceless commodity. People will pay handsomely for even the smallest amount. My father made the original creator of the wards very rich, and I made his son even richer by purchasing the means to dismantle them.”

“Why wouldn’t you just try going into the mountain yourself?” she pressed.

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