Chapter 59 The Journey to the Ridge
The courtyard of the Lycan Palace was a sea of organized chaos as the sun began to rise. The air was thick with the scent of wet pine and the rhythmic metallic clanging of supplies being loaded.
Elara stood by her window, watching the frantic movement below. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"The schedule has been moved up, My Lady," Faye said, bustling about the room with a stack of linens. "I have no idea why the rush, but the entire court is in an uproar."
Liora walked in, her face flushed from the morning chill. "We leave within the hour. Somehow, the King has permitted you to join the hunt."
Elara scoffed inwardly. Permitted? As if she needed his permission to breathe the mountain air or walk the earth she was born upon. She let out a slow exhale, casting one last glance at the horizon. "Alright. Let’s prepare for the journey."
With Faye and Liora’s help, she was soon dressed in a deep midnight-blue traveling gown of reinforced silk, tailored for movement and paired with sturdy black riding boots. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant, practical style with minimal accessories, only the glowing silver necklace remained a constant weight against her skin.
She stood in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. Faye held up a silk piece. "Are you putting on your mask today, My Lady?"
Elara touched her face. The slight swelling from the duel was almost gone, but the vulnerability remained. The mask she usually wore had cracked during the duel, and she hadn't remembered to request a new one. She didn't strictly need it, but with Draven and Cierce still prowling the palace, she needed a barrier.
"The mask is broken," she muttered. "I need to cover my face until the end of the hunt."
"Should I request another from the forge?" Liora asked.
"Yes," Elara replied, "but I would prefer a veil for the journey."
Liora nodded and hurried out while Faye went to source a shimmering, translucent silver veil that complemented the midnight blue of her dress.
Left for a moment of quiet, Elara sank onto the couch, leaning against the armrest. The memory of the previous night curled in her gut like a cold snake. She had no idea what that vampire had done to her seal, but she could feel it—the magic was loose, fraying at the edges.
“You’re thinking about the thirst,” Lyra stirred awake, her voice sharp.
"I can’t help it," Elara thought back. She had known about her heritage, but she hadn't expected the vampire blood to wake with such predatory violence. She made a mental note to find Morrigan; she hadn't even fully mastered her wolf or her witch-light yet. She certainly didn't need a blood-sucking gene going active now.
Moments later, Liora returned with a polished box. Inside sat a new mask. It was a delicate silver filigree, sharper and more elegant than the last. Elara thanked them, but her stomach did a nervous flip when Faye spoke again.
"The King has requested you have breakfast with him, My Lady. In his private chambers."
Elara blinked. She wasn't ready to see Ronan, not after the way she had fled from the scent of his blood the night before. But the King’s "request" was rarely optional.
The walk to the King’s chambers was silent, with Faye and Liora trailing behind her. As they arrived, the guards announced her, and Ronan’s deep, resonant voice rang out. "Come in."
Elara entered and took her seat, her maids standing dutifully beside her. "Good morning, Your Highness," she said, her tone neutral.
Ronan pursed his lips, his golden eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "Morning. I trust you had a good night, despite the... drama of yesterday."
Faye and Liora exchanged puzzled, wide-eyed glances. Drama?
Elara simply nodded, eyeing the spread of fruit, bread, and venison on the table. "Why did you ask to have breakfast with me?"
Ronan cleared his throat, a rare flash of hesitation crossing his features. "I wanted to apologize. For making you think I was ashamed of you, and for making decisions for you without your input."
"You didn't apologize for not telling her the truth." Fenrir snapped.
Elara halted, her fork halfway to her plate. "Oh..."
"About the hunt," he continued, leaning forward. "Since you insisted on going, I have no other choice. But you go on one condition."
Elara mentally rolled her eyes. Of course. "And what is that?"
"That you stay close to me at all costs," he said firmly. "Even in the camp."
Elara frowned but didn't argue. Sticking with Ronan would keep Draven at bay and likely irritate Pandora—and she truly didn't want the red-headed vixen breathing down her neck in the wild.
"And Pandora?" Elara asked.
"I’ve assigned someone to keep an eye on her," Ronan said. "You won't have to worry about her."
They finished the meal in a tense but civil silence before the departure began. The scene at the palace gates was monumental. The Lycan delegation led the way, followed by the Alphas and Lunas of a dozen packs.
Elara was ushered into a separate, plush carriage with Liora and Faye, while Ronan rode ahead on his white stallion. Inside the carriage, the silence didn't last long.
"His Highness mentioned 'drama,' My Lady," Faye said, her eyes burning with curiosity.
Elara blinked and looked out the window. "I went for a night stroll, that's all."
The maids peered at her as if they were scanning for a lie, but Elara remained stone-faced.
The journey was long, marked by small stops and the occasional bout of light sleep. Finally, they reached the rugged Eastern edge. Matthew’s voice echoed from the front of the line. "Approaching the final pass! Warriors, stay alert. High tendency for rogue assaults here."
Elara pulled back the silk curtain. Her gaze locked onto the Northwood carriage nearby. Cierce was looking out, and as their eyes met, the Northern woman let out a slow, mischievous smile that chilled Elara to the bone.
Suddenly, a violent rustling erupted from the dense brush far to the side of the path.
A man in tattered, non-aligned clothing burst from the shadows. He wasn't a Northwood wolf; he lacked the scent. He ran with a desperate, frantic energy parallel to the line. Before the guards could intercept him, he raised a strange, hollowed bone to his lips.
A sound cut through the mountain air—a haunting, dissonant shriek that sounded like a thousand dying birds. It wasn't a pack signal; it was something older, something dark.
The sound hit Elara’s ears and her world tilted. The silver necklace around her neck turned ice-cold, and the scar on her shoulder began to thrum with a sickly, white-hot heat.
"My Lady?" Liora gasped, reaching out as Elara’s eyes went wide and vacant.
The screams of the horses and the shouting of the guards vanished, replaced by a silence so absolute it felt heavy.
Elara opened her eyes. She wasn't sitting in the plush velvet interior of the carriage anymore. She was standing in a place where the sky was a bruised, motionless violet and the ground beneath her bare feet was soft, like ash.
Directly in front of her stood a woman.
Elara’s heart gave a sickening thud. The woman was a mirror image of herself but she looked as though she had been carved from moonlight and grief. She was catastrophically drained; her skin was translucent, stretched tight over high, sharp cheekbones that looked ready to break through the surface. Her eyes weren't hazel or red; they were sunken pits of endless, swirling grey.
The woman didn't move her lips, yet her voice echoed from the very ground beneath Elara’s feet.
"The time is near."
The words were a cold caress, a promise that made the marrow in Elara’s bones ache. She tried to steady her breathing, her hands trembling as she stared at her own ghostly visage.
"What time?" Elara managed to whisper, her voice sounding small in the vast, dead expanse. "Who are you?"
The woman didn't answer. Instead, she tilted her head, a slow, unnatural movement that sent a series of wet cracks through her neck. A terrifying, jagged grin split her pale face, revealing teeth that were far too sharp.
She didn't speak again. She simply cackled. The sound began to tear the violet sky apart, the cracks bleeding a deep, arterial red.
Just as the woman’s hand reached out to touch the fractured seal on Elara’s neck, the trance came to an end.
"My lady?" Liora's worried voice brought her back to the current situation. "Are you alright?"
Elara blinked as she looked around as if expecting something or someone. "Huh? Uh... yeah... I'm fine." She looked outside the window again. Cierce was still looking at her and everything seemed fine. "What the hell just happened?"