Page 54 of Beneath the Veil of Tides
“No. I have a council, and those few—hand picked by myself—are the only ones who know of them. Besides, I will most likely not be welcomed back, so I cannot participate.”
“Then who is supposed to participate?”
Neryssa’s soft voice cut through the hallway right before we stopped at a massive iron-clad door.
“You. I’ve seen parts of it happen already. It’s brutal, yet brave. And for somereason, I can’t see the outcome.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Neryssa lifted her hand, and a white spiraled staff appeared in her grasp, tendrils of glittering magic revolving around it. She brought it down in six measured strikes against the floor, and the metal door creaked open, squealing along its thick hinges.
A cavernous room spread before us, dark and dreary, and oddly different from the calming aesthetic of the rest of the shop. Glinting weapons spanned the walls, full suits of armor hung on stands, and lanterns sprinkled flickering shadows across the ancient stone floor.
I hesitated before stepping inside behind Neryssa. The woman’s appearance did not fit the room—she was beauty inside the dungeon. Dangerous, like a princess relishing in the mayhem of an age-stricken tavern. Her billowing dust-blue gown picked up dirt as it trailed behind, leaving a band of cleanliness in its wake.
Without turning, Neryssa spoke gently, her hands trailing the weapons as if searching for one in particular.
“You’ll need a blade. One only I have in possession.”
Damp air pressed against my skin, clammy as a riverside in summer heat, where even the breeze arrived too weak to matter. I had never seen a building manipulate the mind in themanner Neryssa’s shop did—how the size more than tripled indoors and the architectural material varied from inside to out.
“This place is special, darling. Enchanted to hide what lies inside. Sometimes magic isn’t a weapon at all, but a veil woven simply to hide the truth,” Noctis whispered at my side.
I shivered at the prospect of the danger we willingly walked into.
“Here it is.” Neryssa gripped the helm of a falchion sword. “Noctis will imbue it before you go in.”
Oh, gods.The sword stretched far longer than the comfort of my daggers. And imbuing it meant I would carry power I’d never wielded before.
I couldn’t do it.
Neryssa offered the weapon to the god, who received it with a slight nod. “As much as I love the idea of Caelyn warring on the side of safety, my court will not harm her.”
His sister’s eyes widened. “Is that really what you believe? Shewill,in fact, use the blade. Itwill,in fact, be life or death. Do not forget that you abandoned them for her.”
“I will be at her side in Aetherkin,” he replied, sternly.
“But you cannot complete the trials for her. You could have if you were still the god they worshipped, but you turned your back.” Neryssa’s words were not intended to harm. They carried love and admiration instead, softly speaking facts to her brother that he needed to hear.
Noctis gripped the leather-bound swirled hilt of the sword, his eyes flickering over the features of his sister as if assessing the truth in her claim before they closed. A sonorous hum emanated through the chamber, guttural as his hand ignited in white light, the power flowing across the silver-glinting weapon, then soaked into its surface, dissipating into the blade.
I became mesmerized in the flow of energy.
Neryssa’s gaze snapped to me. “One more thing, Wavebreaker.” Urgency fueled her movements as if we were running against a clock nearly out of time.
She dug through the pocket of her gown and pulled out a vial, the liquid contents sparkling through the glass, swirling in tendrils of various shades of lavender.
“A healing potion,” Neryssa explained, and my confidence stumbled. “Straight into your mouth. Swallow it quickly.”
“I’ll need it?”
“Yes.” Indisputable.
Maybe I did need the blade. Or maybe the healing potion would be used when I hurtmyselfwith the unfamiliar weapon.
Noctis shifted to my side, his arm extending the falchion sword. When I took it, his hands roamed against my shoulders. The gentle touch skimmed from the nape of my neck down to my shoulder blades, grazing the edge of the lace bodice I wore over my tunic. I fought my eyes to stay open as he lowered a new sheathe over my head and around my upper back, securing it to my body tightly. His fingers brushed the hand I held the weapon with, and I released it back to him. He slid it with a scrape into the new sheath. I shifted uncomfortably under the burden of weight the sword along my back gave.
“You’ve got chills, love. You seem to be enjoying my touch,” his voice brushed my skin like silk.
