Page 29 of The Bloodstone Oath

It was only then Selara saw the standards encircling Lyra’s glade. A single ivory field bore the royal couple’s new sigil: a moss-green vine twining upward in graceful spirals, its leaves filigreed with gold, while at its heart a molten bronze-gold flame unfurled, the two elements inseparable, root and fire bound by peace.

Then Selara laid eyes on her groom. Kaelor waited at the edge of the clearing beside the blossom-strewn bridge, a pillar of quiet strength amid the swirl of guests. Moon-bronze ceremonial armor, lacquered plates chased with filigrees of entwined vineand flame. It fit his broad shoulders like second skin. Warm glints of Lyra’s light glinted off his copper-dark hair. A single braid, bound with a twig-thin strip of living ivy, brushed the straight line of his chiseled jaw. Beneath the simple gold coronet that showed his royal rank, ember-bright eyes tracked every movement with protect-and-provide focus. Her pulse fluttered as memory and promise collided; the heat of his hands, the vows in his whispered endearments, the way he’d fought foes and raced the night itself to care for her. Her hand rested on her heart as it thrummed in anticipation of their life together.

A single drumbeat cut through the chatter. The crowd parted as General Orik stepped beneath the natural arch of wisteria, escorting Queen Valeska on his arm. She walked, head high, forge-red gown glimmering with threads of molten copper. Murmurs rippled, in awe from both the Fireforged and the Rootborn.

Kaelor detached himself from a knot of Rootsingers and smith-lords, crossing the grass with purposeful stride, but before he could reach the new arrivals, he stopped in shock as Avelina burst from the grove.

“Mother!” Avelina cried, her gold skirts flashed as she raced into Lyra’s Glade, colliding with Valeska in a fierce embrace. The queen cradled her daughter’s cheeks, eyes bright with unshed tears. “No sorrow today, my brave girl,” Selara heard her murmur as she brushed salt-tracks from Avelina’s face. “We celebrate new dawns.”

Avelina turned next to her brother, who pulled her in a tight embrace, whispering something that coaxed a watery laugh. Then, with formal grace newly won from grief, he offered his arm and led both mother and sister toward the carved root-dais where Elder Ligren and Elder Eidrian waited beside priest-torches and braided garlands.

Hidden among leaves and blossoms, Selara pressed a hand to steady her heart. Veyla adjusted the circlet atop Selara’s curls, pride softening her usually steely gaze, while Talia kept a sentinel’s eye on every shadow. In the glade, root and flame mingled without flinch or blade, proof the vows about to be spoken already lived in the space between their people.

The sound of footsteps coming up the path to their secluded grove brought Talia to attention. Veyla and Selara turned as two figures strode through falling petals. King Maeron Mossweaver, bark-brown braids shot with silver, and Queen Sylvaine, white flowers woven through her coils

The four embraced in a family hug. “You have worked miracles in our absence, little seedlings,” Maeron said.

“I could never have imagined we would come home from our adventure to find peace and a royal wedding in our own realm!” Sylvaine’s eyes were misty as she took in the regal beauty of her daughters.

“It is time for me to escort you to your seat, your majesty,” Cassian bowed to the queen and brought her into the festivities where Kaelor greeted her with a warm hug.

Harp-strings shivered through Lyra’s Glade, and every conversation fluttered to hush. From the shaded alcove stepped Veyla, escorting the two bright flowergirls. A ripple of delighted ohs traveled the clearing. Veyla’s poised smile softened when she passed her mother’s seat.

King Maeron pulled his daughter’s arm through his, pride glowing in his moss-green eyes. “Selara, we are rid at last of the Bloodstone’s burden, may your days be freer than mine ever allowed.” He pressed a kiss to Selara’s brow and added, sotto voce, “Your mother and I leave the realm for a moment, and yousolve a famine, tame a god-tree, and secure a king for a husband. Perhaps we should journey more often.”

Selara’s laugh trembled with joy. “Come visit Emberhold, Father.”

“I have always wished to,” He stood tall, a regal smile on his face as they stepped into Lyra’s Glade.

As they advanced, the grass before them awakened; emerald blades straightened, buds unfurled into star-white blossoms, and each step coaxed a shimmer of gold pollen that drifted like powdered dawn. Gasps and awed murmurs followed the bride and king as they trod the living carpet.

When they reached the altar, Kaelor looked starstruck as Selara smiled at him. Maeron cleared his throat, grabbing the groom’s attention. Kaelor bowed low, then raised his eyes to meet King Maeron’s. “Your Majesty, from the moment Selara laid her hand on mine, every ember in my blood found its purpose. I pledge before root and flame to guard her joy with the same devotion that tempers our strongest steel. Whatever she dreams, I will forge the means; whatever she fears, I will stand as shield. You have fostered a leader of grace and iron-oak, I count it my greatest honor to cherish the daughter you raised so wisely raised.”

“In youth,” Maeron replied. “I sought to break your father upon the field, Kaelor. This bond between our houses tastes sweeter than any victory. Honor it and may Dragan’s ember watch you both.” The Rootborn king ceded Selara’s hand to Kaelor, clasping both their palms together before he moved to sit next to his queen.

For a heartbeat the world fell away. It was just the two of them together. Selara felt the radiance pour from her as she staredinto Kaelor’s regal eyes. A single breath caught between them, a love powerful enough to turn centuries of battles into bloom.

The grove fell utterly still while Elder Eidrian recited the ancient Rootborn promise and High-Healer Varienna answered with the Fireforged rite. Kaelor and Selara spoke the blended words in one clear voice, vow melding to vow like root twining with flame. The moment the last syllable faded, General Orik and Regent Veyla stepped forward, lifting twin torches, one wreathed in living vine, the other banded with a smoldering ember-gem, and crossed them above the couple’s bowed heads. The bound root ignited in a cool white blaze, the gem answering with a quiet surge of gold, sealing the union.

Cheers erupted, spears clashed against shields, vine-latched drums thundered, and the leaves above shimmered with new green. Solthorn, soothed by the elders’ potion, rustled approval; Selara felt no tug of bloodlust, only a hum of contentment, as though the god-plant drank love instead of sacrifice.

Tables appeared like magic, platters of seared river eel beside lattice pies of moon-apple, root-wine poured into goblets forged from cooled lava. Elder Ligren clinked his drink of royal root-wine against General Orik’s cup as Elder Eidrian roaring a toast beside them. The Fire-forged commander sputtered at the sweet, yet wickedly strong, vintage, then laughed and pledged in return a cask of Emberhold’s searing “White-Forge Lightning,” inviting both elders south to test its blaze and swap more stories of newfound kinship.

Talia hauled a protesting Cassian into the whirling circle; by the second turn his scholar-stoop had become a laughing spin. Veyla claimed General Orik next, their steps a light-footed mock-duel that ended in a shared grin. Near the lantern-lit edge, Queen Valeska and King Maeron exchanged a courtly pavane. While Varienna surprised everyone by linking arms with Elder Ligrenand coaxing the old orchard-master into a jaunty root-shuffle that set the crowd cheering.

Twilight stained the horizon rose-gold when Kaelor and Selara slipped onto their private terrace where Lyra’s statue watched the world. Below, lantern fungi blossomed into constellations; above, early stars winked.

The Bloodstone’s case rested on a low plinth. The sigils guarding it glimmered protectively. “We will decide its fate together,” Selara said. “Solthorn drinks life without blood now. Perhaps the gem can learn.”

“Or be unmade,” Kaelor murmured, circling his arms around Selara from behind. “Whatever keeps you breathing freely.”

“We still don’t know what true magic drives it,” Selara mused. “Was Solthorn feeding the Bloodstone or the Bloodstone feeding Solthorn.”

“All I know,” Kaelor murmured in her ear, “is it almost stole you from me. It should be thrown into the lava churn of the highest volcano and be destroyed forever.”

They stood in silence until a restless wind rattled the canopy. Leaves still fell here and there, but buds already nudged through twigs, proof the elders’ salve had satisfied Solthorn.

“Renna and Thorne,” Selara whispered, her heart missing the presence of two of their two dear friends.

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