Page 8 of The Bloodstone Oath

Avelina reined beside him, her face pale beneath freckles. “Travel has caught up with me,” she murmured, hand on her stomach. “You handle the parchment-wavers, I will find a cot and ginger tea.”

Concern tightened Kaelor’s chest. He dismounted and helped her from her embermare. “Are you sure you do not want a healer?”

She shook her head with a reassuring smile. “Just rest. Besides, you will negotiate better without your little sister yawning behind you.” Her tone was light, but she squeezed his gauntleted hand, three heartbeats, their silent code for I’m proud of you.

Kaelor watched her slip toward the side tents before he turned to survey the pavilion where a broad-shouldered, unreadable guard met the prince’s gaze, gray eyes promising that any misstep would be paid for in blood.

A lithe woman stepped upon the dais, her arrival measured. There was no doubt in Kaelor’s mind this was Veyla Mossweaver, acting regent of Bloomrest. Emerald silk wrapped her angular frame, but her real armor was composure; shoulders square, chin lifted, dark eyes assessing him the way a jeweler inspects a flawed stone. She offered no customary bend, nor did he expect one, only a slow incline of her head, which conveyed both a greeting and warning. “Prince Flamewright,” her voice held the effortless polish of ebony, silky along the grain, yet dense and unyielding beneath, “The Rootborn receive you as agreed and entrust what is most precious to us into your keeping.” She pivoted with precision, silk whispering like shears through leaves, and ceded the center of the pavilion.

The Bloodstone Priestess was revealed. She occupied the threshold like a living standard of the Rootborn, tall and willowy in layered forest green silk shot through with gold threads that captured the sunrise in their weave; deep-brown skin gleamed against the fabric’s cool luster, and at her throat the Bloodstone burned, a ruby ember whose shifting veins of light lit her golden-green eyes and sent an answering hammer-blow through Kaelor’s chest.

Even from a distance, the Bloodstone smoldered, tiny veins of light pulsing in time with…her heartbeat? Or something else?The Fireforged inhaled as one; Kaelor felt the pull, but he couldn’t discern if it was the Bloodstone Priestess or the Bloodstone that made him want to leap up the stairs and bring them both to his tightened chest. He could barely breathe. His gaze slid back to her eyes, which glowed as though an emberdeep within her recognized the forge-heat in his blood and reached for it.

She stepped forward. Sunlight slid across auburn-brown hair braided with leaves; tension pinched her shoulders, yet her chin remained high. With controlled steps and boots splashing shallow water, Kaelor moved toward her. Her gold-green eyes captured the sun and brimmed with intelligence. The world hushed until there was only the hiss of distant vents and the thrum of the Bloodstone.

He climbed the stairs slowly and knelt at her feet. “I’m Kaelor Flamewright,” he said as he rose, voice steady though sweat dampened his bruised side. “I come to bring peace to our troubled lands.”

She measured him, her eyes shifting to the color of forest dusk. Up close, the Bloodstone’s glow deepened.Was it reacting to his proximity? To the prospect of returning to Fireforged blood?A prickling crawled along Kaelor’s neck, half dread, half fascination.

“I am Selara Mossweaver, the Bloodstone Priestess of the Rootborn,” she replied. “May our meeting kindle renewal rather than ruin.” Her tone was formal, yet when their gazes locked, an unguarded flicker crossed her face, as if she too was startled by the pull between them.

Silence stretched. Kaelor became acutely aware of the distance, no more than a stride. Mist curled around her cheeks like shared breath. The gray-eyed guard loomed protectively behind her, Kaelor could feel the guard’s simmering wrath.

He inclined his head toward the amulet, lowering his voice. “Your Bloodstone… the rumors say it binds Bloomrest’s wards. Does it ever feel heavy?”

“Heavier each season,” she admitted so softly only he could hear. “And lately, I fear it listens.” Her fingers delicately brushed against the gem; its veins brightened at her touch. Red lines infused her skin, and she inhaled sharply, moving her hand away as if the stone burnt. Kaelor’s worry sharpened into something almost protective.

“If you are doubtful,” he murmured, “say so. We can forge peace without this marriage.”

His candor startled them both. A flush stole up Selara’s neck; heat pooled beneath Kaelor’s bruised rib, unrelated to pain. Courtiers shifted, eager to announce protocols, but for one heartbeat they stood suspended between suspicion and something that might become understanding.

Selara drew an unsteady breath, then offered her palm in formal greeting. Kaelor took it. Her skin was cool; the spark that leapt between them made his pulse stumble. The Bloodstone flared, bright enough that Rootborn and Fireforged collectively gasped.

The guard stepped forward; Renna’s hand flew to her blade.

Kaelor held fast, surprised to find the flash hadn’t stung, only tingled like the first lick of forge heat warming chilled iron.

Selara withdrew her hand, eyes wide, and turned to the guard. “Thorne, I’m fine.”

Kaelor turned to Orik, nodding that all was well, though each inhalation tugged his bruised rib.If merely touching her ignites the stone, what will the binding vows do?

A Rootborn elder stepped forward at Veyla’s side. “Prince,” Veyla’s smile was a necessary formality, “This is Elder Ligren. He will oversee the proceedings for the Rootborn."

Kaelor eyed up the elder as Orik stepped forward to represent the Fireforged. Elder Ligren looked as if he had been hewnstraight from the orchards he tended: bark-brown skin creased like old rind, one cheek corrugated by an ancient burn that still carried the faint whorls of flame. Ivy twined up his staff cane and across the back of his weather-scarred knuckles, each leaf trembling with its own quiet life. Keen green eyes roved the gathering taking in Kaelor, the restless Fireforged by the water, and the lounging Rootborn archers in the trees. Without a word he thumped his staff three times on the damp planks of the pavilion.

With the clans watching. Kaelor presented a volcanite-forged “ember torc,” its braided metal core shot through with faint, pulsing crimson crystals, showing the Fireforged smiths could temper raw fury into disciplined strength. In return, Selara offered a living-heartwood sprig encased in dewstone glass, the twig’s emerald buds still unfurling inside their crystalline sheath, evidence the Rootborn craft could coax life to thrive even in confinement.

Elder Ligren sealed the moment by passing between them with a simple obsidian-edge steel knife set in living-willow bark, the blade facing down, the hilt offered up, an unspoken vow that any future cuts must be made together, not at each other.

Then he turned and led both clan’s counsels to the bargaining table. Selara followed him dutifully, immediately surrounded by members of the Rootborn council. Kaelor moved to the opposite side of the table, the Fireforged lords flanking him. Once the counsel had arranged themselves at the massive round oak table, proceedings opened with the recitation of the terms of the treaty.

Yet Kaelor was distracted, he felt every breath synchronize to the faint glow at Selara’s throat. Once, during a lull, she glanced up; their eyes met, and the pavilion seemed to narrow until onlytheir uncertain future stretched between them. Neither smiled, yet something hopeful glimmered beneath the formality.

When the dealings paused for midday rest, Kaelor stepped to the river’s edge alone on the Fireforged side and stared at his reflection wavering in heated mist. Behind him his Fireforged escorts stepped aside. Before he could turn around, Selara’s soft footfalls reached his ears. “Did the stone hurt you?”

“No,” he said honestly, though his rib throbbed. “But it warned me I have much to learn.”

A fragile silence settled. Then, with surprising boldness, she said, “If we are to end a war, we must start with truth. I will tell you what I know of the Bloodstone, if you will tell me why the prince who burned our fields looks at me as though he’s… relieved to see a stranger.”

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