Page 27 of The Bloodstone Oath

Elder Ligren and Elder Eidrian emerged from the grove’s shadow, sap-stained staves in hand, their tunics still damp with Solthorn’s dew. Ligren raised two fingers toward the canopy; new shoots unfurled on the nearest branch, proof the god-plantwas sated. Elder Eidrian met Kaelor’s gaze, offering a single grave nod, permission to continue, and then both elders stepped to the platform’s edge, anticipation bright in their ancient eyes as they waited to witness the prince’s vow.

Zaria stepped forward with an Ironwood chest. Kaelor opened it for all to see. Archers peered down from the trees while those below stood on tiptoe to see the relic tools, ember-hammers, vine-etched trowels, and softly glowing ember-seeds nestled within.

“These belong to Fireforged artisans who believe, as do I, we must share our resources. Bloomrest guilds will keep them, no tariff, no scrutiny. They are yours. A gift from the Fireforged to the Rootborn.”

A ripple of surprise moved through the Rootborn ranks, murmured speculation, a few tentative claps, heads craning for a better look at the tools. The guarded curiosity in their eyes hinted they were reevaluating the prince who spoke of sharing rather than taking.

Kaelor’s gaze landed on where Elders Ligren and Eidrian stood with Talia and Cassian, all watching him with deep intrigue.

From his sash he withdrew his mother’s Flamewright seal-ring. Sun-fire glinted across the signet, a heavy band of polished volcanite crowned by a phoenix crest that blazed crimson-gold as Kaelor held it aloft. The crowd let out a collective breath, as children ran forward to get a closer look.

“This is my mother’s signet ring. My father, King Dragan Flamewright, has joined the first fire. I stand among you because he desired peace between our peoples. It was he, and your regent, Veyla, who drafted the treaty that bound me to Selara Mossweaver.”

Around the square, Rootborn raised both hands, palms inward, fingertips woven into a lattice of living roots before pressing the gesture to their hearts, a silent salute to the fallen king.

“My cousin, the usurper who has scorched your fields, has seized my father’s seal. I will reclaim it, by oath and by right, as the true King of the Fireforged. Until then, this ring is the only emblem of my rule.” He strode around the platform, the volcanite band aloft, so more could view its authenticity. “Crowns exist to serve, not conquer. My vow to you is peace, no more raids, no more stolen harvests. Together we will see both realms flourish.”

Kaelor set the ring upon the square pommel of his sword. “If I break this pledge, let Bloomrest name the next heir of the Fireforged.”

A collective breath shivered through the crowd. Even Cassian’s eyes widened. Elder Ligren and Elder Eidrian struck their staffs against the living wood. “Hold that word for one harvest, Prince,” Ligren called, “and you’ll taste pear-wine from ember-grafted roots.”

Cheers rolled outward, tentative, but true.

Movement above. Kaelor followed every head turning to see Selara on the terrace, pale yet upright, supported by Varienna and Veyla. The ruby veins had faded to faint rose lines; the healing was working.

Kaelor knelt on the dais, calling up to her. “Selara Mossweaver, light of my dawn, will you be my wife in truth, not treaty? I offer crown, hearth, and the flawed heart that beats only for your life and happiness.”

Tears brightened her eyes. “I will,” she whispered, voice thread-thin but sure. Veyla smiled softly; Talia blinked away moisture.

With a jubilant surge Kaelor caught the nearest curtain of vines and, hand over hand, ascended the living wall. Lantern-moss glittered around him like fallen stars as he swung onto the terrace, cupped Selara’s face, and pressed a reverent kiss to her brow. Below, the square exploded, Rootborn and Fireforged voices twined into one roar while elder-staffs hammered a thunderous cadence on the dais, the sound rolling through the grove like heartbeats of a newborn era.

As torches guttered low in Selara’s chamber, Varienna withdrew, assured her charge was on the mend. Kaelor cradled Selara in the moonlight, her chilled skin warming slowly in his arms.

Veyla lingered at the threshold meeting Kaelor’s gaze. “Bring her joy, prince. Or answer to me.” A regent’s threat softened by sisterly adoration.

Kaelor inclined his head. “She is the ember at my core.” Veyla nodded, closing the door softly behind her.

Selara burrowed closer. “Your father…”

He stroked her hair. “I’ll mourn when our realms are safe.”

“And Thorne?”

“With Renna, entrapping Malek. After we are wed tomorrow, I will ride with every trusted blade to bring them home.”

Her lashes fluttered. “I love you, my king.”

“And I you, priestess.” He kissed her forehead, her body relaxing in his gentle warmth.

Outside, root-shadowed boughs whispered in the night breeze, as though the whole forest exhaled, at last daring to imagine that love, not war, would light tomorrow’s dawn.

Chapter 15 – Selara

Dawn lifted clear and gentle over Bloomrest; where brittle limbs had stood bare, fresh shoots spiraled outward, and shy blossoms pushed through seams of bark as if the forest itself were exhaling hope.

Selara knew it even before her eyes opened, her breath moved through clean lungs and chest no longer hauled the Bloodstone’s weight like an anchor of molten iron. She lay beneath gauzy canopies in the terrace chamber, listening to birdsong, nothing more sinister than a pair of quarrelsome finches debating a trumpet-vine.

She stretched luxuriously, feeing the power of Varienna’s draught, which had flushed the cursed veins from her skin. The High-Healer’s final salve still tingled across the ridges the Bloodstone burned into her sternum.

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