Page 89 of The Shattered Rite
Eliryn’s mind supplied his village name, remembering from the first trial.
Stonefell.
Old mountain blood. Warriors raised with steel in their hands and legends in their marrow.
His brow lifted when he saw her standing there.
“You?” he said, voice rough like a whetstone. “I thought I would be the first.”
“You’re only a little late,” Eliryn said, almost smiling despite herself. “Not that it’s a race or anything.”
He huffed, a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief. “So the girl with dragonblood proves worthy after all.”
She tilted her head slightly. “As does the warrior with iron bones.”
They stood for a moment, measuring each other like soldiers weighing whether or not they were on the same side.
Then Stonefell nodded, once. “I heard stories of dragonriders when I was young. Thought they were just legend and song.” His gaze flicked to her family crest, then her eyes. “But I’ve also heard they were monsters. Weapons in skin.”
“You sound like the steward,” she said, dry.
“Do I?” Stonefell glanced at the pale-robed man. “Then maybe he’s wiser than he looks.”
Vaeronth rumbled in her mind, unimpressed.That one does not strike me as wise.
“Agreed,” she murmured back.
They stood for a long moment, both too stubborn—or too wary—to look away.
Then, Stonefell’s gaze flicked toward the empty benches lining the wall. He shifted slightly, the barest hitch in his stance, as if his legs had only just remembered they could ache.
Eliryn caught the glance, then glanced at the benches herself. Her legs were already protesting, and her shoulder felt like it had been ripped out and jammed back into place by some drunk deity.
“Don’t suppose you’re as tired as I look?” she asked dryly.
Stonefell’s mouth twitched. “That's a bet I'd take.”
She huffed softly, stepped toward the nearest bench, and dropped onto it like a collapsing siege tower.
Stonefell followed, slower but steady, settling beside her with the weight of a man used to carrying grief as armor.
Neither of them spoke for a few breaths. Not out of discomfort.
Just… because silence, for once, wasn’t an enemy.
“I’ve seen some strange things in my time,” Stonefell said after a moment, scratching absently at one of his scars. “But nothing that cut as deep as what I saw in those chambers.”
Eliryn nodded. “They weren’t just fake illusions. They were more like… truths twisted sideways.”
“Your family?”
She hesitated, then nodded again. “And pieces of myself I thought I’d buried deeper.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You came out steady.”
“I came out alive,” she corrected. “That’s enough for now.”
Stonefell leaned back, elbows resting on stone. “You move like a fighter, but not one trained by war. More… desperate. Personal.”
