prior | toc | next
|| last time ||
At Veydris, what begins as a quiet feast turns into betrayal when Aelith hands them over to Bostick and the Riders, choosing the safety of her city over whatever bond or truth once tied her to Cael. Worse, Thane discovers too late that the food was laced to suppress his wild magic, leaving him powerless as the Riders close in around them.
Chapter 22 - Veilborn
The door slammed shut behind them, and heavy bolts slid into place.
Cael’s old quarters had become their prison.
Outside, the muffled shuffle of boots and low voices told them the Riders stood guard.
Inside, the windows were sealed. No weapons. No way out. Only the cold silence of betrayal.
The room felt smaller now. Stripped of its warmth. The fruit bowls cleared. The light dimmed to a shallow haze.
They were alone. Entombed.
“They drugged him,” Lirien said, pacing.
Kaelir leaned against the far wall, arms folded, every muscle drawn tight. “And we walked right into it. Like children.”
No one responded.
Thane sat near the window, head low, the weight of failure heavy in his chest. He could still feel the dull ache behind his ribs where the magic wouldn’t rise.
“They took my blades,” Lirien said again, sharper this time. “I let them take my blades.”
“It’s not your fault,” Erynn muttered. “None of us saw it coming.”
Cael said nothing. He stood near the door, unmoving. His back to them. His silence louder than the rest.
Finally, Thane spoke.
“She knew,” he said quietly. “Didn’t she?”
Cael didn’t turn. “Of course she did.”
Lirien stopped pacing. “You think she’s with them?”
“I think,” Cael said, “that she made a choice. Like she’s done before.”
“The Council?” Kaelir asked.
Cael’s jaw tightened. “She betrayed me then, too. Said it was to protect the Order. That she was saving me from myself.”
“And now?” Thane asked.
Cael finally turned. “Now? I think she believes she’s doing what she must to protect Veydris.”
Kaelir stood by the door, jaw tight. “We were fools.”
“No,” Thane said, his voice distant. “Just hungry. And tired.”
That earned a sharp glance from Cael.
The silence stretched—taut and splintering—until the first shouts shattered it. Steel rang against steel. A cry—sharp, panicked—then silence.
The group froze.
A heavy thud. A gurgled rasp. And finally, the unmistakable clang of a body hitting stone.
Thane stood, backing instinctively toward the center of the room.
Kaelir mirrored the move.
Cael stepped forward just as the door burst open.
Bostick barreled in, dragging two limp Riders—bloodied and broken—by the collars of their armor. His hands slick with blood as he kicked the bodies aside and slammed the door behind him, bolting it.
He turned and faced them.
“Quickly,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “We don’t have much time.”
No one moved.
Kaelir’s hand twitched like it still remembered holding a weapon.
“You,” he snarled. “You did this. You led them.”
Bostick didn’t flinch.
“I led no one,” he said, pulling the crimson cloak from his shoulder and tossing it onto one of the corpses. “Not truly.”
Lirien took a step forward, her hand absently brushing the empty place where her pommel would have been. “Then explain yourself.”
Bostick looked around, measured the fear in their eyes, the anger in Cael’s. Then he nodded. As if a choice had been made long ago, and he was only now allowed to speak it aloud.
“I’m Veilborn,” he said. “Like my father before me, and his before him. I’ve always served the Heart. I never stopped believing. Joining the Riders was my way to ensure what the Veilborn have been doing for centuries wasn’t for naught.”
Kaelir’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. Infiltrating the Riders is near impossible.”
“Near impossible,” Bostick said. “But not impossible. You know me,” he said, pleading to Kaelir. “We trained together as middlings. You know who I was. I never forgot.”
The silence loomed again.
Kaelir stepped forward, voice tight. “Prove it.”
Bostick nodded, his hands closing in upon one another in rapid succession. A thin spiral of amber light bloomed across his palms, sharp and deliberate.
Erynn stood wide-eyed, watching, as did Cael.
“Proof enough?” Bostick asked, looking at Kaelir.
Kaelir nodded, turning to the others.
“He’s one of us. He serves the same purpose.”
“Maybe,” Cael said low. “But he’s still something else entirely.”
Bostick turned to Thane.
“Everything I’ve done,” he said, “everything you think was a betrayal—it was to protect you. To ensure you made it this far. To get you to the Heart.”
Thane didn’t speak. The watch at his wrist thrummed—faint, but insistent, like a heartbeat reawakened.
“I believe him,” Thane said quietly. He didn’t know why exactly. He just felt it.
“And now?” Kaelir asked. “What’s the plan?”
Bostick’s gaze darkened.
“Now,” he said, “we run.”
They unbolted the door and moved fast through the corridors, led by Bostick, Kaelir at his side. Thane followed, the blood rushing in his ears louder than his boots on the stone. Behind him, Cael stalked in silence, every muscle tight.
The spires of Veydris were not quiet now.
Shouting rose in waves. Metal clashed somewhere above. Smoke—faint, acrid—curled down one of the side halls. The city was waking to chaos.
“Why now?” Cael called to Bostick.
“I needed her help,” Bostick said. “And she played her part beautifully.”
Aelith.
They turned a corner—and found her waiting.
She stood at the edge of the courtyard, silhouetted by torchlight, a curved dagger in one hand, her cloak torn and singed. Her eyes snapped to Cael.
“We’re holding them off as long as we can,” she said, breathing hard. “The guards will not be able to keep them for long. You need to go. Now.”
Cael stared at her. “You planned this?”
“They arrived shortly after you. Bostick came to me, asking about my visions regarding the boy,” she said, her eyes briefly flicking to Thane. “Upon hearing them, he told me he was Veilborn.”
“There’s no time for this,” Bostick interrupted. “Her guards are no match for the Riders. We need to go. Now.”
“He is right,” she said tersely. “The boy has to survive. You must get him to the henge.”
She motioned to a stone bench where a bundle waited—their weapons.
She turned to Thane. “Your magic… it will resurface soon. The dose of Witchwight can only quiet your power for so long.”
The others grabbed their weapons from the bundle. Bostick scanning the passage behind them. Time was short, and their flight was like threading a needle in the dark.
“Go,” she said, pointing down a corridor. “The back gate’s open. The Wayfen will cover you through the lower paths out of the city.”
“Why are you doing this?” Erynn asked, stunned.
Aelith looked at her.
“Because I believe in him,” she said. “And I believe in you. All of you,” she said, turning to Cael. “This is my choice.”
He stepped closer, something raw and unfinished in his eyes. She took his hand. A pause. Then she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, just briefly. Her lips brushed his—not hunger, not longing. Just loss.
“I never stopped watching the road,” she whispered. “Even when you were gone.”
Cael closed his eyes.
“I know.”
Then she was gone, back toward the rising noise and smoke.
And they ran.
Pounding down the final garden path, breath ragged, boots skidding on loose stones.
Ahead, the arch of the eastern gate loomed—dark stone hidden in the night—beyond it, the streets of Veydris, still thick with the final dregs of evening trade.
Bostick slowed, scanning the square beyond the gate.
Among the bustle of robed figures, a flash of rust-colored eyes caught Thane’s attention—a Wayfen from the feast. The man met Bostick’s gaze—and gave a sharp, shrill cry.
The streets came alive.
Wayfen, merchants, and robed citizens surged forward in a living tide, flooding into the square, their bodies pressing against one another. All it took was a man’s cry, and the whole city moved like they’d been waiting their whole lives for a savior. Maybe they had. Or maybe it was easier than the thought of giving up, losing hope. That seemed to be why they all journeyed to Veydris.
From the garden path behind them, Riders appeared, blades drawn, pressing forward.
“Traitor,” one of the Riders barked. “You’ve betrayed your oath to Devendor.”
“My oath was given before you were born,” Bostick clapped back. “It is you who betray Arbelon.”
Kaelir stepped to his side, blade in hand.
Thane turned, reaching for the threads of magic, sweat beading on his brow. But each time he grasped at them, they slipped away—limp and useless.
Was it the Witchwight still holding him? Or something else?
The others hesitated, torn between the Riders and the surge of bodies filling the square.
Bostick cursed under his breath.
“Go,” he said, without turning, his hand flexing on the pommel of his blade. “I’ll hold them.”
Kaelir hesitated. “You can’t face them alone.”
“I can,” Bostick said, pushing Kaelir away. His eyes dark with resolve. “I am doing what I was always meant to do. Now you do your part.”
He raised his sword, the spiral mark on his palm flaring once again before he closed his grip around the hilt. The air rippled around him, the ancient power of the Veilborn in his blood.
“Get him to the Heart. That’s the only thing that matters.”
Then Bostick gave Kaelir a final nod. Not a farewell. A command.
“Go.”
They turned and plunged into the crowd.
Hands grabbed at cloaks. Voices shouted blessings. The press of bodies became a tide, pulling them forward, pulling them away.
Wayfen figures closed around them—not attacking, but shielding—guiding them through the throng with simple gestures. Down side alleys. Through clanging gates. Past darkened merchant stalls.
And behind them, Bostick met the Riders head-on. The ring of clashing swords fading away, swallowed by the living city.
Thane stumbled once, nearly losing sight of Kaelir ahead of him, but a strong hand caught his arm—another Wayfen, masked by the hood of a common trader. Wordless, determined.
They pushed deeper into the maze of streets, away from the main thoroughfares. Past walls painted with timeless murals, artisan built archways, candles burning at shrines to things to be remembered.
Every turn seemed random, yet deliberate and certain—like someone had mapped this path long ago. The Wayfen effortlessly guiding them, and they followed without hesitation.
Finally, at the edge of the city’s eastern edge, a small iron gate stood open. Beyond it, broken fields plunged into the forest, its trees masked in shadow, the moon and stars hidden behind dark clouds.
Two Wayfen stood waiting.
There was a sudden crack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning that arced above them, close enough that Thane’s hair stood on end.
The Wayfen met at the gate.
One of the waiting Wayfen pressed a small bundle into Cael’s hands — sacks of dried food, water skins sloshing faintly.
“Supplies for the road,” he said. “From Aelith.”
“May the spires guide your way,” another said.
Then, almost on cue, the Wayfen bowed low to Thane, pressing a hand to the ground before slipping back into the city.
“Aelith,” Lirien breathed.
Cael’s head lowered.
“There is nothing left for us here,” he said, his voice cracking. “What we seek lies ahead.”
Then he turned, heading through the gate.
Kaelir motioned for the others to follow, but he lingered a moment at the open gate, his hand tightening around the sword hilt. He watched for a moment, and then another, before finally turning to join the others.
They ran until time blurred and breath burned.
Only when they climbed a steep rise and dropped into a dense watershed did they stop. Thane’s breath was ragged in his lungs, his head throbbing. They finally collapsed into a small clearing, ringed by towering trees, the sky crackling with lightning. And then rain fell hard—a cleansing downpour, like the heavens wept for them.
Kaelir scanned behind them. “We’re clear. For now.”
No one cheered.
The silence pressed heavier than before.
Thane sat with his back against a moss-covered tree, pressing the watch to his chest. It was ticking again—subtle, steady. Not like in Salile. But there. A rhythm he could hold on to.
Erynn dropped down beside Cael, staring into the trees.
“She’s a good person,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” Cael answered quietly. His voice restrained. “She just couldn’t stand against the Riders—the power of Devendor.”
Lirien pulled a flask from her side pouch and passed it around.
“We survived,” she said. “With her help. That’s what matters.”
“No,” Thane muttered. “That’s not what matters.”
The others looked at him.
Thane’s eyes stayed fixed on the dark trees beyond the clearing, ruined stone markers, pointing to the endless road ahead.
“We don’t know if the Riders were stopped,” he said. “And what about this henge? How do we know it is safe? Nowhere you’ve taken me has been safe.”
Erynn opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Kaelir looked away, mired in his own thoughts.
They all felt it — the dread, gnawing low and constant. He’d spoken the truth. At every corner, the hunters found the hunted. They’d barely rested since the Wastelands. And now they were on the run again—weary, soaked, heading into the darkness.
Thane leaned back against the tree, rain spilling down from the branches above, his heartbeat slowing in his chest.
With eerie purpose—from somewhere deep inside—that whisper came again.
Soft. Coiled. Inevitable.
They see a savior.
You see a lie.
But either way—you walk the same road.
Thane didn’t flinch. He didn’t know if Echo was friend, foe… or something worse. But it was getting harder to tell the difference. He gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes. Pushing the whispers away. Maybe this was just part of his disease. The part where his mind finally failed him—just like Dr. Hughes had said it would.
Why would his disease be contained to Earth? Different world. Same broken me.
He let out a deep sigh.
The rain deepened, drenching him to the bone. Thunder rolled in the distance, and somewhere beyond the black line of trees, a thin crack of sunrise split the horizon.
East. To the Skyreach Henge.
Whatever waited for them there—salvation, betrayal, or something worse—they would meet it.
There was no turning back.
Not anymore.
prior | toc | next
Stay in the party
Subscribe (free) for new chapters.
Prefer to binge like a loot goblin?
This is book 1 of a completed duology, so if you’d rather grab the whole book and vanish into Arbelon right now:
Book 1: no extra lives → Amazon | My Author Site
Book 2: the final save → Amazon | My Author Site