Page 11 of The Bloodstone Oath

Kaelor caught her elbow. Heat flared from the gemstone into his wrist, prickling like fresh forge sparks. “You are burning,” he said, forcing his voice low. “Is that the rite or the gem?”

“It is nothing,” she answered, pulling free. Only when his hand dropped away did the glow recede. He noted the change in the Bloodstone with a knot of fear.

They crossed a narrow ravine on a living bridge slick with moss. Halfway across Selara slipped. He caught her around the waist; the gem blazed, and a jolt ran from his palm to his ribs.

She steadied herself with a whisper of thanks.

“Your stone reacts every time I touch you,” he said. “Objects that feed on contact rarely end well for the bearer.”

Her frown was quick and defensive. “The Bloodstone protects Bloomrest.”

“Or it uses you to protect itself. If it can drink this much power from a moment’s grip, what will it take after a lifetime?”

She ignored his question and moved forward, her back to him.She knows I am right.

They arrived at Bloomrest’s high-root loggia, a vaulted terrace strung with bioluminescent seed-lanterns and long tables of dusk-fruit, root-wine, and fire-grilled river carp. The setting looked festive, yet the tension tasted of ash. The newly allied retinue of Rootborn and Fireforged sat around the table glaring at each other when Kaelor approached with Selara and Talia.

Kaelor immediately took a seat with the Fireforged, flanked by a half-dozen hand-picked ember-guards including Renna, Zaria, and four trusted lancers that General Orik had insisted accompany him after the assassination attempt. Their ember-mail caught the lamp-glow like coals banked under black iron, a subtle reminder that the prince of flame now dined under living boughs.

Veyla entered last, emerald robes whispering, Cassian one step behind her with tablets of fresh reports. She took the head of the crescent table; every Rootborn present, elders, ward-keepers, orchard masters, shifted to face her.

“Prince Kaelor,” she began, voice smooth as polished cedar yet hard enough to shave bark, “one hour after your betrothal, Fireforged banners sacked our corn terraces at Hawthorn Ridge. Tell me who commands your armies while their future king toasts peace in my city.”

The blow landed clean. Kaelor set down his goblet before the contents betrayed the anger coursing through his hand. “My High Council led by the King and Queen govern,” he said evenly. “General Orik is enroute to Emberhold to purge the traitor who aimed the arrow meant for my heart. He will undoubtedly root out those who are conspiring to end this fragile peace.”

“Convenient that the same commander who failed to secure his prince now ‘purges’ the traitors far from Rootborn eyes.” Veyla’s gaze never left Kaelor.

A muscle jumped in Kaelor’s jaw. “Orik saved my life at the Glassmarch, at Ember Rift, and in numerous conflicts with other clans. I will not see his honor questioned on rumor.”

Kaelor could feel his composure slipping. He knew he needed to keep a strong hold on it. The Rootborn were not prepared to come face-to-face with Fireforged magic. Not here in their sanctuary. Selara set a calming hand on the table just where he could see it. He met her eyes, breathed once, and faced Veyla again.

“My sister is missing, Regent. My kingdom is full of civil malcontent because of this treaty our royal families have fashioned. I need certainty as much as you do. Perhaps a better approach is for me to return to Emberhold and root out this rot myself.”

He couldn’t miss how Selara sat bolt upright at his suggestion, her eyes wide.

“What I want to know,” Veyla’s tone was dark, “is how you intend to gain our trust?”

Sparks flew from Kaelor’s fist as he thumped it against the table. A linen cloth caught fire. The Rootborn startled away from the table, pushing back their chairs as archers drew their bows.Fireforged laughter rose to the treetops at the fear the others showed to flame.

Veyla and Selara remained seated and composed, both watching Kaelor closely. With a flick of her wrist Veyla caused the wine goblet on the other side of the table to spill its contents onto the burning linen, extinguishing the flame.

“We are not afraid of your fire,” Veyla said. “You are in the heart of our country now and your magic will be no match for us.”

Some of the Fireforged snorted in derision, but Kaelor raised his hand, his gaze on Selara. “We are betrothed now. Our families are joined.” His words were firm as he turned to Veyla. “Let us put together a contingent of Rootborn seers and Fireforged trackers. We will ride to Emberhold united and destroy this insurrection.”

Several Rootborn elders murmured approval, none louder than Elder Ligren, whose ivy-wrapped cane tapped once in assent. Kaelor glanced at him, unsure if he was simply eager to remove the Fireforged from the heart of Bloomrest.

Cassian leaned to Veyla’s ear. When his words were done, Veyla weighed Kaelor a heartbeat longer, then inclined her head. “Very well. At sunrise our people will ride under joint command.” She raised her vine-etched cup. “To verifiable deeds and ending all battles.”

The toast rippled around the tables. Yet one of Kaelor’s lancers muttered too loudly, “Deeds like kidnapping the Princess Avelina?”

A hush fell. Rootborn archers straightened against the rail, fingers brushing thorn-fletched arrows. Before tension snapped, Selara spoke, voice low but clear. “Our seers stand ready to search every river dream for your sister. But fear clouds both roots and flame. Let tonight prove we still intend peace.”

Selara drew a fuller breath, the Bloodstone a dull ember against her throat. “Tomorrow at first light I will ride for Emberhold at Prince Kaelor’s side. If any Fireforged still think we hide Princess Avelina, let them see that we send a princess of our own, one sworn to the Bloodstone.”

A mutter rippled through the Fireforged escort, clearly impressed with Selara’s words. Doubt about Rootborn treachery seemed to take the place of suspicion. Renna touched a fist to her heart in terse acceptance. The rest of the Fireforged followed her lead.

Veyla’s smile stayed polite, but Kaelor caught the minute tightening at the corners of her eyes. “My sister is the heart of our wards,” she said, voice smooth as poisonous sap. “Bloomrest cannot spare her lightly.”

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