Chapter 65 The Blood-Link Ritual
"Helmet. Off. Now!" Vane’s roar echoed through the rafters, vibrating the very crystal of the shattered chandeliers.
The Great Hall was a pressure cooker. To my left, the Witch Lord—wearing Caspian’s face—watched the scene with a terrifying, detached amusement. To my right, Kael was a ghost, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the council table. And directly in front of me, the armored figure of Rune—holding the soul of my true mate—trembled so violently the plates of his gauntlets clattered like hail on a tin roof.
"He’s been shamed enough, Vane!" I shouted, stepping into the path of the Northern Alpha. "He’s an enforcer, not a circus act!"
"He’s a soldier who won't show his face to his superior," Vane countered, his hand hovering over the hilt of his frost-axe. "In the North, we call that a traitor. Remove the iron, or I’ll peel it off him myself."
Caspian, trapped in Rune’s hulking body, reached for the visor. His fingers were clumsy, shaking with the agony of the silver burns and the psychic weight of the swap. I saw the edge of the helmet lift. In a second, Vane would see those silver-fire eyes—the unmistakable signature of the Soulmate—embedded in the wrong face.
The secret would be out. The execution would begin.
"Wait!" I cried.
"I’m done waiting, Lyra!" Vane stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the gap beneath the visor.
I had no choice. I reached for the ceremonial dagger at my waist. I didn't hesitate. I slammed the blade across my own palm, the sharp silver edge biting deep. I didn't scream, though the sting was electric.
"Lyra!" Kael gasped, reaching for me.
I ignored him. As Vane lunged for the helmet, I "stumbled" forward, my boots slick on the marble. I threw my weight into the armored chest of the man in the cell, my bleeding hand outstretched.
"Rune, catch me!" I shrieked.
My blood-slicked palm slammed into the gauntlet of the armored guard. The metal was cold, but the skin beneath the gaps was scorching. I didn't just touch him; I threaded my fingers through his, my fresh, hot blood smearing across his hand, mixing with the sweat and the silver-burn residue on his skin.
"The stone!" a guard shouted.
The Truth-Stone, still lying on the floor where the Witch Lord had mocked it, suddenly hummed. It didn't just glow; it erupted.
A pillar of brilliant, blinding silver light shot toward the ceiling. It was a physical force, a wave of pure soul-recognition that knocked the nearest Frost-Guards off their feet. The light was so intense I had to squeeze my eyes shut, but I didn't let go of his hand.
Through the Mind-Link, I felt a shockwave of Caspian. It wasn't filtered through Kael’s nerves or the Witch Lord’s static. It was him. For a heartbeat, the swap didn't matter. The bodies didn't matter. Our blood had met, and the universe acknowledged the match.
The scent of cedar and ozone filled my lungs, drowning out the rot of the lilies.
"What in the hells..." Vane breathed, shielding his eyes with his massive arm.
The light lingered, a shimmering curtain of silver that seemed to vibrate with the sound of a thousand bells. When it finally faded, the hall was plunged into a heavy, ringing silence. I stayed pressed against the armored chest of "Rune," my hand still locked in his. The blood on our joined palms was glowing with a faint, residual embers.
I looked at Vane. The Northern Alpha looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He looked at the stone—now a shimmering diamond-bright white—and then he looked at the hand I was holding.
"Did you see that?" Kael whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror.
"The stone reacted," I said, my voice shaking as I pulled my hand away, wrapping my skirt around the wound. "The bond is proven, Vane. Are you satisfied?"
Vane didn't move. He stared at the spot where our blood had dripped onto the marble. The stone was still pulsing, a rhythmic, silver heartbeat that matched Caspian’s pulse in my head.
"The stone reacted," Vane repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He slowly lifted his gaze. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at the Witch Lord, who was now standing very still, his arrogant smirk finally gone.
Vane looked directly at the armored guard.
"Lyra," Vane said, his voice dropping to a register that made the hair on my neck stand up. "Explain something to me."
"The bond is proven, Vane," I snapped, trying to regain my footing. "You saw the light. Caspian is my soulmate. The stone doesn't lie."
"No," Vane said, stepping over the glowing rock. He walked right up to me, his massive shadow swallowing us both. "The stone doesn't lie. That’s the problem."
"What are you talking about?"
Vane pointed his sword at the floor, at the exact spot where my blood had mixed with the guard’s.
"The Truth-Stone only reacts when the blood of the Soulmate meets the blood of the Bride," Vane hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits of icy blue. "I threw that stone at the feet of the King. He refused to bleed. He stood there like a stone statue while you 'stumbled' into your guard."
"It was an accident!" I said, my heart hammering. "I tripped! Our blood mixed by chance!"
"There is no chance in a Blood-Link ritual, girl!" Vane roared, his voice shaking the walls. He turned his blade toward the Witch Lord, who was watching us with a murderous glare. "The King stood there and the stone stayed dark. But the moment your blood touched the guard... the hall turned into a sun."
"Vane, listen—" Kael tried to intervene.
"Silence, Alpha!" Vane barked. He turned back to me, the tip of his sword inches from the visor of Rune’s helmet. "The stone reacted to the guard, not the King. It recognized the soul in the iron, not the man on the throne."
"You're imagining things," I breathed, my lungs feeling like they were filled with lead.
"I’ve lived through three wars and two Fae incursions, Lyra. I don't imagine things," Vane said. He leaned in close, his breath smelling of frost and old leather. "The light didn't come from the center of the room. It came from him."
Vane reached out with his free hand and grabbed the shoulder of Rune’s armor. Caspian let out a choked, desperate sound behind the metal.
"Vane, stop!" I lunged for his arm, but he shoved me aside with a grunt.
"Explain this, Luna!" Vane bellowed, his face inches from the helmet. "Why does your 'bodyguard' have the blood-resonance of a Soulmate? Why does the Alpha on the throne smell like the abyss, while the man in the chains makes the Truth-Stone scream?"
I looked at the Witch Lord. He was leaning against the table, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, impatient beat. He looked ready to kill everyone in the room. I looked at Kael, who was on the verge of a total mental collapse.
"Answer me!" Vane demanded. "Who is under this helmet?"
Behind the visor, I saw the silver fire flare. Caspian was done hiding. He couldn't speak, but he could act. He reached up, his massive, armored hand grabbing Vane’s wrist with a strength that made the Northman grunt.
The Truth-Stone between them didn't just glow this time—it began to crack under the pressure of the proximity.
"Vane, don't do this," I whispered, the silver circlet on my head turning white-hot. "You don't know what you're opening."
"I’m opening a grave for a liar," Vane snarled.
He wrenched his arm back and slammed the hilt of his sword against the visor's locking mechanism. The iron screamed. The helmet buckled.
"One word, Lyra," Vane said, his eyes wild with the thrill of the hunt. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't execute every man in this room right now for treason against the Great Wolf Council."
I looked at the Witch Lord, then at the man in the iron, and I realized the "Mask" was finally shattered.
"Because," I said, my voice dropping to a deadly, abyssal hush, "if you kill him, you kill the only thing keeping the Void from eating your precious North."
Vane froze. His hand was on the helmet’s latch.
"Prove it," Vane whispered.
From the hallway, a sudden, high-pitched scream tore through the tension. It was the child-voice of Lord Thorne again, but this time, it was coming from inside the Great Hall.
"He's here! The man with the shadow-face is here!"
The Truth-Stone shattered into a million pieces, and the floor of the Great Hall began to turn into liquid black ink.