Page 21 of The Bloodstone Oath

“He will return,” Selara’s voice was weak, but clear. She tugged the sheet back up to her shoulders. “I need the light river seers.”

“You need to rest.” Talia insisted.

Selara could feel the healers’ tinctures drawing her into restful darkness.

“Tell them something for me,” she murmured.

“I will do what you ask.” Veyla stroked back the hair, moist against Selara’s forehead.

“They must search every tide-thread for Princess Avelina. Grief shadows Kaelor’s heart. When he returns, we should meet him with answers.” Even as her eyes closed, she knew doubt stirred between Talia and Veyla about the verity of her betrothed. But Selara held on to her faith like a dim light on the other side of the darkness.

The door creaked open, and Cassian entered looking bemused. “No new incursions since the prince’s departure,” he admitted. “Either Malek retreats, or Kaelor hunts him hard.”

Selara smiled, eyes closed. She pictured embersteeds galloping under open sky. “Pray it is the latter.”

“We shall see,” Talia murmured, doubt clouding her voice.

As conversation ebbed, warmth spread along the balm-coated welts. Selara released a deep sigh.

Veyla pushed back her sleeve. “The crimson lines have lightened,” she said hopefully.

Selara sank deeper into the dark. The pain remained, but the hungry throb no longer gnawed at her chest.

“The salves, or perhaps her own will,” Talia said. “Either way, the rot wanes.”

Selara’s mind drifted to visions of her Fireforged prince forging his own perilous path against his enemies.

Outside, rain began to patter on the vine-tiled roof, each drop resounded fresh to Selara’s ears. For the first time since the ritual that almost destroyed her, she allowed herself a full breath, and felt it fill not only her lungs, but the quiet spaces Solthorn could never reach.

Chapter 12 – Kaelor

The moon hung low over the caldera road, a dull copper coin that bled light onto the basalt cliffs. Kaelor crouched on a knife-thin ledge, Fireforged scout leathers dusted in volcanic grit, breath fogging the night air. Far below, vents exhaled lazy coils of lava-steam, staining the crags a murderous red.I left her gasping for breath,he reminded himself,the image of crimson veins webbing Selara’s throat twisting his gut. If Varienna fails, her blood is on my hands.

He flicked his hood lower, hiding his face, which all Fireforged would recognize at a glance, then slid the last meters to the marl track where Zaria waited with four spear-guards. The embersteeds stamped nervously, smoke curling from their nostrils.

“Road’s clear,” Zaria whispered.

“Then move.” His words were terse, but guilt spurred him onwards. They galloped into Emberhold’s outer shadows, hooves striking sparks on obsidian gravel.

A black-scaled cliff swallowed them an hour before dawn. The spear-guards dismounted, prizing open a slag-tunnel hidden behind cooling scoria. Sulphur stung Kaelor’s eyes as they squeezed through the cleft and emerged in a circular grotto hung with drying herbs. Copper lamps glowed against the rock, and High-Healer Varienna, once a tower of flame-brighthair, now stooped, white streaks curling through bronze coils, straightened from her mortar.

“My prince?” Her firefly-bright eyes widened.

Kaelor offered no ceremony, only the parchment sketch of Selara’s lesions and the burn the Bloodstone had left on his wrist. Varienna’s sharp intake of breath did little to ease Kaelor’s nerves.

“Ancient oath-binding,” Varienna muttered after a hush, fingers brushing the drawing. She peered up at the prince. “I’ve seen this, but only in texts from the First Age.”

“Can you cure her?” Kaelor’s voice was strained. His entire life rested on her answer.

“Her?” Varienna raised a withered eyebrow, her head shifting in realization. “Ah, of course, this is the Bloodstone Priestess.”

“Yes.” It was the only word Kaelor could grind out. His blood boiled, about to spill over. Zaria’s cool hand gently brushed his elbow. Losing your temper on a High-Healer was a sure way to not receive their help.

Varienna, her back to the prince was muttering to herself as she sorted through dust-covered obsidian, azure, and crimson bottles and jars crowding the multitude of shelves in her grotto. “You know the original name of the stone she wears around her neck?”

“No,” Kaelor was curt, but he didn’t move a muscle, his body was a tightly wound spring ready to explode and wreak havoc on anything that stood between him and curing Selara.

“Ignis Vitae Sanguinis.”

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