Page 10 of The Bloodstone Oath

The would-be assassin, a Fireforged zealot already screaming that “root-rot will never taint Emberhold”, was dragged away. Accusations flew between courts, but Selara barely heard them. Kaelor’s thumb still brushed her hand; every pass of calloused skin sparked wild heat beneath her ribs. She thought of the molten rivers around his homeland, how they must flow, unstoppable and bright.

Elder Ligren, voice quavering yet resolute, demanded the rite resume. Wooden rings, oak bound with iron, were exchanged. Kaelor’s fingers lingered as he slid the band on her finger, and Selara felt the graze long after his hand withdrew.

Twilight bled across Tidehaven as the formalities ended. Rootborn and Fireforged tents ringed the central spring, envoys muttering, guards doubled. Selara slipped away to breathe, and found Kaelor near a petrified log, arms folded. His dispatched sentries were bowing in retreat.

“My sister still hasn’t been found,” he said, frustration raw. “And half my court swears your elders were part of it.”

“Half my court says your hawks staged the attack to blame us,” Selara shot back. “We can trade slanders all night or we can hunt truth together.”

Lightning flared between them, anger, yes, but underneath it a dangerous admiration. Kaelor’s gaze raked over her braid, her freckled cheek, the rise of her chest where the Bloodstone glowed faintly.

“You wield that gem like a blade,” he said, voice low. “But do you know if it serves you, or uses you?”

The question pierced deeper than any accusation. Selara’s breath hitched. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “I’m not sure.” The admission felt like removing armor, and his softness threatened to undo her entirely.

A shout from the torch-line broke the moment: more scouts returning, no trace of Avelina on Rootborn paths. Kaelor exhaled raggedly, relief laced with fresh worry. “A single Sea Fae sail cut west,” a guard called.

“Take your fastest embersteeds and round up every Sea Fae in Tidehaven,” Kaelor commanded.

Selara touched his forearm before she could second-guess the impulse. “Maybe she chose her own road, Kaelor. Let that ease your heart and unchain your anger from mine.”

He glanced at her hand on his skin; his own covered it, hot as banked coals. The contact slammed a rush of sensation through her so fierce she nearly swayed. For a heartbeat they leaned toward each other, lips a breath apart, then footsteps approached, and they snapped away, faces flushed.

I am the Bloodstone Priestess. Her mind screamed. I cannot succumb to bodily pleasures, regardless of the strength of my yearning.

By midnight envoys had inked a clause acknowledging Princess Avelina’s voluntary departure. Her name would not appear in later councils; her fate, for treaty purposes, belonged solely to herself. Kaelor signed the parchment with tight lips, Selara watching as quill scratched vellum.

The pavilion emptied. Across the spring, Thorne’s jealous gaze tracked Kaelor like a drawn bow; Selara saw Kaelor’s Esquire, Renna, reporting to the prince about their efforts with the Sea Fae in Tidehaven. Whatever she was reporting did not please him. His hair flamed. Selara retreated to her tent, heart hammering, the warmth of Kaelor’s palm branded on her skin, the way his fire-born breath had brushed her mouth.

Outside, volcanic glow met moonlit canopy, root and flame twined in reluctant truce. Inside, Selara pressed fingers to her ring and whispered a truth she dared not voice aloud:The war may end in treaties, but peace, or ruin, now coils here, in the fire that leaps whenever he looks at me.

Chapter 6 - Kaelor

Kaelor followed his Rootborn escort with Renna and Zaria at his side, all striving to match the unhurried pace of the Rootborn through the leafy corridors of Bloomrest. It smelled of damp bark and crushed petals. So completely different from the iron citadel of Emberhold, which bathed in the light of volcanic streams.

Near the central concourse Selara dismissed a trio of ward-keepers. The Bloodstone at her collar beat like a hot coal, throwing flecks of ruby light across the greenish glow of lantern fungi. Each pulse made her shoulders twitch, a slight movement that did not go unnoticed by Kaelor.

“Prince Kaelor,” she said, ceremony in her voice. “Regent Veyla wishes us at the northern barrier. It appears there was another Fireforged attack on the Rootborn at dawn. Any action by your people is considered a break of the truce and must be stopped.”

Genuine surprise flickered across Kaelor’s face. “I didn’t know about the attack.”

“Do the Flamewrights hold the throne?”

“Of course!” His response was vehement, but his thoughts went to his ailing father and the disdainful Malek Emberfist.What if my father has died and my mother is grieving?He shook the worry off his face, already understanding how well Selara could read him. “Have your seers been able to trace Avelina?”

Selara’s shoulders tensed, but she met his gaze. “Elder Eidrian’s scrying pool showed only a single flash, a silver sail cutting west and a braid of red hair catching sea-spray. No faces, no crest, just open water and a promise of fair winds. It seems your sister chose a vessel that vanishes as easily as mist.”

“Everything can be traced,” he growled.

Talia eased between them, hand resting on her dagger hilt. “The Bloodstone Priestess does not involve herself with the challenges of your royal sibling.”

“And the Fireforged do not abandon family,” Kaelor answered, heat creeping into the words. “Yet here we are.”

Selara lifted a hand for quiet. “Posturing helps no one. We will inspect the wards on our way to Veyla, and she will discuss the report of the attacks with you.”

He fell silent, but resentment rode his heels as they left the heart of Bloomrest.

The path spiraled down to a swollen root where wards, thin green sigils, flickered in and out. Selara pressed her palm to the wood, coaxing sap through carved channels until crimson droplets appeared. She swayed.

---