Page 5 of The Bloodstone Oath

At the balcony’s curve, half-hidden behind jasmine, a sandstone statue representing Lyra, the sun goddess, the mythic Rootborn life-giver and mid-wife to seeds. Lyra watched the forest with blind serenity. Fine cracks webbed their surfaces where living vines had split the stone over decades, tiny green filaments patiently forcing the quartz apart. Selara traced one fissure with her fingertip. “You still observe,” she whispered to the goddess, marveling at how delicate shoots could pry monuments open. Life over stone; patience over power. The lesson steadied her pulse: even entrenched quarrels could crumble if coaxed by living roots.

Below, curved bridges of oak and willow awakened in green-gold light. Ordinarily that view calmed her; this morning it only sharpened the unease that had shadowed her since yesterday’s reports of Fireforged raids. Charred refugees camped on theoutskirts now, whispering of black-armored riders and fields blazing like midsummer pyres.

Bootsteps, measured, soft, approached from the corridor. Selara did not turn until Talia spoke her name. “Your sister’s called an emergency council.”

The words landed with leaden certainty. “Another raid?”

“They didn’t say.” Talia’s gaze slid to the faint tremor in Selara’s fingers. “Thorne and Cassian are already on their way down.”

At the mention of Thorne, an involuntary warmth flickered in Selara’s chest, quick, confusing. She mastered it and followed Talia through the Mossweaver dwelling’s spiraling ramps. Somewhere halfway down, the Bloodstone fluttered again, as though aware of the gathering tension.What do you feed on?Selara wondered, tugging the gem’s golden chain delicately.Fear? Blood?

The stone answered only with another muted throb.

They emerged onto Bloomrest’s main avenue, where anxious citizens parted to let the Bloodstone Priestess pass. Selara returned each bow with a smile she did not feel, noting how many stared at the amulet more than at her.Had it always drawn so much attention? Or had she only just begun to notice?

Ahead, the vine-wreathed Council Hall loomed. At its entrance stood Thorne, tall in moss-green armor, the morning light catching the pale scar that cut across his forearm. His gray eyes searched the crowd until they found Selara and softened. He stepped aside to let others file into the chamber but lingered long enough to murmur, “I worried when I didn’t see you at dawn prayers.” The words were ordinary; the huskiness underneath was not.

“I’m here now,” Selara said, surprised at how much steadier her voice felt thanks to the small human concern. As the Bloodstone Priestess she often felt more of an object than an individual. She noticed a sprig of night-bloom, her favorite flower, clutched in Thorne’s left gauntlet, its petals still folded. Before she could ask, he tucked it into a belt pouch, color rising faintly at his collar. The gesture warmed her even as fresh dread pooled in her stomach.

Inside, the hall thrummed with agitated conversation. Veyla already occupied the raised root-dais, green robes immaculate, golden charms chiming impatiently. Thorne guided Selara to her seat, his gloved fingers brushing her elbow in a touch that lingered a heartbeat longer than courtesy. The brush left a curious glow beneath Selara’s skin, one the Bloodstone seemed to echo with a beat, as if taking notice of the emotion and filing it away.

Veyla’s hand slashed the air for silence. “News has reached us that three fresh incursions occurred overnight. Fields at Hawthorn Ridge, Briarfold, and Willow Fen are ash.” Murmurs swelled. Veyla pressed on. “Our sacrifices strengthen Solthorn, yet the Fireforged attack our outskirts undeterred. I have therefore taken decisive action.”

Selara stiffened as she saw Veyla’s veiled glance towards Elder Ligren Stoneoak, an elder of keen memory and the only Rootborn allowed to negotiate with the Fireforged. And he had the burn scars to prove it. A chill slithered down Selara’s spine.What is my sister up to?Her newfound power, as transient as it was meant to be, still gave her ultimate authority over the Rootborn.

“To end this war, we will bind root to flame. We have arranged a marriage alliance: Selara Mossweaver will wed Prince Kaelor Flamewright.”

The chamber erupted. Selara’s world tilted; only Thorne’s hand, suddenly firm on the back of her chair, kept her anchored. But even that contact throbbed with emotion, hurt, yes, but something gentler tangled inside it. She forced herself upright. “Sister, I am the Bloodstone Priestess. It is not possible for me to wed.”

Veyla’s gaze flicked, unreadable steel. “There is nothing in your celibacy vows that obstruct you from being married.”

Selara gasped audibly and felt Talia’s shoulder lean lightly against her own. Marriage was the last thing she had ever imagined would happen in her life. A marital bed was out of the question.Why would the Fireforged even seek a barren marriage for their Crown Prince no less, the man who is the flame that torches our land?“But you are bartering me without my permission.” Selara’s voice strained in confusion.

Veyla stared at her quietly for a moment as the counsel watched the sisters. “Consent is implicit in your duty to the Rootborn throne. Peace demands sacrifice beyond goats and grain.”

Selara opened her mouth, but the Bloodstone pulsed so sharply it dizzied her, as if the gem approved of Veyla’s pronouncement. Her stomach rolled.Did you just… agree?she thought at the stone. The idea was absurd; yet the timing planted a thorn of suspicion she could not ignore.

Voices clashed around her:

“The Bloodstone Priestess wed… our ailing crops will die.”

“A Fireforged bridegroom? Unthinkable!”

“If it stills their torches, let it be.”

Thorne stepped into the open, back straight, voice low but carrying. “Rootborn honor is not barter. If Prince Kaelor desires peace, let him first end the raids and step inside Bloomrestunarmed.” His jaw flexed, anger, yes, but also an unmistakable protectiveness that sent heat spiraling under Selara’s ribs.

Veyla’s earrings jingled as she turned. “And if he refuses? Shall we keep counting charred farms while we wait for ideal gestures?” She pivoted to the assembly. “The Fireforged court has already accepted. The betrothal will be sealed at Tidehaven. We desire to hold it on the night of the twin flames when our goddess Lyra’s golden sunset coincides with the Fireforged’s moon Ignis’s blood-red rise.”

Shock rippled outward. In its wake Selara heard a soft clink, looked down, and realized her hand was clenched so tightly around the Bloodstone that the chain cut her palm. Tiny beads of red welled, and the gem glowed, swallowing the drops like embers drinking oil. The sight twisted something in her gut.

The council dissolved into factions; Veyla declared a recess. As elders drifted away in knots of argument, Thorne’s voice softened back to the register reserved for childhood secrets beneath willow boughs as he leaned into Selara. “Say the word and I will ride to their border alone if I must.”

Alarm and tenderness mingled in Selara’s chest. She reached up, hesitated, then touched his scarred forearm. “I won’t let you burn for me,” she whispered.

Thorne’s breath caught audibly. His free hand rose as if to enclose hers, but he lowered it before skin met skin. “You are not a bargaining chip,” he said, quieter still, “but you are… important.” The final word bore so much weight it trembled.

Talia cleared her throat gently behind them. Selara withdrew her fingers, pulse skittering. “Meet me at the training green,” she told Thorne. “I need your help, and your honesty.”

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