Page 112 of The First Scar
"The Codex," he said. "It's time."
I blinked the sleep from my eyes, forcing myself upright. "Now?"
"The King's noose is tightening. After tonight, conditions will only worsen—stricter curfews, more patrols, harsher punishments for anyone caught outside sanctioned zones." His eyes darkened. "Every day we wait is a day he gets stronger and we get weaker. We need that ledger."
Fantastic.
"Are you ready?" Kaelen asked.
Ten heartbeats. That's what I'd held with Dreadscale. Ten, with my marks humming together instead of tearing apart. Real progress. Thirty was a leap—but I'd made leaps before.
"Two days," I said. "Give me two days to practice with Dreadscale. I'll be ready."
Kaelen studied me for a long moment. Weighing. Calculating. Then he nodded once.
"Two days." He rose to his feet. "Rest while you can. Then train like everyone’s life depends on it." A pause. "Because it does."
He disappeared back into the shadows of the chamber, leaving me with nothing but the dark and thirty heartbeats I hadn't earned yet.
Serenya's hand found mine.
"You'll be ready," she said quietly.
I wished I believed her.
Chapter 25
ERYNDOR
The King's private audience chamber was colder than the rest of the palace. Always was. The marble floor held no warmth—black stone polished to a mirror shine that reflected the torchlight back in smears of orange and gold. Forty paces from the door to the throne. I had counted them the first time I was summoned here. I counted them every time since.
The auric chains hummed at the edges of the room. I locked my jaw against the vibration and kept my stride even.
Three days since the bond surge had nearly killed us both. Five days until I had to bring her to the King or be killed.
My Oath-stone throbbed in my chest cavity, a dull heat that hadn't faded since that night in the training ring. I could still feel her marks reaching for mine, the way my Soulbinder had answered without permission, destroying the King’s Command-Rune fighting to keep it leashed. The memory of her face—terrified, then confused, thenflinchingfrom my touch like I was something contaminated—
I buried it. Sealed it away with everything else I couldn't afford to feel.
The King watched me from his throne. Still as carved stone. Eyes like honed steel.
"Crownforged." His voice was calm. Glacier-calm. "The Rupture continues to master her gifts, I am told."
My breathing held at baseline. Thoughts flattened to surface noise—smooth, featureless, giving his Truthshard nothing to grip.
"She progresses," I said, giving him exactly what he expected to hear.
His gaze probed for fissures, for contradictions. I felt the pressure of it against my mind like fingers pressing on a bruise.
"Let her keep mastering both marks." The King forced me to hold his gaze. "We can harvest her power once she does. Keep her contained, yes. But unbroken." A pause, weighted with meaning. "She will yet serve the Crown's true design."
Harvest her power.
The Oath-stone's burning lessened—just slightly—a reprieve that felt more like a trap than a reward. He wanted her. But for what? What purpose justified this agonizing push and pull, this game I couldn't see the shape of?
Five days. Then the Oath-stone would stop hurting. Not because it showed mercy. Because I'd be dead. Unless I delivered her to the King.
AMARIA
