Page 4 of The Bloodstone Oath

Dragan exhaled, embers swirling in his breath. “A cycle older than you or I. You know it began with our ancestor, King Auren,” he murmured. “Yet there is an opportunity.” His voice faded as coughing overtook him.

Queen Valeska easily continued. “The Rootborn King and Queen have gone to the capital for the royal wedding. They believe I have gone as well, but we are aware they know of your father’s ailments, and we believe there may be a way to stop this endless war.”

Kaelor’s brows raised in a mixture of curiosity and surprise. His mother knew his heart was not aligned with the constant battle against the Rootborn, but he had never thought she would take action to stop it. “And that would be?”

“We have an elder acquaintance,” she said the words carefully. “And we believe there is a chance at peace through marriage.”

“You would wed Avelina to a Rootborn?”

“No.” A slight smile tinged the corner of the queen’s mouth. “You, son. Who else but the heir would have the power?”

Kaelor’s laugh was dry. “I have heard the acting regent is terse and demanding. I doubt she would be a good match for me.”

“There is another Mossweaver daughter,” The queen’s eyes narrowed, and the king’s coughing softened as they both gauged Kaelor’s reaction.

“The Bloodstone Priestess?” Kaelor frowned. “She is bound to celibacy.”

“Intimacy is not the most important aspect of a marriage, son,” his father wheezed.

“She has the ancient bloodstone.” The queen leaned forward from her throne. “And we have heard she is not enthusiastic of the blood rituals required of her.”

“The Bloodstone is bound to her,” Kaelor said.

“Which is an extremely interesting reason why her presence here could be of value,” Valeska smiled.

Kaelor took a slow deep breath, his parents were scheming. He and his mother both realized his father would not sit on the Fireforged throne much longer. But the Bloodstone Priestess…A peculiar heat rose in Kaelor’s cheeks, surprising him more than the proposal itself. The image from earlier sharpened: vine-darkhair, eyes lit by candle-sap, a line of scarlet at her palm. He had never met the Bloodstone Priestess, yet suddenly the thought of her standing here, unflinching amid a city of flame, seemed possible, desirable, even.

“If such a path exists,” he said, voice husky, “I would follow it.”

Valeska’s brow lifted, seeing more in the answer than Kaelor intended to reveal. “Keep the notion close, but silent. Malek would brand it betrayal.” He eased himself carefully off the throne and clasped his son’s shoulder, mostly with warmth but also to steady himself. “Hold the fires against the Rootborn, but do not extinguish it. We will investigate this and inform you of what will transpire.”

Night bled slowly over Emberhold, turning lava flows into glowing veins beneath the darkened sky. On a high balcony Kaelor watched sparks whirl upward, each one a fragment of some tool or blade hammered below. Renna joined him, smelling faintly of soot and horse sweat.

“Council talk?” she asked.

“Talk,” he echoed, “and alternatives.” He hesitated, then let the words fall. “A Rootborn alliance, marriage.”

“Surely, not Avelina?”

Kaelor shook his head somberly.

Renna’s whistle cut the air. “You’d take a bride from the clan we set aflame this morning?”

“If it stemmed the fires, yes.”

She studied him a long moment, then nodded. “Zaria and I will guard your flank, whatever battles come.”

“Thank you.” He managed a small smile, grateful for loyalty that required no explanation.

When she departed, Kaelor leaned on the balustrade. Far off, beyond black plains and smoking fields, he imagined lights twinkling in a city carved from living wood. He pictured the Bloodstone Priestess, no, Selara, a name whispered in spy reports, lifting her face to the same sky. Did she also ache for an end? Would she curse him for the char he left on her people’s soil, or could she see the frayed threads of compassion knotted tight beneath his breastplate?

A breeze carried the scent of brimstone. If he closed his eyes, he could almost trade it for crushed blooms and copper incense. The thought tightened something behind his ribs, an ache not entirely born of guilt.

He turned from the parapet and descended to his chambers, lava-light flickering over dark stone. Hammers rang distantly, forging tomorrow’s weapons, yet each strike sounded to him like a clock, counting down to a choice neither realm could avoid much longer.

Chapter 3 - Selara

A cool dawn breeze rustled the towering canopy above Bloomrest, carrying dew-damp perfume through the Mossweaver balcony. Selara braced both hands on the living-vine balustrade and tried to breathe with the city, slow, rooted, steady. The Bloodstone nestled against her sternum ticked a single, deliberate pulse, and the taste of copper rose in her throat. Each day the stone’s beat felt less like an ornament and more like a second heart that answered to something older than her will.

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